{sunny Monday exercise}

what would envy do in an empty room?
describe the shape of something
why won’t the door open?
the memory of a taste or texture in the mouth
a sound in the distance and its echo
what’s on the floor?
where is the sound coming from?
envy makes a noise
something envy remembers
why not try the window?
something to do with the temperature
something to do with the noise
did you assume envy was alone?

{ouch.}

crazy that these test results do change over time. years ago I had a boss who loved these personality tests and was always making us take them. I can't remember what I was then. but it wasn't this:

iNTj

To outsiders, INTJs may appear to project an aura of "definiteness", of self-confidence. This self-confidence, sometimes mistaken for simple arrogance by the less decisive, is actually of a very specific rather than a general nature; its source lies in the specialized knowledge systems that most INTJs start building at an early age. When it comes to their own areas of expertise -- and INTJs can have several -- they will be able to tell you almost immediately whether or not they can help you, and if so, how. INTJs know what they know, and perhaps still more importantly, they know what they don't know.

INTJs are perfectionists, with a seemingly endless capacity for improving upon anything that takes their interest. What prevents them from becoming chronically bogged down in this pursuit of perfection is the pragmatism so characteristic of the type: INTJs apply (often ruthlessly) the criterion "Does it work?" to everything from their own research efforts to the prevailing social norms. This in turn produces an unusual independence of mind, freeing the INTJ from the constraints of authority, convention, or sentiment for its own sake.

INTJs are known as the "Systems Builders" of the types, perhaps in part because they possess the unusual trait combination of imagination and reliability. Whatever system an INTJ happens to be working on is for them the equivalent of a moral cause to an INFJ; both perfectionism and disregard for authority may come into play, as INTJs can be unsparing of both themselves and the others on the project. Anyone considered to be "slacking," including superiors, will lose their respect -- and will generally be made aware of this; INTJs have also been known to take it upon themselves to implement critical decisions without consulting their supervisors or co-workers. On the other hand, they do tend to be scrupulous and even-handed about recognizing the individual contributions that have gone into a project, and have a gift for seizing opportunities which others might not even notice.

In the broadest terms, what INTJs "do" tends to be what they "know". Typical INTJ career choices are in the sciences and engineering, but they can be found wherever a combination of intellect and incisiveness are required (e.g., law, some areas of academia). INTJs can rise to management positions when they are willing to invest time in marketing their abilities as well as enhancing them, and (whether for the sake of ambition or the desire for privacy) many also find it useful to learn to simulate some degree of surface conformism in order to mask their inherent unconventionality.

Personal relationships, particularly romantic ones, can be the INTJ's Achilles heel. While they are capable of caring deeply for others (usually a select few), and are willing to spend a great deal of time and effort on a relationship, the knowledge and self-confidence that make them so successful in other areas can suddenly abandon or mislead them in interpersonal situations.
This happens in part because many INTJs do not readily grasp the social rituals; for instance, they tend to have little patience and less understanding of such things as small talk and flirtation (which most types consider half the fun of a relationship). To complicate matters, INTJs are usually extremely private people, and can often be naturally impassive as well, which makes them easy to misread and misunderstand. Perhaps the most fundamental problem, however, is that INTJs really want people to make sense. :-)

This sometimes results in a peculiar naivete', paralleling that of many Fs -- only instead of expecting inexhaustible affection and empathy from a romantic relationship, the INTJ will expect inexhaustible reasonability and directness.

Probably the strongest INTJ assets in the interpersonal area are their intuitive abilities and their willingness to "work at" a relationship. Although as Ts they do not always have the kind of natural empathy that many Fs do, the Intuitive function can often act as a good substitute by synthesizing the probable meanings behind such things as tone of voice, turn of phrase, and facial expression. This ability can then be honed and directed by consistent, repeated efforts to understand and support those they care about, and those relationships which ultimately do become established with an INTJ tend to be characterized by their robustness, stability, and good communications.

