(no subject)
I find myself fending off the weirdest people lately. One night it's the 50 year old presumable pedo at Long's at 10 at night, the next day I try to read downtown and it's a 20-something, perma-stoned, half-stache guy.
I'm also fighting away the depression now that I'm not constantly busy and Adam is gone.
He got a really positive response from the PD at the Austin alternative station and they want to hear a whole show (you send in a mashup of a bunch of stuff initially), and that's realllllly fucking awesome. Maybe Austin, Texas is on my list of things to do now? I don't know.
Here's a POEM!
Pressed my thighs into the carpet,
prepared to listen to the soundtrack of calm,
blowing through the threads and mussing my hair.
A strain of Mr. E delicately blends
with the fan's whispered erasure of early summer heat.
The comfort of familiar whiskers glides
by the back of my palm as I write,
relax my claws, and think of counting down
the sunset, New Years eve, and birthday celebrations
to a slow tune on the guitar.
Like climbing to the moon
and passing thru my little nightmare, by your side,
while cat hair blows like confetti through the air
and notebooks with half written poems
grow warped and dusty, mouldering in darker times.
Herald Square lamentations melt like snow,
and seventy mile long suicide missions
speed off with glowing red lights down Peninsula highways.
The antiseptic comfort of lingering kisses?
I never feel alone now, because in my heart you're always here.
I'm also fighting away the depression now that I'm not constantly busy and Adam is gone.
He got a really positive response from the PD at the Austin alternative station and they want to hear a whole show (you send in a mashup of a bunch of stuff initially), and that's realllllly fucking awesome. Maybe Austin, Texas is on my list of things to do now? I don't know.
Here's a POEM!
Pressed my thighs into the carpet,
prepared to listen to the soundtrack of calm,
blowing through the threads and mussing my hair.
A strain of Mr. E delicately blends
with the fan's whispered erasure of early summer heat.
The comfort of familiar whiskers glides
by the back of my palm as I write,
relax my claws, and think of counting down
the sunset, New Years eve, and birthday celebrations
to a slow tune on the guitar.
Like climbing to the moon
and passing thru my little nightmare, by your side,
while cat hair blows like confetti through the air
and notebooks with half written poems
grow warped and dusty, mouldering in darker times.
Herald Square lamentations melt like snow,
and seventy mile long suicide missions
speed off with glowing red lights down Peninsula highways.
The antiseptic comfort of lingering kisses?
I never feel alone now, because in my heart you're always here.