Modern Lives

I saw this on Chris Murray's Texfiles , and thought it was fun, so here is my posting of it. Follow the link to Chris' blog to find her link to the game's original source. The Game 1. Grab the nearest book. 2. Open the book to page 23. 3. Find the fifth sentence. 4. Post the text of the sentence in your journal along with these instructions. Text: "Already he was thinking of what to do with his new find." Michael Crichton, Jurassic Park

I know my posts have been few and far between over the past couple of weeks. I'm nearing the end of my final semester as an undergrad and all those final projects that are due over the next four weeks have been keeping me on my toes. As Dolly Parton would say, "I've been busier than a one legged man in a butt-kickin' contest!" Here is another poem to sate your prosal appetites for a little while longer. ciao. The Farmer’s Wife That reminds me, I checked out this Othello play out of the library. It’s about a guy who loses his reputation and his wife, well, he kills her, but she made him. - Ai, “Penis Envy” from Vice: New and Selected Poems I don’t even recognize my hand holdin’ onto the axe swingin’ at your head, splittin’ it liked warmed fat. Don’t want to need you no more. Didn’t want it to come to this, you’ve told me for twenty years, “Baby, I love you. I don’t like hittin’ you, but you make me do it, sometimes you ma...

Hey my loyal reader(s), sorry it's been so long since my last post. Life, as they say, happens and I haven't had time to do much of anything aside from work, classes, homework, and more homework. Anyway, I promise to try not being so remiss about my posting in the future. I have posted a poem just below this for your viewing pleasure. Ciao.

It’s BOREDOM. Tears have glued is eyes together. You know it well, my Reader. This obscene Beast chain-smokes yawning for the guillotine— You—hypocrite Reader—my double—my brother! —Charles Baudelaire, “To the Reader,” from The Flowers of Evil Sitting quiet in my discontent, Restless, wound-up—pent. I scream in the loudest Silence. I disappear, Swallowed by want of escape. Implode—explode SOME mode different than this Static state. Indifference, my friend—my captor— Hears my scream, lies Makes for me a gossamer bed of Nothing. I lie in it, sinking down down down The softest down… Lull to sleep passions, Sedate ambitions, Mute desires, Paralyzed mind. I watch the world through a dream, cloudy, distant, disconnected dream. A dream where I, apparitional, observe, Resigned to my isolation, unable to partake. Aching the sweetest saddest ache— That part in me still aware— Objecting, rejecting my new-found fate. “Hush now, don’t cry. Sssshhhh...