***

Of the four aspects of strategic analysis and definition, it is the contingency planning or entailment organizing role that reaches the highest development in Masterminds. Entailing or contingency planning is not an informative activity, rather it is a directive one in which the planner tells others what to do and in what order to do it. As the organizing capabilities the Masterminds increase so does their inclination to take charge of whatever is going on.

It is in their abilities that Masterminds differ from the other Rationals, while in most of their attitudes they are just like the others. However there is one attitude that sets them apart from other Rationals: they tend to be much more self-confident than the rest, having, for obscure reasons, developed a very strong will. They are rather rare, comprising no more than, say, one percent of the population. Being very judicious, decisions come naturally to them; indeed, they can hardly rest until they have things settled, decided, and set. They are the people who are able to formulate coherent and comprehensive contingency plans, hence contingency organizers or "entailers."

Masterminds will adopt ideas only if they are useful, which is to say if they work efficiently toward accomplishing the Mastermind's well-defined goals. Natural leaders, Masterminds are not at all eager to take command of projects or groups, preferring to stay in the background until others demonstrate their inability to lead. Once in charge, however, Masterminds are the supreme pragmatists, seeing reality as a crucible for refining their strategies for goal-directed action. In a sense, Masterminds approach reality as they would a giant chess board, always seeking strategies that have a high payoff, and always devising contingency plans in case of error or adversity. To the Mastermind, organizational structure and operational procedures are never arbitrary, never set in concrete, but are quite malleable and can be changed, improved, streamlined. In their drive for efficient action, Masterminds are the most open-minded of all the types. No idea is too far-fetched to be entertained-if it is useful. Masterminds are natural brainstormers, always open to new concepts and, in fact, aggressively seeking them. They are also alert to the consequences of applying new ideas or positions. Theories which cannot be made to work are quickly discarded by the Masterminds. On the other hand, Masterminds can be quite ruthless in implementing effective ideas, seldom counting personal cost in terms of time and energy.

{office report etc.}

about half the office is home calling "snow day!" -- had I but known this was an option of sorts.

got all hot and dizzy and nauseous on the train on the way in. happens sometimes, but it never bodes well for the day.

sure enough, I decide to press on and not turn around and go home even though everything I have to do today I could do just as well there if not better if somebody at the office emailed me the files... and half the office is out.

BUT they bought we intrepid boot-wearing workers lunch. which somehow makes me feel better. I'm so easily bought.

forgot to send myself the new manuscript last night, so now I can't print it today, which would have been a good day to do it, given that so few people are here. sad face.

somebody send me a poem you love. marty@louderarts.com. get me out of this cranky mood!

{let it snow let it }

well, the workshop was cancelled. postponed, rather, until some later date. now the day's empty for the thousand things I should do but instead I'll finish the book. and then we'll see. maybe I'll try to write something -- but I don't feel anything on its way. isn't that always the case when it's a seemingly perfect writing day.

{Lizzie Borden's thumb & letters to the president}

for a little more than a month, I've been trying to write about Lizzie Borden. don't know why. so technically, this is draft seven or so. but what it required was six bad versions that had not more than three words in common with this one. what it required was getting totally frustrated and leaving the poem alone for two weeks. was editing Lynne's poem from Belfast and realizing I hadn't written anything for a week or so because I've been so pulled into sweet Edna's biographical life and it is still true that I cannot write poetry while I'm reading prose. which is not ideal but it's the only brain and rhythm-spring I have so I'll have to deal.

what's funny is that after making comments on Lynne's poem and sending it to her I was sitting on the train going home and thinking about how I hadn't written in a while and needed to re-set my rhythms and being glad I'd brought Komunyakaa's "Talking Dirty to the Gods" to work with me although Edna's just about to get addicted to painkillers and I'm in that place where I really want to finish the book but I know I'll miss it when it's done, as if somebody had gone away...

so I start thinking about the Borden piece after reading some TDttG poems and thinking I should do more poems that don't try to shed any particular new light or twist on what happened but simply speak from the interior of a character as some of his do with myths... and thinking about how I'd wanted to do another poem from a body part to couple with Ophelia's throat...

so I started writing from the perspective of Lizzie Borden's thumb. got two lines down on the train, two more on the bench in the station where I had to get off, and by the time I got home decided there was no good reason for it to be her thumb and I'm not down with random cleverness so I had it as her ring finger, but then that made it too much about her being unmarried and felt too obvious so it became her index finger, th e one that points. I'd love to hear what folks think about that choice.

