I received an offer from a publisher to put out my long (long for me, 50 pages) poem EXPOSURES. The offer was contingent on me partially subsidizing the printing costs. I'd have to put up $250. That figure apparently corresponds to 12% of the $2000 cost of producing the book. I declined. It's not that I think, given current economic realities, that there's anything intrinsically wrong with such a scheme. I just can't afford to do it. Especially since I'm attending the Avant Writing Symposium in Columbus in August and that's going to entail spending hundreds of dollars--hotel, meals, travel costs, etc--over the course of the three days I'm there. I can't really afford to do that financially, either; but then I can't afford not to do it from the standpoint of my mental health. The opportunity to see and converse with Geof Huth, Crag Hill, David Baptiste Chirot, Sheila Murphy, Nico Vassilaksis and a host of brilliant others, all in the same place at the same time, is just too tempting an opportunity to pass up.

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EXPOSURES is, I think, a pretty audacious book. Its mix of poetry, philosophy and sex is not for the faint of heart. I think that if it is ever published it will create a stir. Strangely though I'm almost indifferent to its fate. It was something I had to write. It might be one of the best things I've ever written, but maybe I'll delete it at some point. I don't know. Increasingly I feel lost, alienated from the world of writing/writers. Which is why I think it is going to be so important to attend the Avant Writing Symposium in August and participate in a non-virtual community of folks for whom I have great respect.

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