May 2010
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shi wo kaku koto: ain't no ihop →
i love jeshka, jeshka went to young writers workshop with me in 2003 (dat links to a pertinent LJ nostalgia-post of late) and i believe even went a few more years after me. (i was one of the old batshit crazy ladies in the belfry, 1 of the 2 kids about to go to college in the fall, it was a high school to pre-college age range at the programme) it’s lovely that thanks to the internets i...
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“The key to Henry’s work is contained in the word burlesque.
What he writes is a...”
– from the Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. II. i feel like a real wank because i use this perfect tidbit as the 2nd epigraph to my MFA thesis manuscript (2nd *gulp* chapbook) Assassination Bruncheon. i’m a wank because i’m also the burlesque poetess. waka waka.
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yesterday's future
i spent the past weekend running around covered in keys in my Victorian hoodie with the army of broken toys at the first Steampunk World’s Fair in Piscataway, NJ. (check out the *flickr pool & Kyle Cassidy’s set) i’d never been to any kind of convention before. it was overwhelming and wonderful and ridonk and so much poetry fodder. i got behind on the posting of my...
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wigglewarily : all my toy cameras.
speaking OF the talented lady, here is a x-post of her great work that inspired » my last tumble/commentversation. wigglewarily:
yellowed thought I should post this somewhere where people can see it as a helpful guide for those who want to get into the affordable toy camera collecting business. :)
The most I paid for any of these cameras was $60, though a lot of them were given to me...
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"art discipline projects," an LJ comment-versation
mlle. moi/locksmithy : i was trying to write about the orange hued 70’s in my poem-a-day for yesterday i just posted but i gave up. all my mental movie reels of my parent’s early marriage are the same focus and colour palette as their photos, and the feel is something i relate to in your pictures as well, lady. basically i’m saying you are a lovely evocative...
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poetesss : 28. "Commuting to make love" for... →
Commuting to make love What a dull day without tea
and something filthy.
Fluorescent coquettes, the lights
wink, blush pink and dim the deeper
you go…
When the doors
seal shut with that disconcerting
alien/familiar sucking sound
you’re off through a Freudian
dark tunnel, rushing alone thinking
of that first moment you won’t be.
One half, a crescent moon with a bite
taken...
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Metre-wanker by Ann Drysdale
An accusation to which I readily put my hand up
I am a metre-wanker and
My head is full of sums.
I work alone with what’s my own
And tweak it till it comes.
It seldom happens straight away
But I can give it time.
I lubricate and titillate
With assonance and rhyme.
I pander to my passion for
Felicity of diction,
Which I believe I can achieve
By...
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