Thing a Day Project

Hey, gang:

As some of you already know, I’m going to be doing the New York Triathlon this year, and I’ll be raising money in support of the American Cancer Society. I’d love your support in any amount you can manage. Click here. And thanks!

We do our finest

we wear pearls

in our senior photo

because it is what

our grandmothers did

and they took cues

from mothers

women who did not know

we

terrorized by those who know

the climate is put over

a yawning dawn

slicing the yard

hours before we awake

our selves

neatly assembled at the bedside

constructing beauty

why don’t you

make yourself useful

and be here

the wanton gasp

of new motherhood

old motherhood

it is new

all of it

and it will fade

nothing to see

but the glimmering eyelids

of ones who remain

who will create and create

the others who will

remain

who do not know

but who will hand down

the pearls

with a trusting hand

to those

ready to

receive

My college roommate Jon

kept a snake for awhile, a

rubber boa. Now

I don’t like snakes; I never

have. It’s not a phobia mind you,

but I do fear their oddness,

their impossibility of movement.

Jon used to let the snake

curl around his wrist

while he’d watch TV.

No connection other than

an instinct for warmth

but then that’s not so

far off from human.

When it came time to feed it,

Jon would go to the pet store,

and sometimes I’d go with him.

He’d have one of the kids who

worked there pick out a mouse,

pull it up by its pink tail,

its limbs clawing the air,

and drop it in a paper bag.

Later, I’d watch the mouse

in the terrarium with the snake;

I couldn’t help myself,

the snake deadly still but aware,

the mouse sensing the predator,

its brain firing

escape; escape.

I knew at any point

I could reach in my hand

deux ex-machina

to save the mouse

and of course I

never did.

I was fucked either way,

see, because even if I looked away,

I knew what was coming,

that the snake,

sometimes waiting

a brutal hour or more,

would finally spring and coil

around the mouse

and I would know.

I would know

that I could have stopped it

and I didn’t.

It’s not like a snake will eat

a dead mouse

but even then someone

would still have to

kill it, and then

there you are.

I think about those

mice sometimes, I can’t

help it, the way my

brain wraps

around it all.

There’s no

escape.

Hey, gang:

So yesterday I tried to get tickets for a series of shows that the legendary German proto-techno band, Kraftwerk, is playing at MOMA. I failed spectacularly, but I did wind up writing a little ditty to capture my experience. Enjoy!

Christ is

living among us

risen

and working quietly as a mortician

on the Upper East Side

Keeps regular hours

which is to say

nights

he is quick and efficient

embalming, dressing

preparing the dead

the results are so lifelike

some say

he works

miracles

And indeed

he could at any time

revive these bodies

laid out before him

on the cold steel table,

restore them to life

should he so choose;

but he does not

recalling poor Lazarus

who stumbled about

his remaining days

rotting from the inside

undone by life

only for Christ

to prove a point

And so he lets

the dead lie

makes them pretty

–creates final memories,

he likes to think–

and above all

keeps his head down

ever wary

of calling attention

to himself

Here it is, my final Thing a Day. Whew.

Some final thoughts: First, I want to thank you all for being a part of what has been an amazing journey. I initially began this project because I had become incredibly frustrated by the prospect of spending upwards of a year or more on scripts and other projects only to have them never see the light of day. I needed something more immediate, and my incredible wife, Lori Culwell, came up with and helped me create the Thing a Day Project. Over the last year, I have pushed myself in creative directions I’ve never gone before, come up with things that often surprised me, and, thanks to you, I’ve had an appreciative audience to share it all with.

I’d like to give you a final count of what I’ve done, number of paintings, songs, poems, etc., but as many of you know, the site was hacked a couple months ago and I’ve had to rebuild it, a process that’s still underway. Suffice it to say I now have more poems, paintings, photos and songs than I had this time last year, and I’m proud of a lot of them. By that I mean, I’m proud of the process to produce all of these works, but there are some standouts that I’m actually quite pleased with. The crucible of forcing yourself to create something every 24 hours can give way to some pleasant surprises and happy accidents.

I know at least one of you is going to undertake her own Thing a Day Project–congrats to you, Ms. Karen Greene. You have been my most devoted follower, and I know you’re going to enjoy the hell out of this process. I’ll be there to cheer you on.

Oh, finally–I’m going to be publishing a book of poems, complete with selected photos and artworks, that came from the Thing a Day Project. It’s as yet untitled, but I’ll be letting you know when it’s available. Also, I’m going to be keeping this site live in perpetuity as a place to post new works. I won’t be doing one every day, but they’ll keep coming nonetheless. For the rest of my life, if I’m lucky.

Again, thank you for being part of this. Here’s to an exceptional 2012!

–Stephan

Man looks down upon

man looking up

alone desperate lost and in the eye

of scorching miles of hectares

of red sand desert

Man Looking Up

thinks he spies

a glint above

in the glary blue orbit

which he does not

because he could not

and yet of course he does, sees

the Man Looking Down

some 200 kilometers up

cased in carbon fiber

and metal matrix

composite

Man Looking Down

light as thread

spies the encroaching red desert

spreading godlessly over

whatever land is left for life

dreams he sees in its midst

a Man Looking Up

neck craned skyward

a thing he could not see

but of course he does

they lock eyes

a full beat

arcing the impossible

moment already past

as the thread has already

snapped

leaving each man

as before:

alone to find his

way home

51

lives with his mother

you say

suffers acute colitis

likes to look at maps

takes his bag lunch to work

keeps it in the office fridge

tuna salad on white

milk box

a costco-bought

individual-sized bag of

cool ranch

doritos

38

has slight speech impediment

I say

held over from childhood

wanted to be an astronaut

no

really

that was all she thought about

ever

until her grades

didn’t cut it

so then she went into the army reserve

met another soldier

her superior

got married

divorced

never had kids

lives alone

in Queens

with an elderly

dog

and hates herself

with every cigarette

she smokes

Germans

you say

and you’re obviously right

it’s not just their shoes

but how they hold their faces

their mouths pitched

flat

their eyes

lacking cynicism

even though

they speak fluent english

never sees his kids

in meetings

found the man of her dreams

etsy account

wig

chemo

bi

and

you and I

noticing

our trays, cups

are empty

we figure

it’s time

we should

be getting

back

it started because you said

what would happen

if we exchanged selves,

you for me, only slowly

bit by carbon bit, one atom at a time,

when would you stop being you

and start being me?

that was about a month ago

now here we are

up to our hands and

feet:

your feet

are much smaller than mine,

the toes pink and slender;

mine thick, yellow-nailed, hairy

not to mention your tiny, perfect hands

(I’ve always secretly coveted them)

I can’t stop admiring your hands

jutting out of my clumsy wrists

but already

your digits, your cells

have started to inform,

to make their presence known

my mind dancing curiously

a plate of shifting sand

memories disappearing

new distinctions I have never

known myself to draw

clear into intention

or will

and it is becoming plain

that the mind is not simply

the mind nor the body

the body;

I am no longer wholly

myself, nor will be again

I propose to you

that we stop this nonsense

that you will be sorry

for the bargain of being me

and if we allow this to continue

you and I

will inevitably

and forever

agree

to disagree