I just recalled that seide is from NOLA, and I haven’t seen her on here (naturally enough).

Anyone know how she is?

Fuck Kinko’s.

This is on behalf of someone else, who really, really needs it. 😀

I’m betting the Feds won’t fight to keep Biloxi, Gulfport, and New Orleans on life support nearly as long as they did Terri Schiavo.

It’s horrible down there.

But at least no gay marriages are taking place.

This just in:
Bush cutting short vacation to monitor disaster efforts from Washington.

Presidential spokesperson Scott McClellan strongly denies reports that Cindy Sheehan has been asked to monitor the situation from New Orleans.

i skipped poetry for a good reason that went bad.

don’t ask.

i went and had me several bourbons at a local bar instead, then toddled on home.

did some writing.

now, gonna do some sleeping, or as close to sleeping as i can ever muster.

in two weeks, i feature at the Hut. 9/11.

got an idea or two for something different.

hm.

later.

I love you too much,
my dark things. You are the apples
I tried to toss from the Garden, and somehow
you ended in my eyes.

I wanted a gun for Christmas, can you imagine;
I wanted a gun for my birthday.
I wanted a gun so bad
I couldn’t buy one myself
for fear of how quickly
I would kiss it, and have it kiss back.
I wasn’t quite done yet, after all.

I wanted
the fire engine I didn’t get
to roar into my room and arrive too late
to keep the bed from burning.

I wanted innumerable women to slap me.
I wanted to drink and drug and fuck
as if the world had given up on me
until the world gave up on me.

This morning I woke up
and the sun was doing, the leaves were doing,
the wind was doing an almost autumn thing.
All I wanted was to have the face of Cain
and to turn away, undefeated, toward
winter.

If I ask what’s wrong with me
too many times everyone will ignore me.
I will ask again, what’s wrong with me,
even though I know:

some of us break early
and the glue for that crack
turns to solid black as it dries.

on gender relative to race and work in early American society.

let me however extol the joys of being able to sit in bed doing said schoolwork dressed in damn near nuffin while listening to Jimmy Rushing.

let me say further that a Scotch is a wonderful thing — not several, but one well chosen Bowmore sipped slowly.

let me FURTHER say that even though this tiny, sad, beige laptop has the memory and computing speed of a snail’s elderly aunt, it works pretty fucking good for stuff like this. especially for 200 bucks.

i think i’ll paint it or get a tattoo for it.

out.

took a break. gave it another try.

wireless in full effect.

ecstasy.

meanwhile, in darfur…

and i’m stuck here schoolifying because my wireless network is fucked up and i can’t work outside…

tragedy.

meanwhile, in darfur…

a short walk through my small town at 2 AM.

amazed at the number of people still up watching TV.

a party in the neighborhood, folks on a third floor porch laughing quietly.

a calico cat frozen to see me in her domain.

a skunk crosses Main St in no hurry.

downtown, at the falls: i find i can see them in the dark, the full vision provided by sound and memory.

the party winding down when i got home.

my cats bemused, wondering where i’ve been this late, coming in sober footed and quiet.

no worries — just a busy day and a busy weekend planned…got a paper to finish and some online discussion work to prepare for class.

i may be scarce, but I’m ok.

I skipped a poetry reading tonight to work on a paper.

Every time I do a meme, I feel like a slacker for not being more original.

I’ve really tapered off of late, but I do get suckered in now and then.

Sometimes, a guy just can’t write a poem, y’know? Where’s Kirsten Dunst when I need her? (Or maybe I should do a Jessica Alba poem? Linda Hunt? How about Fred MacMurray?)

* mind boggles, then blisters*