Tuesday, May 30, 2006

There Are Some Things
Soy Sauce Just Can't Make Delicious

There is one word which must never appear on a menu--at least in English, and that word is rectum. I don't mind seeing dishes described as having kidneys or heads or feet, or even intestines, but if a restaurant offers such a--um--delicacy-- as pig's rectum, let's pretty up the name on the menu. Or else the birthday party of nine-year-olds will all want to try it.

I have no problem with pork butt, however.


Sunday, May 28, 2006

Haven't Heard The Word "Destiny" Once

Because I'm listening without really listening.

Lacuna Coil have outdone themselves with their latest CD, Karmacode. It's hard, it's dark, it's melodic, it's perfect.

I've learned to not listen closely to the lyrics, as the Italian idioms tend to translate stupidly into English, killing the mood, so to speak. But the music is sublime-- driving, throbbing, with plenty of middle eastern scales and runs to satisfy my exotic-seeking ears. They even cover Depeche Mode's "Enjoy The Silence."

Very, very cool.

Rockin' out,


Saturday, May 27, 2006

Watch For Me On
A Future Season
Of The Surreal Life

..I made the Blogebrity C list. Whohoo!

Drunk with power,


Tuesday, May 16, 2006

Letter To An Old Poet

Dear Old Poet,

Only 15 poets can read tonight, four minutes each. You know that. So what do you do? You shuffle up to the front of the room, with a bag of something, manuscript? Props? I don't know. But you start in, a tirade of some sort about a guy named David Lerner. You stand there, bow-legged and hunched, spewing and swearing and going on and on about all manner of things no one in the audience can make any sense of. The MC politely asks you to wrap it up after about , oh, I don't know, about ten minutes of your ranting.

So you keep talking. You're not reading anything, or reciting. You dropped your bag about five minutes ago, so why are you still up there? I start clapping, hoping others will join in and you'll get the point, that you're done. So very done. You call me a bitch, and I clap and yell louder, and finally, FINALLY-- you leave.

Look you crazy old bat, if you're not even going to read bad poetry, don't sign up. If all you're going to do is have an unmedicated or an overmedicated psychotic episode, please do it downtown with the other bag ladies instead of taking precious time away from people who at least think they're reading poetry.

Get off the fucking stage.

Pissed the fuck off,


Monday, May 15, 2006

Introducing The New 29 Hour Day

Life is busy and work is stressful and I'm overwhelmed and I wish I could find the PAUSE button or were at least brave enough to make the jump from this charging train.

Peter Murphy still rules.


Monday, May 08, 2006

Peter Murphy Rules

Things to Remember:

The power of poetry comes from the ability to defy logic.
Defy logic often.


The other thing is the ability to be remembered:
Love anything.
Love anything.

--Peter Murphy

Friday, May 05, 2006

Hostess of the Lostest

I'm at work, and we're getting a little sauced waiting for passers by to stop in and oogle the art displayed at the clinic for the neighborhood's First Friday exhibition.

There are fiveof us here, eating the food, dancing to New Age Techno, wantonly spritzing ourselves with a Flower Essence concoction, formulated to unblock creativity.

Now a couple of the gals are headed over the the Dermalogica display to play with the face goop, one of them accosting me with Vitamin C cream. It's not the kegger party of my youth, but this is as close to partying as I get these days.

Happy Friday,


Tuesday, May 02, 2006

Yes, I Need Attention And Validation

Tonight's Broken Word poetry reading went alright. Kat came to support me. Glad she was there. I read just one poem, since there was a four minute limit. I brought "safe" poems to read--poems that had generated positive feedback, and one "riskky" piece, that had not received any feedback. Kat snuck a peek at the risky poem and liked it, said it was different, which is why I liked it. It was the poem I initially planned to read, but had wavered, not knowing how people may react. I read "Egyptians," the long, untested poem for Alberta Street Pub's audience tonight, and got through it. All 75 lines--mostly from memory.

I'll return next Tuesday to read some more of my poetry. It's the only way I can sit through other people's poetry, like an instant karmic payback. If I have to sit through yours, you'll sit through mine. All 75 lines.


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