Yes yes I know it's been a long while...
Things happened. The usual. I had a fabulous quarter, and the next looks to be just as fab. If Only I could make more money. Ah well I'll worry about that a bit but for now:
nickned from paisleywatlz
it;'s fun to see yourself through images.
1) Take your answer to each question and type it into an image search engine
2) Post one of the images from the first page of results.
1. The age you'll be on your next birthday.
2. A place you'd love to travel
3. Your favorite place
4. Your favorite object
5. your favorite food
6. your favorite animal
7. your favorite color
8. The town in which you were born
9. the town you live in now
11. The name of a past pet
12. The name of a past love
13. Your best friend's nickname
14. your nickname
15. your first name
16. your middle name
17. your last name
18. your grandmother's name
19. A bad habit of yours
20. Your major in college
And also some poetry:
-Writing in Your Universe-
I could write you a poem
Reach into you sky
And shake down all the sparkle from your constellations.
I would scale the walls of your imagination
with grapple hooked C’s and curving S shaped fingers.
These words have been brewing and reducing,
Begging the clock to let them happen,
The dry rasp of its flicking fingers…
Like a heartbeat for each moment
Roll out into the purple evening.
The words becoming themselves in process,
which unfolds across the spine of time
Half-implosion / half-explosion
-As She Leaves Me-
There is a woman in the corner of the café,
She pushes her milky legs back into her shoes
-which are black like the end of a sentence.
The evening is ushered in by pigeons
Cornering darkness with their ghostly coos
Before she goes out,
The sky finds a soft place
To lecture about the geometry of sunlight
And hum a last lullaby for the flowers,
The afternoon is elapsing
Stem over stalk.
The pines are breathing in fractals,
And whispering on the back of her neck
As she leaves me.
The scene is so beautiful
I wrote it all out three times.
-Cold Fissures-
My fingertips have cracked
and again all my secrets are bleeding out
slouched together, the singleness of my thoughts
Burbles in its own futility,
Like a bog in the summertime
Cataloguing fossils in the wrong order,
A skeleton of doubt
compressed at the bottom of my being
It’s volume elongated into another dimension
I tip-toe into invisibility
and stride across my own steamy breath.
The air is freezing around its disciples
and the birds sleep longer every morning
Until dawn cracks my fingertips
and all my secrets seep out to freeze.