In any case, I forced myself to hand-write on actual paper a whole draft, rather than jumping to the computer immediately where the edits are invisible and sometimes come too quickly. and here we are -- new poem! exciting.

I'm supposed to teach a workshop on "writing and activism" at NYU tonight, though I just got a call that because of the impending snowstorm and windstorm warnings it might be cancelled. figure I should prep anyway. not a bad workshop to have in one's pocket. different to prepare for a writing workshop so vaguely focused and not poetry-centric. definitely going to play part of Jerry Quickley's last track off "Beats for Baghdad" where he describes leaving Iraq during the bombings. figure I'll focus on (a) the necessity for overt and covert writings in this political climate and (b) the benefits and necessity of studying many kinds of writing (poetry informing journalism, grantwriting informing songwriting, etc.)

anyway, here's the poem. comments welcome as always:

Lizzie Borden’s index finger

none of the rest wanted to do it. I won.
the axe sang in the basement all night long
-- sharp, enough off-key for us to know
she was waiting, too.

some loves come in apron
and a thimble’s-worth of remember / some
in shirtwaist and whispers to make you wish
you’d never heard your own name

it was the bed that hated that woman, not me.
it was him I wanted, but the sheets
kept screaming beneath the flatiron
and tucked tight enough to bleed

I did laugh after, at the thought of it.
how they’d find her there in pieces,
how they’d have to burn those sheets.

and him? that was me. the first blow
from behind because I couldn’t
have borne it if he looked surprised.

on the second, back wanted to stop.
but arms were all in, blow after blow
the walls so gorgeous the ceiling
grew jealous so drink ceiling red

/ how much have you heard /

when the eye split the handle snapped
and that was it. I checked to see he couldn’t
look peaceful. took off mother’s smock
and fed it to the stove

/ she was never your proxy, Mama
and he never her husband and as long
as I sit here quietly folded, engaged
in no mischief

red will do the pointing / for us.

{raging waste of a day}

got up with the sun
to get to the car rental place
to rent some random car
to drive to New Jersey
to listen to some man review information about how to apply for a grant but not share anything really that couldn't be discovered by simply reading the RFP
in an environmental center that cannot be reached by public transportation
to seem to be the only one aware of the irony
to drink bad coffee-tasting tea and jostle for half a bagel
to drive back to NYC
to return the car
to come back to the office thoroughly uninspired to do diddly
squat.

it's snowing! please come to the show tonight anyway. it'll be worth the cold, I promise. and it doesn't get REALLY cold until 10 anyway, and we're done by 9.

no sleep 'till Brooklyn...

M.

{all live, all the time}

shows!
synonymUS Wednesday
& radical art inauguration night show at Galapagos Thursday

***WEDNESDAY JANUARY 19***

synonymUS
the live multimedia collaborative designed to develop art through improvisation & narrative. Dancers, Musicians, Poets and Artists of all walks welcome. Bring your own collab or work with US.

Poetry, Music, Movement, Image, Narrative - Always an Open Form@
Featuring Brent Shuttleworth and the synonymUS Autumn Archive CD Release

The Nuyorican Poets Cafe
236 East 3rd St. btwn Ave. B&C

January 19, 2005 @ 7pm
every 3rd Wednesday
$7
Open Form@ 6:45pm, sign up 6:30

Showcase by Marty McConnell
www.martymcconnell.com

Feature - Brent Shuttleworth
http://excelanoproject.com/brentshuttleworth.html

***THURSDAY JANUARY 20***
Bring Your Own Inauguration
8 p.m.
Galapagos

a night of dancing, theater and music to shake off the inaugural doldrums

Hosted by Zero Boy and his magical mic!
Featuring Rare Bird Rhumba Ranch's merengue stylin', John DeVore of Whitehouse.org's comedic stylin', Jamie Smith's powerful down-home gee-tar, satirical songs by The Georgettes and louderARTS poetry by Marty McConnell and Co. that'll sock ya in the jaw.

