I won the slam tonight. First serious, for-the-team competition I’ve been in ( I have participated in a couple of demo slams and I won the MC slam at IWPS 2003) since 2001.
I’m in the semi-finals.
I’m playing to win.
Category Archives: uncategorized
Boy…
This place is sleepy this weekend. I would have thought the Dickinson ripoff would have engendered at least one outraged and/or amused comment.
#6.5 Liter ( a la Emily D) + Guitar Geekery, Again
My Escalade — is Noble —
Eight Sparks — it goes at Will
Its doors — the gates of Excess —
Forever roll — the Rims
More room than Heaven’s mansions —
No Hyundai dare approach —
Toyota — under my Wheels —
Honda — left in Smoke —
Fuel tank drawn from Oceans
Of Oil from whitened Sands —
When rolls the Cart Triumphant
No conscience tug demands —
High above — the Masses
Far beyond Critique
All shudder when I Steer her
I am — the One Unique
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In other news, I recently broke three of my nails on my picking hand — badly so.
This means I’m finally learning to flatpick, at least as a temporary measure.
Funny how small a difference in motor skills can be so difficult to master.
Night Moves
Sometimes, I don’t think I’ll ever write anything again because I’m feeling so burned by the reaction to what I’ve written before that I’ll be second guessing myself forever.
This isn’t entirely sparked by the earlier controversy here, though it certainly applies. It’s just another general observation about me and my big goddamn mouth, my inability to breathe before I write, my insistence on being right over being a caring person.
I know who I am, y’know? I know what my intentions are, what I feel. I’ve been in therapy too many years not to be self aware to a fault.
It doesn’t give me the license to be so ruthlessly blunt that I hurt people I care about.
Most of the time, I hate myself. Sometimes, I just find myself bewildering. It leads to the question:
Am I more truthfully depicted in the eyes of others than I am in my own heart?
I hope not. I hope so.
oh, ferchrissakes.
johnnylexicon has deleted his journal.
Someone go get him and tell him to come back, please.
Don’t hate the players…well, ok.
I just fucking hate smart people sometimes, you know? I hate elitism. Sometimes I hate intellectuals and can always completely understand the reasons for the anti-intellectual moods of this country.
I hate smugness and holier than thou. Hate the words “trailer trash” and “flyover states”. Hate the “stock car drivers only can make left turns” attitudes of my artistic brethren. Hate that every stupid person on TV is given a Southern accent.
I’d be kinder about the difference between these people and their attitudes if they were less sure they were right. A pat on the head and a knowing smile and they turn their backs on their fellow citizens, their enthusiasms, their lives.
The feeling that if everyone was just exposed to poetry, art, music the way WE are they’d all be better off, they’d just love it and they’d all be so much better for it and the war would end in Iraq…
Horseshit. Because quite frankly, a lot of people think we’re full of shit. And after thinking about it, a lot of people are right.
We are full of shit — because we pretend to care and we don’t. We like the masses as metaphor and the culture as a backdrop for our ironic musings. And as long as it stays that way, we’re good.
Sometimes, my fellow artists, intellectuals, brilliant thinkers — it all makes me want to puke.
plessy v. ferguson
black here
is evil. unknown.
impure. red is angry,
yellow is cowardice, brown
the shade of shit and dirt.
white is so pure
it stings.
and the light
between colors
is denied.
every attribute’s
been attributed
by someone who does not
own it.
go out and roll around
in the hues of the race.
see if then you can call me out
by the beliefs you’ve been fed.
when you’ve finished
give me a call here
in the dark and i’ll open
the door to my room
to you. i’ll hit the switch
and then you decide what you
want to call me. i know already
what to call you, but i’m willing
to change my mind.
the NASA scandal is far bigger news than it should be on all fronts. it’s barely original enough to be turned into a Law and Order episode.
then again, we do love to scorn those among us who have snapped the mental carrot. nothing like feeling superior to take our minds off our troubles.
