mentos!

this is now the *d*i*m*l*a*b* video-blog. at age 8, this was my favorite movie.

probably why i liked this movie

i sort of want to watch this movie again now. i know it is melodramatic and about the middle/upper class and for the middle/upper class but i probably like melodrama and i'm probably a class sell-out.

Sweet

Thank you Will. How is everybody? Good? I will soon have money again. I will fix my car. I will buy new pants. I will make good foods. You should all come and visit now. We can make good food. It will be good.

Cat's Cradle

just re-read cat's cradle w/ sarah as a go-to-sleep kind of thing over the course of a few weeks & what's interesting to me is the amount of plot & foreshadowing built into this book, with the ice-9 & each member of the narrator's "karrass" drawn all together for the inevitable end-of-the-world ending. is it me or does vonnegut end all of his novels w/ some kind of disaster...the end of gravity...people becoming seals on the galapogos islands...etc... the end of kilgore trout. i hadn't read it for some years and had forgotton all of that, anyway.

i think maybe catch 22 next, again, or finish off kenneth koch's collected. just read The Boiling Water today to S. & it was very good. i'm having difficulty having patience w/ poetry lately.

feeling like its time to take a stab at don quijote. been sitting next to my bed since x-mas.

elimae

has accepted one of my stories for the upcoming issue. I'll keep you posted. I really need to send stuff out more often.

haiku lab

i am not my own
phrenologist kit closet
instead i eat lambs



pet food cereal
venereal pyromani-
ac i am fifteen



eating fingers is
like some kind of flower or
butcher blanket blood

some haiku

clouds & aerosol
change the properties of ice
mirror energy



colored in winter
like coal, snow may last longer
such arctic silence



this ethanol mouth
whispering solar kisses
so many trees, burned

Emotional Robots

Haven't we all seen enough robots destroying humanity movies to have learned by now?

so...

I just got a call from Martin Corless Smith. Turns out I got into Boise State already. With the full ride and teaching assistantship.

Crazy huh?

I feel wierd. And excited.

The Fog (or how to know you're dying slowly from the elements)

The white cloud stops us. It is too thick, wraps us like a chenile blanket, little whisps of chenile sticking to our skin, caught in our hair. We hug the blanket to us because it's all we have. We love the blanket. Cool against our cool skin. This white, white blanket.

RIP Anna Nicole

Do you think it had something to do with that TrimSpa shit?

I'm more concerned with getting into BSU. I'm very nervous. I just finished my assistantship app and shipped it out. I'm very nervous. All weak-like in the stomach region.

I "heart" the BBC.

Global Warming.

Amber's Poems

The Solar System, (or Why Humanity is Failing at the Speed of Light)

In my dream I'm singing "she's like the wind next to me," but Patrick Swayze is far away on the television and nobody is dancing, even dirty. I carry a red balloon, just one, and wear a scar and the sun is shiny in the sky, which I know because I looked and it was a dream so I didn't go blind but saw that the sun was actually a lie. A shiny lie. A refinished lie. A lie waxed on and on.

Things of note

a l i c e    b l u e returns

read poems by me and others at coconut and dusie.

also, out there, new octopus.

go here

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/science/nature/6298467.stm


way too lazy to make a pretty link. but you should read this, and download the pdf to get the whole scoop.

Sulfur

The sound is a reflection.
The sound is a burden.
The sound is the sunrise in an orange streak.


The peak is a curve and a bell.
We are all listening and dying.
We are deaf in the streets with
lights as lines of script in our past.

The script is a poem.
The past is a poem.
This poem is a poem.
The sound is a poem
made of water and fog.

Morning Adventure

Slipping to the bus stop on ice, then waiting. Two people beside me: a portly old man with a grandfatherly face and a green beret...buying an eight ball from a kid who couldn't have been more than 16. They talk about the guy they almost killed behind an alley. Grandfatherly bonding. Mentor.

Then reading. Reading on the bus. Reading Joshua Clover on the bus and damn it's good. Fourier Series. A discovery about this beautiful book that I own. The cover has a flower/dandelion split between the front and back covers, the spine a dividing line. This is just a fancy book jacket, folded over the real cover. It comes off. Reveals a poster of a dandelion and the simplest cover underneath.

Then Downtown Seattle. Riding past store fronts. Banana Republic doing their windows. Naked mannequins. Naked Male Mannequins...and all that that implies...

Something interesting always happens when you ride the bus. I love it.

alice

I need the poetry submissions narrowed to 30 and the prose down to 20 in about a week. Now's the time to ask me for help. I'm unemployed and unforgiving.

Why the Universe is a Cold Hard Place (and other tales)

The sun died in the apple orchard because there was a worm in it. If it wasn't for the chewy center all would have been absolved. After the feast, there was another feast in mourning. We ate all night. In the morning it was dark and the trees were leafless and rigid and to touch was like shivering and nobody cried at all.