The $8 admission fee goes to tsunami relief - but if that's too steep, email me and I'll get you a discount.

Galapagos is located at 70 North 6th St. in Williamsburg Brooklyn. Take the L train to Bedford Ave. and you'll be at Bedford and N. 7th. Walk one block south and turn right on North 6th. Voila.

***

hope to see you there or somewhere!

M.

{ramblings instead of writing & GO BUY "Savage Beauty" now!}

no poems to post or analyze because I am entirely sucked into the world of Edna St. Vincent Millay, whose biography "Savage Beauty" I've been consuming at every possible moment. no good for the writing, but good for thinking about what lasts and how we carve our names into history or our arms or both... more on that as I process.

also, Roger's in Seattle. so the apartment is clean. ish.

the synonymUS jam last night was excellent -- first of all, very community and music-making and multiple conversations in the mini kitchen-slash-hallway about poetry and the like and only one that I had to scamper out of because I refuse to talk about slam strategy on an otherwise artistically fulfilling Sunday evening.

second of all, I'm now psyched for my show with the crew on Wednesday -- particularly to do a four-voice piece with Elana and Abena and me and Scot, and the closing poem with all kinds of musicians throwing down is going to be crazy with a capital R. it's intoxicating, the rockstar minute. I still think Roger and I could have a band. but that's a whole other low-paying career. first, the books. then we can go all Anne Sexton & Her Kind.

twenty-some artists in Ray's little Harlem studio... Mike's Hard Lemonade (why do we love it so?)... smokers making concerted efforts to stand by the far window so we asthmatics could survive... and actual poems. lovely. who needs Greenwich Village, anyway? bohemian-ness and living in close proximity to other artists is so two decades ago. love the train in its seven weekend sections. love it!

{this just in}

well, am I suddenly in demand or what. :)

Wednesday, January 19, at 7 p.m. I'm featuring as a showcase poet at synonymUS, louderARTS' fabulous collaborative arm, at the Nuyorican Poets Cafe.

I don't have full info on the other showcasers, except that one of them is the lovely and talented Brent Shuttleworth (think John Mayer with a soul). But it's always grand, and we're done by 9 for all you early-to-bedders. Julio makes sure of it!

So come out, it's me and the musicians making merry poetry -- and I'm continuing my vow not to repeat work at any of these shows, with the possible exception of one or two "teaser" preview poems.

I'm hauling my butt out on the LIRR to work with flutist, saxophonist, and allaround whizbang musician type Scot Williams tonight to work on stuff for these shows (don't forget about February 7!), so y'all come out and make it worth my while, OK? OK.

Here are the details:

synonymUS
Poetry, Music, Movement, Image, Narrative
- always an Open Mic

at The Nuyorican Poets Café
236 East 3rd St. between Ave. B&C

January 19th @ 6:45 pm
Every 3rd Wednesdays thereafter
$7
Open Form@ sign up 6:30 p.m.

Dancers, Musicians, Poets and Artists of all walks welcome.
Bring your own collab or work with US.

{revision at 5:47 p.m.}

Cassandra & Janis calling

isn’t every uterus a prophet though

and every screamer a target / the hair
a handle for fists, the throat exposed

(we) wall-climbers, loose on the ramparts calling
the body, the body, the body (Hector,
Jimi
)
and the last song, buried alive
these blues

a native prison, the body

let the nails grow, rasp the throat
(Janis) (Cassandra) / let abrasions call down
the curse, refuse the kiss or the ordinary

gorgeous

give the madness bones, call it god
or conspiracy / Agamemnon / Jerry
lay it down for any gone cause, any body

any prophet not us

2: as Cassandra tells it

Apollo’s breath so close to dead, his hands
soft as old olives / what isn’t told, I made
no promises, only wanted the mouth
of a god on me one time but his skin
/ less man than fish. what no one tells you:
immortal is cold, old is old

I was a prophet already. the curse
was on Troy, not me.