in other news, i’m done throwing up for the night if only because i have nothing left in me. ya gotta love migraines — how beautifully they level you.
i can only get about this much time on the laptop before my eyes start to hurt and my stomach begins to quease.
maybe tomorrow i’ll be better. maybe not. life’s like that, y’know — a box of chocolates someone spit into. a crapshoot with real guns. a bowl of cherry bombs.
boom.
brownie writes the letter
dear tony:
i sit inside and watch you. remember
that phrase, it’s always darkest before the dawn?
that’s why they call it night. i sit in that dark
and watch you not acknowledge it.
you stay in the dark and pine for day. you think
it’s a problem to sit in the dark. you imagine
i’m with you on this. i’m not much inclined
to agree with you. i sit in your dark
and watch you sit in the dark and cry. you
ought to sit back and watch how the sky changes
and how the splinters of the city’s sparse life fall out in the street
and people still live though it’s hard to see. tony,
you dark sitting man, you know it’s a passing phase
and still you sit and stare for hours out of the window
and from where i sit you’re surely some kind of fool.
it’s no holocaust out there. it’s no holocaust in here
either and what you think is heat from some imminent oven
is just your own blood rising to the challenge.
it’s always dark somewhere, always light somewhere else,
and i’m always here next to you, the boy nickname, the affectionate
and tough altered ego you won’t admit to ever having known.
dear tony, dear boy, dear man,
it’s dark here i know, but i can still see you.
i’m here all the time. can i get you to read this
before it’s too late? turn the light on and give it a try.
yours,
brownie
Delivery Boy
It doesn’t matter to me what happens to my poems, as long as they live after me and independently of me.
I do not believe that I matter except as the person who got them here. The delivery boy.
What people subsequently do with them is not up to me.
do you know what you like?
do you know it when you see it? do you just get a sense? does it just cry out to you? do you just know?
Retrospective
what i was
was an injury
unpatched. i was
unnoticed evil. i was
public good and that felt
like i was a balloon stretched too
tightly, full of air, ready to
pop and leave scraps and sound
behind me. i never knew
anything about love on my own, just
what i felt from the person across from me —
at least until the end, when a glimpse came to me
so late its promise made me laugh
before i wept. too late
i recognized the dead man in my poems
who mocked me — how can you create, son,
if there’s nothing inside you to work with?
i was a wound with a ragged edge
and a stitch or two, here and there, that
had long ago let go and left only
black threads to show the attempt.
i was futile, i was a robe on the bed
without a body to fill it, and when i finally understood
how little there was of me i let even that slip away.
you can read my poems now and imagine
a man who wrote them. i never knew him.
what i was was a script for a poet, not
the poet himself. you can protest
but i won’t hear it. i don’t
have an ear on my head that’ll work for me.
Invitations to the Dance
1.
hi i’m new here and thought it might be fun
to keep in touch with friends
and maybe meet some people
come say hi
2.
two vast and trunkless legs of stone
stand in the desert
3.
preferences: children?
love kids, but not for me
4.
shoutout to all the shortyz
5.
don’t send me a picture of your dick
show me a face pic first
i’ve seen cock and unless
you’re the biggest on the site
it’s not going to make me cum
6.
look upon my works ye mighty and despair
7.
trajectories computed
throw weight calculated
impact accuracy determined
8.
hi
i never thought i’d be writing something like this
hi
this is the last place i thought i’d end up
hi
is there a woman out there who wants a nice guy
hi
i’m funny and sensitive like poetry elliot smith and sufjan stevens
hi
any other dave matthews fans out there
9.
statues break because they do not take themselves lightly
10.
what you conceived in a moment of loneliness
lasts beyond your subsequent coupling
11.
i’m currently in a relationship
and am only looking to play as a couple
12.
any hotties looking to chat
13.
someone’s raised a long hard rock with his name on it
putting it out on the web for all to see
email me for a webcam show
email me
14.
see the crumbled state
the war as lover
reaching for the next place
to make a stand
15.
hi
i’m new here
Dark Matter 