creativity
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There’s more, Leonard
“Poetry is just the evidence of life.If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash.”– Leonard Cohen I saw this Instagram post quote and thought: ash like the black strain on paper. but also the warmth of shared connection, the flicker of imagination’s possibilities, and the smoke rising up to the heavens. Continue reading
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Spin the (pharmacy) bottle
The medication for REM sleep disorder, what leads me to occasionally smack Patrice with my left arm as I reach out to catch a baseball or assume yoga positions while asleep, foregrounds my amazing Technicolor dreamscape which I jokingly refer to as the Chase Light Calliope Fun House of Madness. It is overriding another medication Continue reading
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All Those Antecedent Predecessions
It is the imposing of all those antecedent predecessions, the precessions of me, the generation of those facts which are my words. It is coming from all that I no longer am yet am, the slow western motion of more than I am.— Charles Olson, Maximus to Gloucester, “Letter 27” Continue reading
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my mind is a mobile
my mind is a mobile, by turns Calder or crib, measuring the Brownian motion of a furiously idle mind Continue reading
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The Chase Light Calliope Fun House of Madness
The medication for REM sleep disorder, what leads me to occasionally smack Patrice with my left arm as I reach out to catch a baseball or assume yoga positions while asleep, foregrounds my amazing Technicolor dreamscape which I jokingly refer to as the Chase Light Calliope Fun House of Madness. It is overriding another medication Continue reading
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Silent Running
Yes. I misspelled it, but I wasn’t at my best eight years ago. Bi-polar disorder met the job that almost broke me, and the Risperdal began to kick in. The pill saved me, and it erased me. I not only stopped writing, I stopped reading anything difficult. John Berryman and and Dylan Thomas might as Continue reading
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My Lost Years
This poem by Charles Olson so clearly captures my lost years, when poetry and I were strangers. The dose for bi-polar stole the lightning from my mind where poetry is born and I walked among the the dead of spirit. La Chute my drum, hollowed out thru the thin slit,carved from the cedar wood, the Continue reading
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Why I did not grow more conservative with age
More on this after I finish organizing my thoughts. Writers are among the most sensitive, most intellectually anarchic, most representative, most probing of artists. The writer’s ability to imagine what is not the self, to familiarize the strange, & to mystify the familiar—all this is the test of her or his power. — Toni Morrison Continue reading
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The Fun House of Madness.
In a comment on a post of on Facebook I came up with the perfect description of my nightly dreamscape: A film by Federico Fellini, produced by Luis Briñel, from a script by David Lynch, Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. Or as I like to to call it The Chase Light Colliope Fun House of Continue reading
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Bohemian Dreams
The online French Quarter Journal published a story On the Origin of Jackson Square Artists: “They were a rowdy bunch” and I immediately thought of my father, Sidney J. Folse, Jr. A senior architect at the prominent local firm of Curtis & Davis, from the age before computer driven design when architects had to draw Continue reading
About Me
Mark Folse is a provincial diarist and aspiring minor poet from New Orleans. His past blogging adventures included the Katina/Federal Flood blog wetbankguide on blogspot.com which David Simon told NY Magazine was one of three blogs that helped inform Treme, and Toulouse Street–Odd Bits of Life in New Orleans, which once outranked the Doobie Brothers on Google Search. His work has appeared in The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature, The New Delta Review, Metazen, New Laurel Review, Ellipsis, What We Know: New Orleans as Home, Please Forward, The Maple Leaf Rag IV, and A Howling in the Wires (which he co-edited).
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Well Bottom Blues 