how many liberal activists does it take to change a lightbulb?|
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Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in
it's a dog eat dog world, you taste like chicken's LiveJournal:
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|Wednesday, April 30th, 2014|
|napowrimo submissions 31-39/30
5 poems from the erasure of Heart of Darkness to Muzzle
5 poems from the erasure of Heart of Darkness to Crux
3 poems from "dear breakfast, you made me..." to Literary Orphans
5 poems from the erasure of Heart of Darkness to Front Porch
5 poems from the erasure of Heart of Darkness to Smartish Pace
(you should read the poem linked to. NOW.)
3 poems from "Codename: Cassandra" to the Baltimore Review
(go read what's up there after visiting Smartish Pace)
6 poems from "Codename: Cassandra" to The Smoking Poet
5 poems from "Alla and the toreadore" to The New Yorker
(yeah, I don't expect anything to come of it either)
the Abigail cycle from "the Wives of David" to The Atlantic
(while I'm being brave)
|Tuesday, April 29th, 2014|
|Saturday, April 12th, 2014|
I've been sick for a few day, but I'm going to get it together today.
|Friday, April 11th, 2014|
|Thursday, April 10th, 2014|
|Tuesday, April 8th, 2014|
|Monday, April 7th, 2014|
|Sunday, April 6th, 2014|
|Saturday, April 5th, 2014|
|Friday, April 4th, 2014|
|Thursday, April 3rd, 2014|
|Wednesday, April 2nd, 2014|
|Tuesday, April 1st, 2014|
|Tuesday, September 17th, 2013|
|People who should die in a fire Episode 2 : Sophia McDougall
Sofia,I must admit that I did not read the entirety of “I hate Strong Female Characters” (http://www.newstatesman.com/culture/2013/08/i-hate-strong-female-characters) which invokes Sherlock Holmes 5 times and even has a Dr. Watson cameo. There was something shinier that distracted me from your poignant column. I’m sure you understand as you have apparently never read any of Arthur Conan Doyle’s installments. You must have been too busy washing the ink smudges out of your blouse from cradling the newest Marvel release to your chest or, “OMG, Buffy Marathon!” But the answer to all of your questions: Irene Adler.Thanks for playing,CTRL + Fp.s. Twit twat?
|People who should die in a fire Episode 1: Charles Warnke
Dear Charles, Charlie, Chuck,I see that you are having a hard time getting a date these days, or, at least, that is how it appears given your choice in posting “Don’t date a girl who reads” (http://sean.terretta.com/dont-date-a-girl-who-reads-charles-warnke). You could have found a better wing man or woman. You could have filled out a 40 answer questionnaire on eHarmony.com. You could have even given more thought to the watering holes you visit as clearly the Coyote Ugly and the Rainbow Room haven’t been working out for you. But these answers to your dilemma are for the weak willed and stupid because they are obvious. You want the mystery prize. And that’s okay, I guess—engage operation metrosexual cuttlefish (http://www.livescience.com/21374-cuttlefish-gender-bending-disguise.html). However, please bear in mind that just because you trick your competitors into leaving this illusive “girl of your dreams” who—shocker—reads, doesn’t mean that she’ll sleep with you. Take it from me—I’m female and I read—if it’s one thing that girls who read don’t like, it’s pandering. I want you to get a date—I really do. If it means that I will never be exposed to such blather again, I’ll be your wing lady. So let’s review—call it a trip down the path that makes you so lonely.1. Don’t date girls. For one, it’s illegal. And unless you want to talk about the merits of the “I must, I must, I must increase my bust” exercise program (http://judyblume.com/books/middle/margaret.php), I suggest you investigate other vintages. 2. Oh, by “girls”, you meant "anything with a vagina"—preferably human. There were a lot of word choices there: women, ladies, dames, etc.; and you chose “girls”. Here’s a hint: don’t take your symphonic inspiration from your kitchen (http://www.georgeforemancooking.com/). Here’s another: Try to steer clear of euphemisms for the female anatomy and technical terms for the females of other species and you’re golden. (No, texting, “Hay, ewe!” is not cute and does not show that you have L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E chops.)3. Avoid hetero-centricity. Not all females seek males. Not all males seek females. And celibacy is still practiced in some places.4. You started off on the wrong foot. Everyone contracts foot-in-mouth disease sometimes and nervousness tends to exacerbate the condition. I understand. What I don’t understand is why you seem to think that Tourette’s syndrome is also contagious. Did you really need to lay the f-bomb out there at the end of the paragraph like that? I can see using it in casual commentary/conversation, but in something that I assume you put quite a bit of thought into? No.5. Maybe it’s that you have no friends and this was your first chance in a long time to lay it out there. Still: poor decision, Chuck. 6. As I read through your catalogue of what you later characterize as “Purgatory”, I can’t help but wonder, “Why is it the woman’s fault that you are unhappy in this hypothetical?” Honestly, your Plain Jane at some point in this narrative purchased a romance novel while picking up groceries to ensure you don’t face the same fate as Dale Peterson (http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/02/16/dale-peterson-arrested_n_2702319.html). She loves you even though you’ve cast yourself as Sisyphus and her as the boulder. And because of her love, she knows that to read anything that weighs less than a pound (a sign above the registers, say) would damage your nerd-chic street cred. 7. That romance novel gave your homey wife new ideas—exciting ideas. So while you had your nose buried in the latest Dave Eggers masturbatorathon, she was realizing the potential of your business partner, your sister and/or the massage thing she got you at Brookstone for Xmas (http://www.brookstone.com/lelo-smart-wand-vibrating-massager). 8. Too bad you’re so empathetically challenged that you couldn’t see that one coming. Nor could you presage the note on the bathroom mirror informing you that she’s eloped to Tijuana with Miguel. I said, Miguel. Miguel. Oh, in the name of all that is unholy: THE GUY WHO MOWS THE LAWN! (Forgive me. I forgot that she was always the one to deal with him because you can’t be bothered to remember the name of anyone who doesn’t quote Chaucer at random.) 