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.
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.
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*
| Quentin Tarantino Your film will be 52% romantic, 31% comedy, 52% complex plot, and a $ 47 million budget. |
| He hasn’t really made many films, but each successive one is a bigger and grander project … and more violent. Karate CHOP! Your life story will probably star Michael Madsen, Uma Thurman, or some TV or movie star from the 1980s for which your film will be the comeback — let’s say Emilio Estevez. Maybe. Now that the QT is dating Sofia Coppola, maybe he’ll get some tips about putting some lump-in-the-throat romantic moments in his films. Quentin’s short directing resume includes Reservoir Dogs, Pulp Fiction, Jackie Brown, and Kill Bill Vols. 1 & 2. |
 |
My test tracked 4 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender:
|
| Link: The Director Who Films Your Life Test written by bingomosquito on Ok Cupid |
sparked by nerak_g‘s journal.
I’m not a Rockstar poet. No DPJ, no Slam titles. Minimal performance audio online for people to check out.
I’m a damn good writer and performer.
What would you suggest I charge for a feature? workshop, etc., without the benefit of all that lovely street cred?
(I’m really just curious — I have a high-paying day job PRECISELY so I don’t have to make these decisions.)
Kirsten Dunst
I sing of you,
Kirsten Dunst,
and your dark blonde image;
recall you tweaking me
in the vampire movie —
how did they get a little girl
to be that ravishing,
and what does it mean that
I noticed?
As a cheerleader you were
exactly as I imagined you would be,
like the girl I saw swimming
down the beach from where I fished
in high school,
and I reeled in the pickerel
knowing that you’d never be
mine, and I threw the fish back
in jealous anger.
In the superhero movie
you were perfect and unafraid
of the freaks who surrounded you,
and I began to have hope —
until I heard that out of character you were dating
the supermen around you and not the freaks.
Kirsten Dunst, those are all of the movies
I’ve seen with you in them. Maybe
you’ve made more, maybe not. Maybe
the kid in the coffee house
who insisted you were the sister
of that guy in Limp Bizkit
was right, maybe not. Maybe I’ve never really
been in love with you
and your wicked eyes. But it takes a village
to smother a child, and I think back to you
vamping for the villain
when you were so young, and I wonder
that I was so easily suckered myself,
that I dislike blondes but stop to stare
at you on a magazine cover, that I think I know
your every mood and move
without stepping inside a theater, that the village
makes us think you are someone we should know.
numbness as an approach to life is much underrated.
if i acted more in my self-interest, was more selfish with my needs and desires, i do not think i’d be happier unless i simultaneously became more immune to the pangs of conscience and self-consciousness that define me.
i think sometimes i will die in a flame of self-pity and foolishness.
Continue readingcouldn’t even see to drive this morning.
i usually get these when the stress in my life builds to an unimaginable level.
surprise.
in other news, i haven’t eaten and i haven’t thrown up.
whee.
(took me ten minutes to type this — i just checked)
Dark Matter 