I've always wanted to hear Oliver Lake live. My opportunity presented itelf when I attended his performance Friday evening. This program was part of the Fresh Sound Series, "a series of experimental, electronic, contemporary classical and improvised music" under the umbrella of Sushi Contemporary Performance and Visual Arts.

Lake performed solo, interspersing his alto and soprano saxophone pieces with verse. From recited text that evoked a mother's wisdom and guidance, to the catastrophic effects of Katrina, Lake's performance engaged and startled. Lake painted space, tossing out sound by swinging his horn from right to left--HOOOoooonk. Brush strokes of sound. An occassional 360. Chaotic riffs like "scrambled eggs." Long, introspective passages. Quick, playful lines reminiscent of a joyous angel practicing a quebradita in front of a bemused lover angel.

The night was fulfilling, and I left the venue with a lighter step.

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Finished Patti Smith's Just Kids. Beautiful.

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"Reading is done in the immediate past, writing in the immediate future."
-Kenneth Koch

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Looking over proof copy for my new chapbook 1984. "Watch out Orwell. I got your number." I hope to have copies available soon.

Just devoured two books whole in one sitting: Nicanor Parra's After-Dinner Declarations and Ada Limon's Shark in the Rivers. These, along with the steady regimen of vitamins, jogs, trumpet practice, and writing, keep the spirit ignited and beast-like.

I just got my hands on Patti Smith's Just Kids, which I'm going to try and knock out this week.

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I remember receiving a rejection slip on Christmas Eve one year.

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Back to the blues scales.