Monday, April 25, 2005


I would just like to say, in light of how you don't really want us to email you regarding your blog, that I am glad you are alive and have always harbored a squishy place in my heart for you.

That's all.
If you wonder, why oh why is she declaring her love for that lame-o Will "wasn't he that dorky kid from star trek" Weaton check out HIS blog at

At some point later when I am not so pissed off about other things you will hear about shortly I will plug all my favorite bloggos and websites.
Just in case anyone is interested in what I do with my free time.

Wednesday, April 20, 2005

In Your Face Space Coyote

Man, there was something so important I wanted to tell you...And then my DSL at home went down and I found myself the victim of the 21st century.
So, now I forgot what I wanted to tell you. But, the computer seems to be working and, even though it's a little dark in this corner, I am taking full advantage of the opportunity.

I believe a couple of weeks ago I was thinking about posting some of my old poetry on this blog.

Blog...heh what a word.

Anyway, so I was thinking about posting some of my old poetry but then I was's OLD poetry. Who wants to read OLD poetry? I should be writing NEW poetry.

It used to be really easy. We used to sit in Dave and Seth's room with a pot of coffee and, uh...and we would write. All of us, like six or seven...depending on the night.
We would write and then stop and go around and read our work. Some of our best work came out of those nights I believe.

I miss it. I miss the culture of it. Like Mrs. Parker misses The Algonquin.

And it's not something that you can reconstruct. It was a very specific point in time. It was great. It was beautiful, it was bigger than all of us in the room. We had a lot of fun. And now it's gone.

There might be things, events or people who remind me of those times. There might be moments at night, while I am sitting at my computer writing by the light of a hazy moon. I might be listening to the wind whistle in through the window and wax nostalgic, wishing I could recreate those days. But I know I can't.

I'm happy to have the memories though. And, I'm happy to have the notebook of poetry that speaks of my 18 year old soul. I'm happy to know that the people from that room are still in my life and happy also that I know new people.

I talk Big Talk about creativity and fostering it in my life but I know it's never going to be like that again. Shame really but onward and upward as someone said. There are new methods to my madness now and I'll work the kinks out eventually.

Until then, here's one for old times sake:

Ode To The Girlfriend
(Second Draft 3/10/96...which I guess made me 20)

Oh, to be the ball and chain,
Provider of cigarettes and blow jobs in the backseat of family cars.
Oh, to be the impresser of parents
And babysitter's playmate on those retirement party nights.
Oh, to be the one he calls with his friends in the background
Laughing in a drunken, frivolous fashion.

As he declares that he can't live without you.
And he's sorry for what happened the other night in the park.

Oh, to be the one he runs to for sympathy with sniffles
When he is too old for his mother to really care.

And what about you?

You get to be the one who complains about insensitivity
and communication malfunctions in the bedroom and beyond.
You get to sit, sipping your pretty pink drinks with umbrellas
As he fails miserably at that game of darts,
That he plays worse than pool.

And you have your choice of songs on that jukebox:
The song you first met to
The song you first danced to
Or the song you first fucked to

But either way he wont dance until he's fully loaded.
Tripping the light fandango across the floor, with you in tow.
With his arms wrapped around you
But his eyes wrapped around that girl that sits with the beer in her hand,
Drinking and flirting with all the big boys.
And you're no competition for her with that hair, and those eyes
And those...those...those...

Until you put your tongue in his mouth
And your hand between his legs
To give him a little reminder of what you smell like,
What you look like and what you taste like
With him on your skin and him in your mind
And you in his bed.