This poem always makes me smile.

Stuart has a new book, Backwards Days, dropping on October 2. He is also giving a reading on September 27 at UNC-Greensboro. It will be awesome, and I will be there to witness it.

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Days of Me
by Stuart Dischell

When people say they miss me,
I think how much I miss me too,
Me, the old me, the great me,
Lover of three women in one day,
Modest me, the best me, friend
To waiters and bartenders, hearty
Laugher and name rememberer,
Proud me, handsome and hirsute
In soccer shoes and shorts
On the ball fields behind MIT,
Strong me in a weightbelt at the gym,
Mutual sweat dripper in and out
Of the sauna, furtive observer
Of the coeducated and scantily clad,
Speedy me, cyclist of rivers,
Goose and peregrine falcon
Counter, all season venturer,
Chatterer-up of corner cops,
Groundskeepers, mothers with strollers,
Outwitter of panhandlers and bill
Collectors, avoider of levies, excises,
Me in a taxi in the rain,
Pressing my luck all the way home.

That's me at the dice table, baby,
Betting come, little Joe, and yo,
Blowing the coals, laying thunder,
My foot on top a fifty dollar chip
Some drunk spilled on the floor,
Dishonest me, evener of scores,
Eager accepter of the extra change,
Hotel towel pilferer, coffee spoon
Lifter, fervent retailer of others'
Fumor, blackhearted gossiper,
Poisoner at the well, dweller
In unsavory detail, delighted sayer
Of the vulgar, off course belier
Of the true me, empiric builder
Newly haircutted, stickerer-up
For pals, jam unpriser, medic
To the self-inflicted, attorney
To the self-indicted, petty accountant
And keeper of the double books,
Great divider of the universe
And all its forms of existence
Into its relationship to me,
Fellow trembler to the future,
Thin air gawker, apprehender
Of the frameless door.

Unlock the puzzle,students:


Robert Kirkman


Frank Miller


Matt Fraction


Alan Moore

Books have taken center stage recently, so I've moved my current reading list up to the top in my ever-present right hand column. I just finished Haruki Murakami's After Dark. Didn't like it as much as Kafka on the Shore or The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, but it was enough to give me my Murakami fix.

And would you believe that until last week I had never read Orwell's 1984? And I taught high school English. Whatever. 1984 now goes down in history as one of my all time favorites right next to Catcher in the Rye, Money, and High Fidelity.

I'm also on an insane comic book kick. I'm at the comic store twice a week now. Currently enthralled with Irredeemable Ant-Man, but I'm also reading DMZ, The Walking Dead and Y: The Last Man. Y? Because I am el supremo nerdo.

I think I've also set a record for most links in one post.

Stuart Dischell

I can't tell you how happy I am tonight (or this morning, whatever it is now). I've rediscovered myself, unearthed myself somehow from wherever it is I have been for the past six years. I've actually finished two poems in the past week, ones that I am actually proud of, ones that I think have a chance. I also wrote one really sucky poem about toads, but we won't go into that.

I had half of a decent poem put together this afternoon, but it was missing something - it had some nice images, decent snapshots, but it had no story. Then I reread one of Stuart Dischell's poems from Dig Safe called "Days of Me." Slate previously printed it here.

In short, Stuart's poem brilliantly captures a longing for a former self, albeit an idealized one. It exactly captured the kind of feeling I was looking for in my own poem and as soon as I put his book down I couldn't stop typing, shaping the piece and pasting my previous scatterings of images around a new storyline. So - thanks, Stuart, for the inspiration.

Now I should probably go to bed.