Boo.

writing bad poetry
is easy
jumbled words
jumbled thoughts
and unexpected linebreaks

don't think, just write
toss in a few bad metaphors
like naughty schoolboys throwing rotten eggs

add one line that is unreasonably longer than all the others
one final twist
and with a punchy closing line
you are done

I like this shirt. It shows off my superfluous third nipple.

It's so strange that I have a fandom again ( Read more... )

Sometimes the door opens, and nobody comes in. It swings shut again, just out of my sight.

The air is heavy, metallic, and I know I am not alone. I am well protected, I know I am safe, but... I am not comfortable.

The line between reality and fiction blurs a little more.

Take a desk, a lifetime of crap,
plus a few months' worth of utility items
strewn across the table
my computer's inards hanging out
like discarded goat entrails

I reach out my hand to the hard drive
lying atop a tower of CD cases and books
lay it flat on the warm metal
absorb the heat while it attunes me
to its quiet hum

I am cold.

This weekend was a triumph of science fiction - I laughed, I cried. Yeah, really cried.

Good stuff.

I'm not sure if I'm early or I'm late (a common problem for me), but... the new Doctor Who is awesome.

Each day I don the armour once more, and take up my place... I am a soldier, marching in this army, larger than any that ever held guns or swords... but still our goal is the Holy Grail; every day we are asked to believe, and believe we do. We are on the road to salvation ( Read more... )

...cold cities and cut-ups, your severed finger, too many arthouse films, fucking tea heads, mucus, blood, ectoplasm and shit, for the yage, for the orgones, for the junk, submit to Scientologists, mark this work forever with her violent death, the zeitgeist shifts, fighting Tarzan for your name, lost forever in the twists of time...

I miss you.