Microdosing Monday: It’s fucking August

Hey. Happy Monday friends, felons, foes, and freaks.

I have been in the midst of malaise. I suffer from this human malady where my dishes need washing, over and over and over again. My clothes keep going through the same cycles. The moon has her phases. The sun comes and goes and the weather is rarely the same two days running much anymore.

In the middle of all of this, I have this thing. Doctors used to call it Oppositional Defiant Disorder. My mother said I was rebellious from the moment I was born. All of my ex-wives said I was the most stubborn and hard-headed man they’d ever known, and I tell you, I take their words for it. Whatever it is, this thing I got, I can’t make myself do shit that my heart is not into, and right now I have things to write, but it all comes out forced, except for the poetry. But even then, I’ve started jotting poetry in my notebook again, back to my original writer roots, and I haven’t been typing anything up, which ain’t good, because I have a long history of leaving my notebooks behind in places I never seem to get back to.

my current notebook I carry around with me

It’s not writer’s block. I can write. The stuff that I am writing is good, but I just can’t make myself sit down and write the things I should be writing.

It’s not depression. My will and desire to live each day still outshines my daily thoughts of writing my last punctuation mark.

And yeah, man, there’s some less than ideal moments to trudge through, and I know some of you worry about me, and I say, it feels so good to be loved and cared for, but you shouldn’t spend too much energy concerned in my direction. I ain’t digging ditches. I ain’t answering too many alarm clocks. I ain’t answering too much to anyone most days and that’s about as much freedom as I’ve ever dreamt of.

At Harrison Lake State Park where I spent an evening reading and writing recently

I’m ok. It’s just I’ve reached a point of feeling too loved, in that I can’t even mention in passing something like my debit card number getting stolen, and that I had to endure several days without a card, true story, but I can’t tell it without  people trying to send me a few bucks. And fuck man, I’ve needed some help over the years, and knowing me like I do, I’m going to need it again. But I read books like Gregory Corso: Ten Times a Poet (Roadside Press, 2024) a brilliant book by the way. It adds credence to picking him as my favorite Beat. We both got our educations outside of the universities. But Corso was also a not so great human and a grifter, and despite my rough, rocky exterior, I strive to be a good man, and I don’t want to ever be the grifter type of artist. I’m sick of doing art for the sole purpose of making money. Sick of it. So sick of it that I can’t make myself do it right now. Another artist laughed when I told them this recently. Said it sounded like the kind of thing only an artist would say.

I’ve debated shutting down my Patreon account for months, with the idea that I’d just post everything for free on Substack, but the Patreon provides two weeks out of the month’s groceries, and I ain’t a businessman, but that means if I doubled my subscribers I could eat for free every month. So, I’ll keep hammering at it for a while longer.

Meanwhile, much of the new projects I’ve been working on are personal, time consuming, and not for sale, although if you’re a patron, or in my inner circle of artist friends, you might find some fun stuff coming your way in the coming weeks. That’s the key word for me: fun stuff. It’s so fucking refreshing to say fuck it for a while and just have fun making art and cool shit.

I still think you all should go buy six copies of my books tomorrow as gifts for your neighbors. Really. You should. They’re good books that border on great. All of the reviews agree on that. They’re books that no other writer could quite duplicate, and they deserve a spot in every bookstore and library in this country, but none of them know that yet, and it’s been up to me and some savvy work from my publisher to get them into a new one every other month or so.

And I’ve still got books I’m working on, but right now, the fun stuff takes precedence.

So there’s your personal update part of the microdosing newsletter. I don’t know that I’ve ever said this out loud until now, but I’ve taken just as many heroes doses as I have micros. Might should have warned you of that before tricking you into subscribing. Or maybe you shouldn’t have taken my love of Hunter S. Thompson so lightly. Bat country is a real place my friends, and it’s not just outside Barstow and Loathing. You ever find yourself in Bat Country at a local Meijer grocery store?Ha! Now that takes some piloting and luck to navigate.

Hey. On the events calendar part… this Saturday is the night! Ben’s Backyard Birthday Blowout in Toledo! It’s going to be one of the biggest nights of my summer, and not just because I get the honor of hosting and reading a poem or two. Ben Stalets is like a close cousin to me, the folk hero of Toledo, and one of the best songwriters in the midwest. It’s his birthday Saturday and he’s playing with his whole band. I can’t wait. And the night includes special guest Don “Doop” Duprie, and if there’s a better songwriter in the Midwest than Benny, we all know it’s Doop. He’s the truest blue working class artist I’ve ever met, and I’ll put every pound of my blue collar street cred on the line for that statement. Don Duprie is the definition of Working Class Hero. The show is put on by Over Yonder Concert House, and friends, I’d love to see you there.

Still working on my tour dates for November. Those will come trickling in over the coming weeks as I firm up my travel plans.

I listened to Dave Alvin’s album Eleven Eleven (digital expanded) while working on the bulk of this. It’s one of my favorite records.

Books I’m loving?

Lots. Fuck I love to read.

Lady Sings the Blues, by Billie Holiday. Wow. Just wow. One of the most inspiring books I’ve read in a while. And the music history she pioneered and was a part of. Goddamn, what a good read.

I found this copy for a buck at a benefit book sale at The Old West End Fest back in June. 

This Is Poetry Volume III: Poets of the West. By Citizens for Decent Literature Press and Editor Michele McDannold. Wow. Just wow. Every poem so far is a firecracker in a tin can heart. Further cements my belief that you should read anything Michele works on. I have that much faith in her work both as a writer and editor. And I've discovered and befriended at least two dozen writers thanks to her publishing.

I got this copy for cheap on sale at www.magicaljeep.com

The Joy of Poetry. A collection of poetry by Jimmy Broccoli, Walden Quinn Caeser, Wendy Cartwright, Frogg Corpse, Chris Dean, Michael E. Duckwall & Rita Spalding. It’s a chap I got in a book trade with Walden Quinn Caeser. I got to read with all of the poets in the book at Insomniacathon 2024 recently, and I’m still floating on the good vibes that flow when the poets gather, and loved reading through the poems in this book.

And here’s a new section of the newsletter, debuting on the day Ohio certified cannabis dispensaries for recreational sales. Legal marijuana saved my life and continues to be a life managing and saving daily medication for me. Also, I love to get baked.

A new cannabis product I tried recently. The Goldkine live resin infused Stuffed French Toast, three pack of half gram joints. Goldkine is a Michigan grower that’s in the upper class of weed makers around. I’ve enjoyed every one of their other products I’ve consumed enough to recommend them, and these were decent hitting, good burning, quality infused joints, but it’s the second time I’ve tried a French toast strain and I don’t think I care for it much. So I still recommend Goldkine, but try the Donkey Butter. It’s one of my favorite strains.

And with that, I remind you that it’s summer. Go outside and play if you can. The world is big, and often beautiful, and we deserve to look at it.

So long for now. Talk soon.

Love,

Dan