3: Janis over coffee

I thought no one was listening
to the words. when the men
came knocking, offering a last fix, my arms
had already started healing, I didn’t need
anything, told them so

but in they came, held me down, one shot,
too hot, I knew right away by their shoes
I was dead

4:

why Sylvia and the gas
why Emma and the arsenic
why Anne and the monoxide
why Margot and the phenobarbitol
why Dorothy and the imipramine
why Ophelia in the river
why Virginia in the river
why Diane’s wrists
why the Sirens and the leap
why Marilyn in the bed
why Sara in the bath

(the throat is the first to rot)

5:

what good is knowing when all lights
say go, when the set is closed and the sword falls

is it true the serpents licked your ears

the father or a god, Port Arthur or Troy, women
with sodium pentothal for blood die for it

unheard

6:

the radiator too is a shushing
/ call it madness. the new method:
distraction. who’s got time
for prophesy when there’s Sex
& the City who can hear us
above the laugh tracks

the hysteria

Helen, unhinge the rope
Melissa, recap the pills
Adalia, let the razors dull
Phoebe, unmap the bridge
Christina, back from the sill
(every uterus a prophet though)
Ruby, away from the alley
Darlene, away from the ocean
Robin, away from the syringe
(every screamer a target)
Harriet, the moonrise
Violet, your sister
Nadine, next Sunday’s brunch with mimosas
Brenda, the blush of the paintbrush
(alive, these blues)
alive, these blues

native prison, this body
(no prophet but us)
throat a door swinging wildly / open.

{myth & myth}

apologies to everyone I intended to call last night, including my parents. this poem was actively kicking my butt, and then Roger came home and The Chapelle Show took over.

so the ending is wrong. what else is new. I have an idea. maybe at lunch today I can work it out. something happens between laugh tracks and the (bad) last stanza. endings are crazy-making. heavy boots through mud. suggestions are, of course, welcome.


Cassandra & Janis calling

isn’t every uterus a prophet though

and every screamer a target / the hair
a handle for fists, the throat exposed

(we) wall-climbers, loose on the ramparts calling
the body, the body, the body (Hector,
Jimi
)
and the last song, buried alive
these blues

a native prison, the body

let the nails grow, shred the throat
(Janis) (Cassandra) / let abrasions call down
the curse, refuse the kiss or the ordinary

gorgeous

give the madness bones, call it god
or conspiracy / Agamemnon / Jerry
lay it down for any gone cause, any body

any prophet not us

2: as Cassandra tells it

Apollo’s breath so close to dead, his hands
soft as old olives / what isn’t told, I made
no promises, only wanted the mouth
of a god on me one time but his skin
/ less man than fish. what no one tells you:
immortal is cold, old is old

I was a prophet already. the curse
was on Troy, not me.

3: Janis over coffee

I thought no one was listening
to the words. when the men
came knocking, offering a last fix, my arms
had already started healing, I didn’t need
anything, told them so

but in they came, held me down, one shot,
too hot, I knew right away by their shoes
I was dead

4:

why Sylvia and the gas
why Emma and the arsenic
why Anne and the monoxide
why Margot and the phenobarbitol
why Dorothy and the imipramine
why Ophelia in the river
why Virginia in the river
why Diane’s wrists
why the Sirens and the leap
why Marilyn in the bed
why Sara in the bath

(the throat is the first to rot)

5:

what good is knowing when all lights
say go, when the set is closed and the sword falls

is it true the serpents licked your ears

the father or a god, Port Arthur or Greece, women
with sodium pentothal for blood die for it

unheard

6:

the radiator too is a shushing
/ call it madness. the new method:
distraction. who’s got time
for prophesy when there’s Sex
& the City who can hear us
above the laugh tracks

blood on linoleum
can I get a witness
who will call out
our names
in the dark?

{fessions}

ever want something massive even catastrophic to happen so the way to go is clear?

yeah. like that.

{the little things}

major difference between my life now and my life in LA: no one with whom I speak on even a weekly basis is, to my knowledge, on the Master Cleanse fast.

no one has used the word "colonic" in a sentence in my presence in more than two months.

these are the good things.