first off, your instructions are to hit this link and download one or more of the mp3s there--one of the ones by Jason Bell. He does coding on one of my favorite BBSes, and is just all around cool.Have i mentioned that I have a major fetish for musical geeks? Ohyeah. not in a sexual way, mind you. Just in an "I want to hang out with you and touch your brain" sort of way.
de rigeurSomeone else's moon is shining in my back door,
peeking round the lintel, reaching in with
thin fingers. It fingers the counter lightly
and moves on. The cats chase it as it rolls,
glowing into the dining room with an insouciant bounce.This moon that is not mine speaks.
But I can't understand it.One of the cats races up with someone else's moon
in his mouth, drops it at my feet trilling.
I try to throw it out the window. It comes back.I finally put it in the corner. Alien thing.
It giggles to itself, all night long.
I am beginning to fear it.7/27/00
My poetry skills are definitely rusty. Gah.
Today, along with the other stuff i'm working on, I'm working on moving this site over to doomcookie.com. i'm not sure how much of it's going to be moved over (whee, severe space crunches!) but it's a start. i'm hoping to get a new machine in a couple of months, and that will alleviate the space squeeze.I seems to be a week for housekeeping in my life. I've been doing things like laundry (four loads, including sheets, towels, clothes, and throw rugs) and catching up with some old obligations.
All i need to do now is pay my bills and life will (I hope) be good for a while.
escape velocityit is on these nights
your name recalls itself to my lips:
a night of fire, a woman
perched on a high-voltage tower
bare feet pounding through puddles
my face half-reflected, engraved
on landscapes outside the bus window.on other nights, I don't miss you so much;
gentle nights full of stars and cool winds
when my bed is big enough only for me,
you are merely an absence. I cover
the place where you might lie with blankets
and sleep on my mattress
that has its own memorial
between the springs.Dust has more memory of me than I of you.
these nights, though, I don't mind
the voice that rises to the top of my throat,
the face that lies behind my eyes.
the way light fools me is a comfort
when the trick is the illusion of presence.I let go and believe
as the sirens wail without.
for a little while I am your wizard
and you are standing, shifting,
looking at me with something
someone else might have called love.7/28/00
