tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2530431992953174172024-03-07T22:17:48.596-08:00A letter to...my (creative) writing off the top of my headAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08668994374331983655noreply@blogger.comBlogger12125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-253043199295317417.post-73964734035035429792014-08-25T11:47:00.001-07:002014-08-25T11:49:09.845-07:00Domesticated creaturesA gender-bender demon Cinderella in a Japanese manga<br />
cleans and hurts and begs his master for more work,<br />
but the constant servitude is a cry to belong: to become indispensable<br />
to become a thing needed and hope that a thing needed<br />
is also a thing wanted.<br />
<br />
For a Prince to domesticate a Fox, a creature that belongs only to itself<br />
is to turn it into something that depends on you and hopes<br />
that you need it forever and it is forever a thing wanted<br />
<br />
<br />
And who will keep the fox? Who will keep the demon?<br />
The Prince and the master <br />
Entangled forever with their creatures:<br />
unaffected by distance or space<br />
You are entangled with me like these tamed things and<br />
my heart<br />
is no longer entirely<br />
my own.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08668994374331983655noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-253043199295317417.post-10329295257892190592014-08-19T08:00:00.000-07:002014-08-19T08:00:04.093-07:00ExhaustionSilken cotton gray falls over my eyes<br />
as I walk, lead footed (more like a trudge),<br />
knowing I've got to keep on, there's nothing for it,<br />
black endless cups of hot coffee push nothing back<br />
because it's soaked through and through<br />
<br />
A night's rest? Yes, please.<br />
I want the stars to dance across my eyelids,<br />
geometric rainbows lulling me into deep sleep<br />
that I'll slip out of only when I'm ready to surface.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08668994374331983655noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-253043199295317417.post-20614364776703449592014-08-18T13:14:00.004-07:002014-08-18T13:16:34.936-07:00Animated Horrific LeavesI remixed a version of the Horrific Leaves Poem using the Mozilla Thimble Engine.<br />
<br />
Note: It only seems to work in the FireFox browser. <br />
<br />
You can see the remix here: <a class="view" href="https://megalibrarygirl.makes.org/thimble/LTExODkyODE1MzY=/mozfest-poetry-180-animate">https://megalibrarygirl.makes.org/thimble/LTExODkyODE1MzY=/mozfest-poetry-180-animate</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08668994374331983655noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-253043199295317417.post-64804701713386980542013-08-24T07:20:00.000-07:002013-08-24T07:20:47.715-07:00I identify with my heroesI identify with Oscar Wilde<br />
not because of his wit or his style<br />
which I do not have<br />
<br />
I identify<br />
because I feel his journey<br />
of discovery<br />
<br />
I know how it is to reject<br />
the self that<br />
you see reflected <br />
<br />
I identify with his attempts<br />
in looking to cure to hide<br />
pretending he wasn't as he was<br />
<br />
and how he accepted the<br />
self before him and embraced it<br />
completely and utterly<br />
<br />
with abandon that<br />
destroyed<br />
everything around him <br />
<br />
Oscar's bravery now another note<br />
in a biography<br />
with a torn cover on a shelf<br />
<br />
I identify with Nicola Tesla<br />
not because of his genius<br />
<br />
I am not an engineer or a scientist <br />
<br />
I identify<br />
because I have believed in things<br />
that are larger than myself <br />
<br />
I believe in the<br />
goodness that is inside of<br />
people everywhere<br />
<br />
I too, would sell<br />
my patents, rush onward<br />
hope others see<br />
<br />
the seeds of hope inside of me<br />
as I build a tower on a mountain<br />
to harness megawatts of energy<br />
<br />
Nicola remembered,<br />
eventually, as an old man<br />
who fed the pigeons in the park<br />
<br />
Eclipsed by Edison<br />
forgotten by those who<br />
plug into his genius daily <br />
<br />
I identify with Ludwig van Beethoven<br />
not because of music<br />
(my ear is tin)<br />
<br />
I identify<br />
with his constant determination<br />
against everything that defied him<br />
<br />
an ugly, short man<br />
with a quick temper<br />
difficult to please<br />
<br />
a terrible stand-in parent<br />
