February 2010 Archives
Flashback
Wow. In the transcription project, I just did a bunch of old poems from my teenage years. Crap. Crap. CRAP. Crap. And then this one with a little bit of potential that I wrote when my crush/girlfriend/”it’s complicated” started dating my brother. I may actually have to rework that into something I’m not ashamed of.
Well that was boring.
OK. I think I’m done with this stack of old people and even one old short story. It seems that I type faster that I think I do, but it was still D-U-double-L, boring. Of course, it doesn’t help that I added the side project “Finish tagging all old blog posts” to the list. *headdesk*
Know, what I’m gonna go do now?
File all of this old hard copy and, because I love dead trees, print hard copy of the new drafts, and file all of that. Then wait for Khor & Gray’s guests to show so I can have the wee one all to myself for a couple of hours. Muah haa haa!
Favorite Lines of the Day 4 “M.C.”
…Eloquent outbursts against character
Salve the blisters around him but
Only take the edge off
Before the blind hot id blasts away superego
In pelvic-shaking, beard-scratching
Air-groping breast obsession…
Favorite Lines of the Day 3 “Headache: Drug Change”
…It was born from a bad day and
A good drug and it swears to me
In a voice like bees in the blender
It will die when I’m over them both.
Favorite Lines of the Day 2 “Depression: Exhaustion”
…Posters advertising bands I once cared about
Peel themselves slowly from the stained walls
Seeming to sag inward and downward
I curl on the floor
Cushioned by filthy ripped towels
And shockingly white dishrags. The click-thud
Of denim in the dryer lulls me away…
Favorite Lines of the Day “Memory”
…This is a memory of my first love.
She was sweet, and soft, and fiery red,
and denied me thrice before dinner
when her parents came home early…
To Do Today:
Today I’m going to start the transcription process for all of the poetry that has built up over the past 6 months in my office. For unknown reasons my poetic work happens in two very different way: at the computer in Word ‘03, or in pen/pencil on paper either in my journal or my day planner. I’ve also been know to use whatever notebook, receipt, or bit of flesh is handy at the time and this had resulting in a filing system for my hard copy poetry that bears some resemblance to a dry compost heap.
As your reward for my hard work (how does that add up again?) I’ll post some of my favorite lines of the day as I stumble into them.
I’m feeling very ashamed of my terrible writing habits, especially when compared to Allena Tapia’s $1500 Day Every so often I realize that I’m not making anything of my writing because I have no discipline.
Oh, Yeah, and I’m Writing Again
I’ve started a series of poems about going to the public clinic. The first is about the psych clinic upstairs. To follow, I’m thinking of writing something about the main clinic downstairs, and another about the waiting rooms.
The depressing stained drop ceiling drools sallow light onto the wretched.A haze of body heat and unwashed clothes swirls each time a patient shifts on a wobbled-legged chairs
or cross in a shamble to enter the segregated place where the doctors keep to themselves.
The name called in a cough by the green-draped nurse is mine.
Hers is the only voice here, unless you count bits of internal monologue that burst loose in smoky whispers or momentary shouts, before the owners of the voices realize that the damper slipped.
