The ironic part is that even when I dream, it's about radio. I just woke from a dream in which I'm sitting in a movie with my wife and I'm getting texts the whole show from people at the station. The power in the neighborhood of the old studio is out, which means the transmitters won't work. Dead Air. I walk out of the movie three times to deal with it, missing some of the best parts of an unfolding drama.
The trick is to wake up and start writing. It doesn't work so much in radio, where you have to put at least some effort in before the show. If you wake up and just start talking, it sounds like the edge of a dream. That's cool for a while, but after a few minutes people know that you just woke up.
The ironic part is that even when I dream, it's about radio. I just woke from a dream in which I'm sitting in a movie with my wife and I'm getting texts the whole show from people at the station. The power in the neighborhood of the old studio is out, which means the transmitters won't work. Dead Air. I walk out of the movie three times to deal with it, missing some of the best parts of an unfolding drama.
Tonight’s poem is about
The light in my eyes. Sometimes it’s a sunrise Over the boulevard that Leads to a steel mill that Leads to jobs for a bunch Of people just like me. Sometimes the light Is midday on a park With a path around it That doesn’t really lead Anywhere but right back To where it started. That’s the point. Sometimes the sun sets Out far over Interstate 80 And a bunch of people in Illinois who couldn’t give A rat’s ass about what I Think about the light. Me neither. Good night.
|
I run radio stations and a streaming video network in Hammond, Ind., and write this blog.
Blog Archives
June 2022
|