Since posting that I wanted to churn out at least one poem each week I’ve found myself bursting with stuff to write about, and have cranked out several poems this week. I posted one, “Aftermath” below and have received some good feedback on it. If you haven’t read it, scroll down and let me know what you think. I’m trying to do what I did when I wrote Choices, force myself into at least half an hour each night of focused writing time. I can usually squeeze that in, and that’s about the minimum that I can do and get away with anything useful out of it. I’ve also started to actually make use of the journal I bought at the ArtsMarket in December, which is cool because I’m awful about buying myself cool little notebooks and never doing anything with them.
Case in point: I bought a badass little notebook from Re:Paper and have yet to do anything with it. I was thinking that I might fill it with finished poems and see if anybody wanted to buy a handwritten book of poetry in a handmade book, but that would take a long time to do and I’d probably have to charge some exorbitant amount of money for it, and then I’d be sad if nobody bought it and appreciated the one-of-a-kindedness of it, not to mention I’d have another thing lying around the house useless, so maybe I’ll just do it as a gift. If I can think of anyone to give it to. Or maybe a raffle or prize or something. I dunno. But Sarah at Re:Paper makes some cool stuff, so if you like neat things you should check her out. But pay attention to the details, because the books are small, which I didn’t really pay attention to so when I got it I was all like “wow, that’s small.” But then I looked back at the description and I was all like “yeah, that’s what size she said it was going to be.” And then I got into the standard guy joke of “that’s why women are bad at math, because we’ve been telling them ________________________________ is eight inches.” Which explains a lot really, but let’s not go there because nobody really wants to read about my penis, or its exploits, which frankly, as a married dude, are appropriately non-varied. It kinda only goes a few places, and most of them are my pants.
I’m not sure how we got on a discussion of the exploits of my penis, but we apologize and neither I nor my penis want that to ever happen again.
So there we are, and in the immortal words of Parker Posey, “Scene.”