Today I celebrate Buy Nothing Day, as I have for more than a dozen years.  On this “Black Friday” when consumer zombies are brawling and hosing each other down with pepper spray in front of soon to open Wal-Marts, I join Kalle Lasn and adbusters to ask that today you join me in buying nothing.  Unfortunately, I cannot perfectly effect this boycott, as I am consuming grid borne electricity and natural gas, and for that we are looking for solutions in a remodel; but I will not enter a retail outlet of any kind today and encourage you to do the same.  I know that local, sustainable, businesses are important to support, but for this day so touted in the puppet media I hope to buy nothing and examine my spending and think up and down the supply chain.  What do I support when I fill my motorcycle with gasoline?  What do I support when I heat my house with natural gas?  Spending is a way to combat the ruthless corporations that utterly control our government, especially in Nevada.  I have officially ceased political blogging, for traipsing through the shit strewn world of Nevada politics is deadly for the act of creative writing, so I will stop now before a 2,000 word rant appears … whew … and I am not against the giving of thanks … a long time daily practice … I just don’t need to emulate a Pilgrim when I do it.  See poem below …

Reading journal:  have been alternating between short stories from Russell Banks, Shirley Jackson, Daphne DuMaurier, and the writings of Bruno Schultz.  Fabulous to try and swim deep in each text searching for what makes them work or not work.  My two latest short stories are a result of this reading mix.  The Price of Ursula’s Candy is out to three favored lit mags, and I am admittedly expectant for its reception.  More, I sent audio and text to readers of another short story that leapt from my fingers and mouth in five days – LDP or Lobby Dustpan.  The hero is a janitor at the Winter Park Ski Resort … I wrote this story the first time seventeen years ago when I was a janitor at Winter Park and have been well pleased to revisit the piece of micro fiction that is now 2,011 words and 14:44 of audio …

Last night I wrote a poem in an ancient Welsh form.  Thanks to Louis Turco’s fabulous book of forms, I learned about the cyrch a chwta twenty five years ago and recently uncovered a fitting casket of of cyrch a cwtas I wrote while teaching high school English in upstate New York .  The form is syllabic and eight lines of seven syllables each:

xxxxxxa
xxxxxxa
xxxxxxa
xxxxxxa
xxxxxxa
xxxxxxa
xxxxxxb
xxxbxxa

Here is my Thanksgiving 2011 cyrch a cwta:

Ad Man Hosts

Turkey pumpkin pilgrim bling
the hook corporations swing
food keeps minds from taking wing
faux pilgrims are faking
roots like yams and musket ring
to these ad-man hosts we cling
Free Will is in the crapper
thought trapper is caroling.

And did I mention the aerial stunt team of flying pigs I am assembling for our annual “holiday” card …