It appears I am getting a handle on (ha! PUN! No wonder I am the Poet Laureate. *looks in mirror* Ahh I am so beautiful.) that whole materialization thing. I realized this after my 23rd orgasm with _emilydickinson last night. Now I can grasp whatever the hell I want. Oh Yeah. Lookout, pretty lady poets, here I come!

I only checked the gas stove 13,333 times today ( Read more... )

It's such a relief being dead sometimes. I was down to Heptonstall today to visit dear Sylvia's grave, and I spied a bevvy of those bloody infernal boisterous man-hating femininazis. I always think they are boys at first, what with the buzzcuts, birkenstocks and flannel (and yes, dear reader, they do wear flannel in Britain), until I see them ( Read more... )

Today, I wrote a new poem. I call it, "The Tiger and the Princess". Here in the English countryside there aren't many tigers. It is a psychological tiger, a symbol of the predatory side of myself which feeds on princesses. But it is not my fault I tell you!

I checked the dial on the gas stove exactly 330,457 times today. I had to make sure it was ( Read more... )