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May 23, 2019

In Praise of Barter

Matt Love NSP Meditations

Max wanted a copy of my book Sometimes a Great Movie. He’d read the novel, seen the movie, and so I dug one out of the truck and named my price—a local porter. Max agreed and the deal was sealed in the middle of his pool game in Oregon Tavern Age country.

I love barter. It feels so much more honest than traditional purchasing methods. It’s face to face. It is a agreed upon. A handshake is usually involved. It’s off the grid.

I am happy to barter my books and/or author coaching services and existential crisis counseling to anyone reading this post. Just let me know. Could be a hair cut, smoked salmon, artwork, music, car repair, items from the garden. It’s a good thing to have barter in your life.

May 22, 2019

A New Job

Matt Love NSP Meditations

I recently began a new chapter in my life by taking a part-time construction job. My friend, a builder, offered me the work and I accepted. I really didn’t have a choice considering my financial situation and eradication of almost all employment opportunities.

I continue to move forward in life. It’s a meandering movement for sure.

After my first couple days on the job, I was totally exhausted and my muscles twitched until the early morning. Sleep came hard. Did I sleep?

I have no carpentry skills. I didn’t own tools. I don’t know how to use tools. I am 55 years old. I am in decent shape. I haven’t done any consistent manual labor since leaving the wildlife refuge in 2008. I don’t have any work clothing.

I didn’t own any suitable boots until I bought a pair for $29.99, made in China, doubtless by child slaves. It was the first new pair of shoes I’ve purchased in over 20 years.

I did have a Leatherman tool.

My employer rigged me up with tools, a tool belt, safety goggles, confidence, faith, and has exhibited tremendous patience in training me. I ask a lot of questions. I don’t know the vocabulary of the construction trade. A nail gun and chop saw instill fear in me. I’ve always been nervous on a ladder.

But I am learning. I am walking into new story.

May 21, 2019

Letter From a Bonnie and Clyde Reader

Matt Love Bonnie and Clyde Files, NSP Meditations, Writing Bonnie and Clyde Files, dog book, dog writing, matt love, nestucca spit press, oregon books, oregon literature, oregon memoir, oregon publishing

I’d like to share an excerpt from a letter a reader of the Bonnie and Clyde book sent to me this week. Two friends sent the reader the book and I am grateful for that act because this letter deeply touched me and offered fresh insights about the book and its larger story of and institutionalized (and lucrative) inhumanity unique to America. The letter also reminded me how wonderful it is for a writer, any writer, to hear from readers, about where the writer’s words landed. I know I often write to authors whose books have made an impact on me. Typically, you never hear a thing back, but sometimes you do. I encourage everyone out there who loves books to communicate with authors and share your appreciation and insights about the work. Even conflicts or perceived inadequacies with the book can be shared. Most writers don’t want Valentines from readers, at least I don’t. It doesn’t matter if it’s a book, a poem, a painting, a fort, a song, a play, a craft, a grand meal. If the art and artistry moved you, let the maker of that art know.

Dear Matt,

I just finished The Bonnie & Clyde Files at my living room table with Glenn Gould playing the last movement of the Mozart Piano Concerto #24 in C minor playing on my stereo; perfect music for the ending of your book and what may come afterwards: a mixture of mysterious foreboding built into the main theme and throughout the movement, nostalgia for past beauty recently experienced simultaneously with Sturm und Drang on either side..

When I sent you my first email that I was “enjoying” your book, I immediately felt that was an inadequate and inappropriate word to use, although I was mostly thinking at that moment about your adventures with Bonnie & Clyde, the beautiful river sights, the formal structure of your book which is so powerful and profound as it proceeds, and the clarity and concise skill of your perceptions put into words, all of which I continued to admire more and more as I read deeper into the book. I must have been at around page 52 at that time.

Now that I just finished it, reading this afternoon from around page 71 to the end, I have deep emotions and feelings that have very little to do with “enjoyable,” but I can still admire the climax you so skillfully brought towards the end, like a dramatic symphony that both recapitulates itself and goes beyond what has come before to leave the listener, here reader, with its ending, at a peak of emotional, intellectual, and spiritual intensity that only resolves itself through a vow to continue onward as a more informed spiritual human being, much more aware of injustices and atrocities occurring in our natural and social environment, determined to take actions, or adopt appropriate inactions, to make our beautiful miraculous world a better place—I can say this of few books I’ve ever read, but know your are a true brother in spirit along with Walt (Whitman) and Hesse.

May 20, 2019

Response to Fort Protest

Matt Love Driftwood Forts, NSP Meditations, Oregon Beaches driftwood forts, oregon beaches

A while back, someone destroyed one of the forts I built and left the following note behind in my fort message box:

There’s enough

structures in the

world without you

also adding structures at

an undeveloped beach. I

enjoy undoing your work

every night.

At the time, I didn’t know how to respond, but mulled over the various possibilities:

Don’t respond.

Build another fort and see what happens.

Build a fort and stake it out, wait for him. Gather more intelligence.

Leave a message behind asking for a parley.

Leave an essay behind that shares my philosophy about fort building.

Leave a note behind saying he’s one in a million who hates my forts.

Leave a sentence behind asking why he’s so angry at a corral fort.

Leave an invitation behind asking for a longer explanation for his hostility toward the fort.

Leave him a screed that rips his wrongheadedness about forts.

Challenge to him some kind of duel.

Set up a booby trap.