a presumed misanthrope<br />
who loved macaroni and Goethe’s poetry<br />
<br />
who imagined strange life<br />
on other planets and symphonies<br />
in birdsong<br />
<br />
I identify with his hope<br />
with his defiance against<br />
lords and encroaching silence<br />
<br />
that even in the end,<br />
he raised his fist,<br />
undefeated.<br />
<br />
I hold them close<br />
gather them in<br />
whisper that I will remember<br />
<br />
the way they fell<br />
the way they didn't fall<br />
the ways they were human. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08668994374331983655noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-253043199295317417.post-45213481451679464142013-07-13T06:14:00.003-07:002013-07-13T06:14:43.900-07:00Song LyricsInspired by <a href="https://twitter.com/feministtswift">FeministTaylorSwift</a> on Twitter, a better set of lyrics for part of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/California_Gurls"><i>California Gurls</i></a> sung by Katy Perry:<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
California Girls are unforgettable /<br />
Sharp fresh wit /<br />
We got it non stop.</blockquote>
<br />
That's all I got, folks. :) <br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08668994374331983655noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-253043199295317417.post-46697857921555847982013-07-01T21:44:00.005-07:002013-07-01T21:44:55.462-07:00Horrific LeavesClear clean water with slithery stealthy<br />
upsetting - should - not - be - here<br />
things<br />
that slide over bare skin<br />
are splashed against faces<br />
in accident<br />
causing shrieks<br />
tightening grip of small fingers on my hand <br />
splashes<br />
of water exploding into white fountains of sunlight<br />
that seem at odds with the<br />
random unknown<br />
horrific leaves in the pool. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08668994374331983655noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-253043199295317417.post-10819393933405954742013-06-07T09:56:00.002-07:002013-06-07T09:56:31.261-07:00Hummingbird ToasterThe black-orange<br />
hummingbird toaster<br />
flies in the heat.<br />
I can hear it click<br />
as it travels and pops,<br />
smelling of<br />
crispy buzzing.<br />
<br />
(from a writing workshop exercise--it made my kids laugh) :)Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08668994374331983655noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-253043199295317417.post-87809836386042975052013-05-22T06:31:00.001-07:002013-05-22T06:31:58.068-07:00AutophagyI am reminded of a story I read when I was a kid<br />
that I suppose is true<br />
about an octopus that was kept in a tank<br />
inside of a place where they observe<br />
animals and their behavior<br />
(not just an aquarium)<br />
<br />
and I am reminded of the pictures in my head<br />
as I read about the creature<br />
how I imagined a black room with black painted walls<br />
(I don't know why)<br />
and that the tank was bare<br />
<br />
and inside there is a small octopus, eight armed, bumpy, eyes blinking inside a tank.<br />
there are many such tanks.<br />
<br />
The story I read was about how smart the octopus is.<br />
An octopus can learn to do something very clever by watching another octopus do that thing.<br />
It can learn from observation<br />
But they can become bored.<br />
<br />
They can become depressed.<br />
I think this is why I imagined a black room and an empty tank, glass walls, glass bottom<br />
and only a glass jar to hide in.<br />
I imagined an alien place for the octopus<br />
I imagined its almost human eyes staring out of a world of glass in a room that was black<br />
and I think I could see how it could feel sad<br />
(they can change their colors with how they feel, too, but I did not imagine the color of a<br />
sad octopus)<br />
<br />
A bored octopus, the book wrote, can kill itself.<br />
It has a parrot's beak.<br />
It tears its own arms off and eats itself, destroying itself<br />
<br />
I remember the word: autophagy<br />
instead of suicideAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08668994374331983655noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-253043199295317417.post-34407877936471271812013-04-28T20:23:00.000-07:002013-04-28T20:23:03.584-07:00DrivingThe air seems crisp when I drive.<br />
The clouds seem to have more defined edges.<br />
As light glints off the road and off red and white tail-lights<br />
