Thursday, September 02, 2004

Any night with cops is bad.
I turn and say such platitudes as quickly come;
they, ever answering, tell me of dismal fates
drunk-tanks and rape.

Touch it and burn, I say, but burn
I must, and even so stand ready for horizon's flame
which may indeed be sunrise

tomorrow, though, is made of broken eggs and aspirin
dryly choked and muttered

it does not matter now
but I long for the promised
orange beauty
Always it is the seablown coast that appears. In lonely dreams I see it, a private and hopeful place, drawn far from any encumberance I can name. Shoals, airfields... it is rife with romantic possibilities and is devoid of human interference. I long for it, would strive for it if it were even remotely possible.

let be the finale of seem
the only empororer is the emporoer of ice cream

Wednesday, May 26, 2004

By God, I royally screwed myself this time. My SB aAdigy has never worked on my Win2k box for recording... which sucks royally. I tried to work around this by installing Win98 but totally hosed my main system by so doing. Jeez Louise, that is exceedingly stupid.

Notice how I never ever talk about current events anymore, no matter how scathing my commentary? I am awkward about the blogging community and all that that implies. The ones who were at the forefront of it have mostly retired, but some of them are now striving to become real writers. The Baghdad Blogger is a famous case in point, now having sold his movie rights.

Saturday, May 15, 2004

Wow, no posts since December. A wonder I still have this up. Even though it is the only thing remaining on the Uberhaus site that enjoys any freshness whatsovever, I long since ceased turning here for any kind of commentary. I am currently in process of getting my comics site together at last and will be publishing as close to daily updates as I can manage. More on this later...

Friday, March 05, 2004

The longer I leave this the more obscure it becomes. I get a kick from sorting through the old entries and seeing what I was thinking three years ago, looking and seeing that I cared enoughto put my thoughts up on my blog. "Nothing unusual here," said one review. Fuck that, being reviewed.

I feel myself teeter, almost topple and then suddenly recover with some sort of equalirbrium that might be called "balance" or "wisdom" or even "endurance." I have belief in some central idea, but I have trouble articulating it beyond the ways I set when I was 20 and knew everything. Dispair is