Time to Change the Tone

Light some candles. Stoke the fire. Put on some Barry White. Aww... yeah. It's on.

My life is fucking amazing. There are new girls in my life. There are new goals and all kinds of new goodness. I won't go into the details, but suffice it to say that I can now walk into any bar, club, or restaurant in town and order a hand-job on-the-house.

That may be overstated. But you get the idea.

On a different note, I just went to see the new Harry Potter Movie... by myself. Does that make me slightly less debonair? No. But it does renew my reservation near the head-table in the Hall of Nerd-dom after the rapture. At least I can keep wearing my top hat.

Stay Thirsty.

So this is Catharsis

I was just broken up with. It was an amiable affair. There was no yelling--no shouting--no ill will of any kind. Just the quite understanding of two people, that the road diverged. It was an emotional event. One that I'll not soon cease to think about. The words hang in my mind. "We're not doing well." I knew what that meant. I saw it coming like the nimbi that betray the rough seas of destruction. And I cried. I cried like--well--a man facing the loss of--well--just loss. Is there any other kind? Though remain close, we will. For there is no reason not to remain so. In fact, t'would be a travesty (one that I'm afraid I could not bear) to do otherwise. I do not feel as if I left anything unsaid. And this brings be comfort. There is still love in the house of we. Though a love all together of a different sort.

Neither party knows what lies ahead--nor where their roads may lead. Who knows? They may trudge upon the trodden to find themselves once again in the land of milk and honey--together--walking down a road.

Ode to Venus

Woe to the deity who's light doth shine. Woe to the girl who, with kind lips, did beam at me so. Woe to me. For I do not know her name. A girl smiled at me today. A gorgeous girl. A girl who looked into my eyes as if to say, "Hello old friend. Let us sit a while, and chatter--and chatter about our days--for they have been long. Just as I long for thy company, and thy brawny caress." Oh Venus! Aphrodite! Calypso; if thou wouldst but find me again, whilst I am in life, oh what a happy baby duck I'd be. Quack, Quack, my darling. And splash I'd go. And the peasants would feast and rejoice, amidst the clamorous, slippery slope of amour. If you'd but call my name--just whisper--slight even to the moth; my heart would melt as the coldest snow saw the larks' return. Oh what a happy day that'd be. Oh joyous day, why do you elude me? I'd've spoken to you, my nymph. But alas! I was accosted--by pirates! ...pirates who wanted me to give money to save the environment. Who do they think they're kidding? This be-ist not grade school! Even the youngest youngling knows, the environment is forfeit! And its progeny condemned to servitude. Mother nature has failed. Haha! If she didn't want us to pave her fields, and sodomize her goats--she would have told us; given us some ill sign--like extinctifying the majestic Dodo--or cancer. But, my love, I digress. Tis the disease of the wise and of the foolish. A paradox? No greater than the paradox of love. Of which, I'm sure, you well know. For love is blind. And so who better to lead we who cannot see. But my mysterious mistress of the light, I'll soon bid you adieu. Fret not my darling. For soon we shall see, in slumber, what dreams may come. To bring courage, perchance? For courage lies not in the willingness of brawn to clash, but in facing the pangs of love with levity, and sorrow.

My personality is like Lance Armstrong in the Tour de France...

It wins every time and it defeated ball-cancer!

Where's the Canary?

So my situation has not improved much. That is to say none. Somebody should write a book.

I think I will.

Jibber Jabber
All the day
I can find nobody
To play with my ray-gun

Ok, so the book sort of turned into a poem. Deal with it.

Also, "ray-gun" = penis. I just thought you'd like to know.

-End Transmission-

Ooou bitches. You wish you had mad skills.

Lord I'm girl crazy.

I mean Lawsy.

Lawsy, Lawsy, Lawsy.

I say, hab mercy on ma' soul!



Those of you who understand where I'm comin' from, gimme a hell yeah.

I say Goddamit, GIMME a hells yeah!

This has been my poem...

on the nature of black holes.

So this is totally radical. But I'm going to recite to you, a story. Now, now. I know this is something new. But trying new things is how we participate in the march of progress. Without the invention of Eli Whitney's cotton gin, would the pursecution of the black man have shown a young America the wrong way to do things so she might throw those ways out, and find new and more subtle ways to subdue the black man? I rest my case.

So there once was a miner named Jim.
He mined all his coal in the dim.
He slipped on his back, And heard the coal crack.
And now all the boys call him Kim.