it seems focused, like a narrow beam of concentration.<br />
I feel the curves and their accompanying centripetal force<br />
as I swerve around them, gliding<br />
through a spaghetti bowl of bow-tie concrete.<br />
And all above me, the entire time, is a sky so blue that it<br />
demands to be seen, to be noticed, as if its screaming at me.<br />
No words, car radio, <i>Basket Case</i> by Green Day.<br />
I sing, I scream, I feel. I notice.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08668994374331983655noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-253043199295317417.post-67955670878840741592013-04-25T07:47:00.001-07:002013-04-25T07:47:51.524-07:00ZombiesZombies wear the face of someone we once knew<br />
a person stepping out of one life and into another.<br />
A life after death that excludes consciousness<br />
a life of gnashing teeth, bloody sinews<br />
strength born of a lack of fear, a lack of awareness--<br />
no need to worry if the body is whole, only that it can move<br />
forward just a little bit more, inch by inch, to chew, bite,<br />
ingest, infect.<br />
<br />
It's not even destruction that zombies bring wearing<br />
the faces of the ones we once knew. Maybe we even<br />
loved that object that was once a person,<br />
but now the moving body in front of<br />
us is only a body. It's the shell that once held what we<br />
knew was "that person."<br />
<br />
That person was something that was not the body.<br />
That person must have been something that didn't include<br />
hands and feet and eyes, or even a smile<br />
That person could be described as an animate "soul."<br />
But this definition doesn't satisfy.<br />
Naming it, labeling the thing that makes "that person"<br />
doesn't confer understanding.<br />
Maybe "that person" is a network of collective neurons<br />
firing in a web of patterns that somehow made an "I."<br />
<br />
Alan Turing said that there was a complexity about information<br />
that he believed or hoped could not be destroyed. The "I"<br />
is complex information. Physicists say that information cannot be<br />
destroyed.<br />
But can it be turned into something else?<br />
the way that matter is forced to change into energy<br />
as it explodes over the desert<br />
or over a small island of people with children and dreams and<br />
that sense of "I" and "we" and "us."<br />
<br />
The "I" has left the zombie.<br />
A zombie is an "it," neuter like a virus or bacteria.<br />
It is a vector for the creation of itself--a disease that erases the "I" and<br />
replaces it with gnashing teeth, grinding jaws, broken fingernails,<br />
incoherent violence that seeks endlessly without reason for the warm<br />
beating heart,<br />
the fearful dash of movement in the forest,<br />
the cry of fear from behind a<br />
broken window pane.<br />
<br />
What happened to the "I"?<br />
Why does the zombie wear the face<br />
of the one I once loved and cherished?<br />
I am left with teeth and hands and<br />
bloody eyes that don't know me anymore<br />
moving ever closerAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08668994374331983655noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-253043199295317417.post-36638620911380026662013-04-23T20:38:00.000-07:002013-04-23T20:40:02.344-07:00Orange<br />
Orange is loud.<br />
It clangs and bangs and is<br />
Full of jagged edges.<br />
Orange is unexpected:<br />
It shocks and warns.<br />
An impressive sound that<br />
Burns on the edges,<br />
Full of heat and warmth<br />
That can easily overwhelm<br />
Is what orange is.<br />
Yet if orange has a smell,<br />
It is sharp and citrus –<br />
A jolt to the imagination,<br />
Something that<br />
Awakens<br />
With a slice of sharpness,<br />
A sliver<br />
Of the unusual.<br />
The uninvited color<br />
Is what orange is.<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08668994374331983655noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-253043199295317417.post-38647921795040195402013-04-21T20:44:00.001-07:002013-04-21T20:44:30.050-07:00Why another blog....Well, yes, why another blog? Why not?<br />
<br />
I've recently been to some poetry workshops that helped me free my writing -- made me feel excited about writing again. That made me feel good.<br />
<br />
So another blog, because I want to explore writing creatively. And I want to feel good.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08668994374331983655noreply@blogger.com0