' view me in profile Just like the Bible, except less sex MAIL ME YOUR PRAYERS Write your own Bible at Diaryland!

The sermon for Dec. 14, 2002 is: disclaimer: so this is my 100th entry. This seems all too meaningful, which is silly and random, you know. Number is imaginary. The future lasts forever. Here is a bunch of stuff I found written on library catalog cards that I had in my pockets.


2:23 a.m.

for uglykatey, this 100th entry

Katey oh Katey, I hope you're asleep
And not dead in drifts of textbooks deep
With miles of deadlines yet to keep
And miles of deadlines yet to keep

You're so cool that wired sheep
Count you before they collapse in sleep
And dream, as sheep do, of lambs unfleeced
Or what passes for ewe porno outside of Greece

Oh God, I can't shake the tick
Of talking to strangers in limerick.
It wouldn't seem so bad
If I were an Irish lad
But I'm not. It strikes one as sick,

Or me anyway, that I can't relate
To others in verse sophisticate,
But regardless I persist
In syntactical twist
Assaulting passersby thus (i.e., berate

Fellow humankind
Unendingly with rhyme
Until I lose breath
And surrender to death
And the petrification of time).

Regardless, oh look! My 100th note
Qua Diaryland: look as I float
Carelessly free
From outlawed gravity
And the faint stink of expired hope.

Oh you, disappointed Pandora.
I never imagined heartbreak so huge.
Dismantle death
And leave me bereft
In my box. Apres nous, le deluge.



flip flop









Sept. 25, 2004

the Funny Show



Sept. 23, 2004

agriculture poem



Sept. 23, 2004

my life in the ghost of Bush



Sept. 18, 2004

time-lapsed (part 1)



Sept. 16, 2004

unreconciled


Goodbye present, hello past












Images are taken without permission from the fine and trusting folks at Folk Arts of Poland; please purchase something from them. Background music stolen without permission from Epitonic, Basta Music, and just about everywhere else my unscrupulous hands could grab something. No rights reserved.