Monthly Archives: February 2006

someone needs to explain to me

because I am evidently an idiot…

how the FUCK does one use the PSI website?

I come back all energized from Charlotte. I decide I’ve got to post something about the Ken Hunt Prize to the membership lists.

I try to sign on. I get told I don’t have my password right.

I decide I must have forgotten it. I send for a new one.

I get the new one. It works, I go into my account, I set my own password.

It works, lets me see my private messages. I sign out, try it again. Still works.

Get back in, change my e-mail on the account.

Try to access the forums. Tells me only users “with special access” can do that.

OK…Sign out, try it again. Nope, password doesn’t work. Find out my account has been deactivated because I changed “vital Information.” OK.

Reactivate account. Try to sign in. Password doesn’t work.

Send for a new one? I don’t think so. Think I’ll cool down a little first.


Because the phrase appeared in a poem at this year’s iWPS

Ten Top Trivia Tips about Sha clack clack!

  1. You burn more calories sleeping than you do watching sha clack clack!
  2. It’s bad luck to whistle near sha clack clack.
  3. When provoked, sha clack clack will swivel the tip of its abdomen and shoot a jet of boiling chemicals at its attacker.
  4. It’s bad luck to put sha clack clack on a bed.
  5. The patron saint of sha clack clack is Saint Eugenie.
  6. Cats use their sha clack clack to test whether a space is large enough for them to fit through.
  7. More people are killed by sha clack clack each year than die in aeroplane accidents.
  8. Women shoplift four times more frequently than sha clack clack!
  9. If your ear itches, this means that someone is talking about sha clack clack!
  10. The Eskimos have over fifty words for sha clack clack.

I am interested in – do tell me aboutherhimitthem

There is one incorrect fact here, of course…it’s “Inuit,” not “Eskimo.”


Protected: hi, lockety lock down guys and gals

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charlotte, 3:20 AM

it couldn’t be darker.
the light at the end of my cigarette
looks like hope instead of death.

i am again staring at the keyboard
with no idea what to write,
knowing only
that writing seems like a good idea
in a night so black that
a promise of cancer
seems like a beacon.

it must look different from the outside:
there’s water and wine here,
a lover sleeping nearby
with a stillness
which reminds me of a moment
before a door opens.
daylight is not far off,
and there’s a poem forming on the screen.

the breathing in the bed
calls me, but i will light
one more cigarette before i go,
giving me a quick dose of
my other chosen poison
before i turn back toward my life.


charlotte day something or other

See previous entry.

I guess I’ll do a full entry when I get back…

but hey Worcester-ites: Bobby Gibbs placed 19th over all. Wheeeee!


charlotte day 1:

i saw some people I knew.

I drank alcohol.

I hear there’s a poetry thing around here somewhere. I’m a go look.