there shall be an impediment in Tributary's flow for a week or so. Erin's off to see his father whilst Beth and I travel oot and aboot, New Jersey for sure, West Virginia possibly, parts unknown maybe. we took Erin to the airport this afternoon. only one parental unit could accompany him to the gate so I waited in the concourse, writing a little bit and watching people. Beth finally came out to say trouble. in Erin's carry on the crack crew discovered a weapon. the weapon was some costume crap he picked up at Anime Boston. sort of plastic brass knuckles. not markedly more weaponlike than human knuckles, more breakable in fact. Beth and Erin went thru the wringer for 45 minutes. they were asked trip up questions. even looking at his learner's permit and hearing what he said they're asking, so your permanent address is Idaho? and what's this sir? they asked him, to which he replied: a headband. Erin's a brown belt, this far from a black belt, in kenpo karate: he may not have to resort to attacking people with headbands. not that he gets in fights. for sure, Erin shouldn't have brought the thing. he's so innocent. when he got them, I told him, and Beth told him, that they will be construed as weapons. he just sees them as cool, part of the anime ambiance. that's what they are to him. I wish the world could really temper the wind to the shorn sheep. Erin doesn't get certain things, the social cues or whatever. he's as sweet as can be but this marks him. Erin is 6'5", 250 pounds, but he's young, younger than his years. the other day he picked up a sun hat, for the hiking he plans to do out west. it's made by some well known outdoors supplier, I forget which. a perfectly functional hat that he thinks is cool and many people will just see as an oddity. which trips the bell. score that as big galoot with a funny hat. it's like playing author picture snide, except that he's a kid and he's been hung with terms like Aspergers or Non Vebal Learning Disorder all his life. those are the polite terms, imagine what the assholes say. where is poetry anyway? as in the electric word registered in its distinct situation? rather than accepted as unbending indictment. Beth and I have to wish that Erin lose his innocence and openness enough to realize that funny hats spell doom. funny hats fail crush lists every time. that's the network message, bounced from antenna to antenna: mark the one that's out. I hate this shit so much. poetry is a serious event. not the people of poetry--fuck em all, me included--but the pleading of the langauge to be serious with us. but that plee must engage in a direct scorching honesty of energy. I mean an energy that overwhelms, pestering the stasis to pieces. poetry is broader than complaint, it's an increment of demand that involves language's completion. as opposed to the horrendous language clumped around missiles aimed at hospitals or what all. something is as serious as pang here, and it demands a constant and humble attention. I don't say I got it, only that I feel the necessity. anyway, I'm away for awhile, with camera, with computer (tho not connection), if only to charge my iPod and download the day's blurry pix. prolly have a birthday in the interim. fight the good, not the dickhead, fight y'all.