Jeff Buckley. The Hotness.
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Archive for September, 2007
can I get some pure male opinion?
Sep 26th, 07
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If you looked at a guy, even if he was innocuous, and you immediately didn’t like him on sight, what would be your excuse?
downhill post.
Sep 26th, 07
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I felt compelled to blog today. I’m not sure why. Over the past half hour I’ve opened up WordPress only to close it, look at something else, then open it again.
Yesterday was a useless day. I woke up feeling fine, then was throwing up by noon. Not good to leave work early and shut down for the day, but that’s what happens sometimes.
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attitudes.
Sep 21st, 07
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A conversation yesterday prompted me to think about my past year as far as my attitude towards my life and writing. I’ve really thought a lot about it in 2007 especially.
For me, it all starts last year, when Uncle Bobby died. It was so fast, and we all had a lot of hope that he was going to make it, but he couldn’t. Once again, there was a routine of mourning and hurting and shock and all of it.
I started getting this sense of impatience about human beings. In a way, I’d already started having that sense after both losing Mom and Dad: this sense that this is the only life you’ve got, so be honest, be funny, be an asshole if you need to. Just be. And it wasn’t a feeling of fuck it, let’s just be hedonistic or irresponsible, it was more of. I don’t know. Just embracing the clishés because they’re there, but knowing that’s not all– they’re just the start of something.
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sometimes you have to just keep rolling.
Sep 20th, 07
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It’s been one of those weeks. In my head the wheels are turning, but the actual motivation took a nice nap on a beach somewhere. Work has been sporadic this week, at best.
I got an email a couple of days ago, about something else, with a PS about how I’ve left a void in the poetry scene. Um, not really. Because if people really gave a shit about me, I’d be getting more emails about it. Seems that people only care if you’re making a stink, and I can’t care about making a stink (or even making a perfume) anymore.
Plus, in this email exchange was the idea that there are so many new people in the scene that my old stuff would sound new again. There’s a problem with that logic: that’s why it’s called Old Stuff. It’s old. In fact, it’s not even relevant to my life anymore. Why would I want to be entering my 30′s doing the same 3 poems from the past 5 years?
Besides, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I actually thought these new folks would like it. These are pieces that had their time, hit their peak, had their moment, and now they can sit on a hard drive somewhere and maybe get dusted off for nostalgia every few decades.
I have no regrets about those pieces. They’re a part of me. But Jesus, let’s move on already.
I’m supposed to be working on a couple of short stories, and I would really rather work on the novel. But working on one will be reward for working on the other. Because writing is fun!
sharing a poem.
Sep 19th, 07
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The Believed-In
James McMichael
Christmas comes from stories.
These promise that God’s love for us will outstrip death.
Only if it’s not likely to
Can the believed-in happen.
All I can be sure of waiting for it
Is that I want it to come. Than almost anything,
I’d rather it be love that at its last the body can’t
Take anymore and
Dies of,
Alive at once to its having been made good.
Results at the end vary. Children
Beloved by them are sometimes told by the dying
”I thought it would be you of
All people who would keep me here.”
If it’s to be to God’s keep that I give up those I lose,
Then God both knew what it was to lose a son and could do
Nothing either time to save him.
That doesn’t sound like God. God can do all.
Lost twice to body, Jesus was as quickly back again in
God’s love forever. There’s much I’m thankful for in my one time.
It was given to me to have been
Loved for my first six years in a house that had my nanny
Florence in it and my mother and dad. Never talked about
Even by them,
My mother’s doom was there too. In the looks those three passed,
Each had to have seen the stakes in who was who
And may have wanted to switch.
I’m lost to the ways that love is right
At bodies sometimes, always just as it’s leaving and
Often without touch.
sluggish.
Sep 17th, 07
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…which is how I feel this morning, even though I was up at 8:30 after a full night’s sleep and a half-hour of interval training already. Bad (but fucking cute as hell) shoes over the weekend make for no distance running today.
Overheard in the bathroom at the MGM this weekend: “He seems pretty cute. I think he’s still in his 20′s though.”
No writing done this weekend, but being on the Strip counts as research. So I did do work. In my mind.
Man, Brett Somers and Robert Jordan all in one weekend. I know, two completely different ends of the spectrum. I’m such a pop culture nerd.
The haircut is going down well, on all levels, from just looking damn cuter to getting grabbed a few times over my Saturday night.
So. Those are the highlights so far. I’ll probably have more at some point this week.
my favorite band right now.
Sep 11th, 07
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Ladies and gents, get familiar with Beirut if you haven’t yet.
(I hope you can see the video. If not, check out their Take Away Show at La Blogotheque.)
new poem.
Sep 9th, 07
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It’s a protest poem, of sorts.
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…and this too.
Sep 9th, 07
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When I was at the coffeehouse earlier today, I saw someone standing there who was a regular at the reading I used to host. He and I used to talk about drawing and suspension. But when I looked at him to say hi, it was like I was invisible.
I wasn’t even looking for an affirmation or anything. Just a simple “Hey, I haven’t seen you in awhile” and leaving it at that would’ve been fine with me.
But I got two and a half pages in after that, so I guess that’s a big ‘ol metaphor for why I’m not going to poetry readings anymore. I need to get some writing done, people.
(I have a recording to post, but I’m going to wait until tomorrow.)