9. So now you’re dead. Your sister is happy that she no longer has to miss her soaps because you’re sleeping on her couch and she can buy herself a new pair of shoes since the family budget isn’t as strapped by your need for reading glasses, therapy and chianti. Boo hoo. No one will ever write of your brilliance that was snuffed out by that shrew of a wife because a one night stand can only mean one thing: a dolorous, life-sapping marriage. Wait— "http://t3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQdlLKHtwCOycwTJdPv1DxedzaaAkOteEy-A0CNB4ez_yNBQ9B_10. Now you’re onto “girls who read”. Phew. And you want to ensure we know that you’re not just a misogynist, you’re the misogynist. I have a lot of questions. For starters: Since when has upchucking a dictionary been part of the mating ritual? Never. The answer is never. Using words in this way makes you look like you want to look smart. That in turn makes you look like an asshole and an idiot at the same time. I can say one thing for you: you sure know how to multitask.11. FYI: Not everyone who reads is into Baugh and Cable (http://www.amazon.com/History-English-Language-6th-Edition/dp/0205229395) and none keep a spare blackboard in their panties to diagram sentences on demand. Relax.12. On the other hand, did you really have to beat that dead horse into pulp just to demonstrate your grasp of what exactly a run on sentence is? Not only did you ruin the shoes of “the girl who read”, you drenched her in equine innards. Now she needs a shower and an antacid, not a salad and a Manhattan. Good grief, Charlie. 13. Sharing is good. Sharing preferences with a potential mate is great. I am glad that you’ve shared some of your preferences like: you disdain pick-up lines, you favor the pick-up essay. So keep it classy. There’s no need to dive into the double-entendres just because the subject of plot has popped up.14. I must have drifted off in your ramblings—somewhere between your Ovid diatribe and the soup course, if it matters. Catch me up: Who type cast you as hero? Who said there was ever need for one? Who’s driving this hand basket, anyhow?15. Let’s talk setting. There are lots of places to read. A grass knoll. A 4 hour plane ride to something more interesting than this conversation. Some are not urban. Most are not cliché. Wait, I know you! You’re the guy who waltzes up to me while I’m engrossed in something that is very much not you and inserts yourself into whatever it was that I actually appeared to be enjoying (again, not not not you) with a jaunty yokel, “Whacha readin’? Whassit about?” This is by far the worst way to attract a reader as we assume that you’re just another creep trying to save us from the big, bad book. I can handle paper cuts on my own. I didn’t come to this coffee shop to purchase a ticket for the love train, thank you. 16. Finally, the truth has come out: you think all readers of the female persuasion are delusional—being so hopped up on the fumes of Eat, Pray, Love as is our wont. Let’s make a wager: I bet if you took a poll of women who read that you would find that a grand total of zero have been magically altered from their rightful male aristocratic state just because they like Orlando, they don’t get all hot and bothered by The Dead, and they are absolutely not lying awake singing, “One day Prince Humbert Humbert will come to kidnap, and rape, and kill me… la la…”17. If you win, I’ll let you buy me a drink. If I win: He’s your Hemmingway, so tie a sack of The Sun Also Rises around your ankles and drown.
Best of luck,
Don't call me
|Saturday, April 13th, 2013|
|napowrimo anthology day 19
Once in a village that is burning
because a village is always somewhere burning
And if you do not look because it is not your village
it is still your village
In that village is a hollow child
You drown when he looks at you with his black, black eyes
And if you do not cry because he is not your child
he is still your child
All the animals that could run away have run away
The trapped ones make an orchestra of their hunger
The houses are ruin Nothing grows in the garden
The grandfather’s grave is there A small stone
under the shade of a charred oak Who will brush off the dead
leaves Who will call his name for morning prayer
Where will they—the ones who slept in this house and at from this dirt—?
Whitman Award 2011
|napowrimo anthology day 18
Don’t take it personal, they said;
but I did, I took it all quite personal—
the breeze and the river and the color of the fields;
the price of grapefruit and stamps,
the wet hair of women in the rain—
And I cursed what hurt me
and I praised what gave me joy,
the most simple-minded of possible responses.
The government reminded me of my father,
with its deafness and its laws,
and the weather reminded me of my mom,
with her tropical squalls.
Enjoy it while you can, they said of Happiness
Think first, they said of Talk
Get over it, they said
at the School of Broken Hearts
but I couldn’t and I didn’t and I don’t
believe in the clean break;
I believe in the compound fracture
served with a sauce of dirty regret,
I believe in saying it all
and taking it all back
and saying it again for good measure
while the air fills up with I’m-Sorries
like wheeling birds
and the trees look seasick in the wind.
Oh life! Can you blame me
for making a scene?
You were that yellow caboose, the moon
disappearing over a ridge of cloud.
I was the dog, chained in some fool’s backyard;
barking and barking:
trying to convince everything else
to take it personal too.
Current Mood: blah
|napowrimo anthology day 17
THE SABINE WOMEN
O Ravishers, O Husbands, you have won:
We are the country that is tamed by children.
Light-footed maidens now waddle behind
Bellies in which two histories quicken the future.
Tomorrow will dawn with a pang, like breaking waters.
Oh you have yoked us, yes, but you have yoked
Us to yourselves—now, see, you too are bounded
On all sides not by enemies but in-laws.
A sigh has turned the heart into a hearth:
Let marriage be a truce—for from now on
The war between us is a civil war.
~A. E. Stallings
Vol. 14, No. 3