A week or so ago, I built a new fort not far from where the destroyed once stood. I left behind a note (see graphic) inside a container.

I returned to the fort three days later and it had collapsed in a manner inconsistent with a collapse caused by winds or tides. (I know about these things.) I opened the container but couldn’t tell if the note had been read or not.

Now what? Do I continue to invite reflection and reconsideration? Do I give up? Do I put my fort energy elsewhere?

May 15, 2019

The Portal

Matt Love Driftwood Forts, NSP Meditations, Oregon Beaches driftwood forts, Oregon Coast, oregon travel

I walked a secret beach as the light came up. My mind moved in concert with the ocean rolling in to my left.

In the distance, at the wrack line, I saw an enormous piece of driftwood positioned in such a way that all its branches shot straight up into the sky.

I adjusted my course to investigate and beheld a sixty-foot trunk of a willow. There were beaver marks its entire length. It was the single largest piece of beaverwood I’d ever encountered. It might be the biggest one on earth.

And it was still alive! Green buds were sprouting forth into tiny little branches. It might live for years. A high tide might lift into a nearby place where it could reroot.

I started gathering wood to build a fort within this titanic piece of beaverwood. I built. I interlocked. I hoisted. More wood. More building. More bending and weaving of the branches and spars.

I stepped back to apprise the fort.

It was no fort. I was building a portal of some kind, one with no front or rear entrance. Just an entrance, an opening to somewhere in the mind, the heart, to freedom, to bliss.

One simply had to walk through.

I realized I’d never built a portal before. It just came to me as I built with driftwood. I never build with any preconceived notion. I just let it flow. That is why I build on the beach and will continue to build forts or portals or thrones until I die

Just start building and see where it goes. Writing is sometimes like that for me, but making something out of driftwood is something entirely different in my creative mind. Body, too.

You sweat when you build. I don’t sweat when I write. There’s something right there.

May 14, 2019

Truck Stop Diner Coffee

Matt Love NSP Meditations coffee shop writing

Off a highway. Foggy. Drizzle. Open 24 hours. No neon. Parking lot full of long haul rigs, work pickups, battered RVs.

I walk in and I feel like I’ve walked into a modern Western, all except for the faux wood flooring. I don’t think blood will pool and flow the same way as real wood. Too slick and shiny.

Wranglers and knives. Boots and Trump ball caps. Thirty different pies on the menu and oceans of drip coffee.

Pay at the counter and they bring it out.

I grab a corner table that’s out of the way of gunfire, should it all go down.

I started writing my modern Western the other day. It’s getting darker than I imagined. Kinkier, too. I should write some of it here.

Three old Trumpian men in the booth next to me yuck it up about their winning hand. They are the type of rough men who made a living with their hands who should disdain everything phony about Trump and his working class rhetoric. Oh well. The working class man voted for Reagan, too. Look what that got them.

Orders of biscuits and gravy. An old man falls asleep at the counter. A vintage Ford roadster pulls up outside.

A phone rings. The old man wakes up and takes the call. He’s barking out his conversation. He ends the call and limps out of the diner with a cane.

I’ve got lots of driving today. My mind is filled with the Western. I will write when I drive. I’ll be wearing the threadbare corduroy coat while driving. That coat was born in Yugoslavia and born to write a Western. It will figure in the novel.

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Teacher of the Year: A Novella

By Matt Love

A reluctant teacher becomes advisor to a moribund high school newspaper. He meets the new editor, a dynamic 18-year-old senior, and together they begin a unique creative collaboration that revives the publication and slowly slides into gray areas. As the poet Octavio Paz wrote, “To realize itself, love must violate the rules of our world...committed by two stars that break out of the conception of love, which implies breaking away and a catastrophe..."

Teacher of the Year
Amazon's Kindle Edition $6.99

Teacher of the Year unfolds in an energetic mixture of epistle, stream-of-consciousness, narrative and meditations on the craft and alchemy of teaching. There is no other more authentic literary exploration into the agonies and ecstasies of teaching in the annals of American literature than this novella.


A Substantial but Incomplete Autobiography in Poems

By Matt Love

In perhaps the largest, most eclectic volume of previously unpublished poetry in the history of Pacific Northwest literature, Matt Love presents 148 poems written over a 30-year span.

As he writes in the introduction to A Substantial but Incomplete Autobiography in Poems, “I have organized this collection into six categories: Ocean, Love, My Life, Oregon Tavern Age, Homelessness, Probation. These poems serve as a substantial but incomplete autobiography.”

“Confessionals, odes, scatological doggerel, polemics, tankas, haiku, prose, psalms, requiems, observations, love letters, lamentations, lyrics, stream of consciousness, meditations, lists, riffs, a eulogy, a sermon, a commencement speech, found poetry, tributes, elegies. I threw it all into an ancient cement mixer and hand cranked that concrete beast while watching blue herons undulate overhead and drinking red wine as the husky snoozed in his dirt fort. The result: A Substantial but Incomplete Autobiography in Poems, something merging where Charles Bukowski, Richard Hugo, Mary Oliver and Liz Phair blend together.”

None of Love's poems were ever submitted to poetry journals, contests or magazines, making this collection a true renegade project of passion and readable to any denizen of a coastal dive bar.

A Substantial but Incomplete Autobiography in Poems

Print Edition

$21.99 + $4 Shipping


Amazon's Kindle Edition $7.99 (Free if you have Kindle Unlimited)

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