Monday, February 25, 2008


Tiger's eyes unfold as he wakes up. Tiger rolls his muscles. Tiger practically purrs.

But not quite. It is a sunny morning and Tiger is ready for some ack-shunnn.

Tiger is ready for some prime time exercise.

Tiger walks out to the course. Tiger's muscles roll when he walks. Tiger feels good in the sun. He feels ready to do some pouncing.

Tiger's back is heavy with weaponry.

The prey scatter in front of Tiger, obvious white on soft green grass. They roll slowly in the grass and it is easy for Tiger to catch them.

He whacks one. Whacks another. Watches them fly. And he grins.

Tiger kills for sport.

Thursday, February 21, 2008


A sea-parrot has skin
instead of feathers.
A sea-parrot chews on coral
when it is teething.
A sea-parrot does not
lay eggs.

The pirates with mouthfuls of
jaw fill the sea with your
blood sacrifices to their
unholy pagan gods.
Black and white they do not
see things in shades of grey.

And is your milk as
worthy as a maid's or a
long lashed heifer's?

Do your babies learn to sing
when they are weaned
so that you know always where they are?


Monday, February 11, 2008

thoughts approaching valentine's day.

In the tenth grade I had so much energy.

I had so much energy for trying for relationships.

I felt like I was in love.

I felt unconditionally.

I tried so hard.

I would call him a lot.

I would try and hug him a lot.

I would make a huge effort to talk to him at school.

It's hard for me to believe now the amount of energy I had for things like that less than a year ago.

Nowadays if I am interested in somebody I will be cautious.

Maybe I will flirt with him.

But I will not call him on the phone a lot.

I will not try and get his attention all the time.

Maybe it is because I am not hugely interested in anybody at the moment.

Maybe it is because it didn't quite work the first time.

I am a little bit interested in a few people.

But not very interested in one in particular.

I have not had dreams about boys I know in a while.

There is no boy's number on my phone that I linger over.

I no longer have the rash self confidence to talk to somebody who isn't part of my group and think maybe he will give me a chance.

I'm starting to take the passive side.

I admire my self from last year.

In a way.

But I feel content about my current approach too.

It would take a lot for me to go through that again.

(Whether you are in love or not you should check out this poem:

It is adorable.)

Sunday, February 10, 2008

Night Owl

(This is a rewrite of a story by a guy named Brandon. You can find links to all the versions on the left of the page here: I read them all and then took about half an hour to forty minutes and wrote my own version.)

Night Owl

It was Friday night. I was laying in my bed with my laptop in my lap. I was watching a music video. The gmail window was open and as I was rating the music video four stars I saw the tab change from Gmail - Inbox to Gmail - Inbox (1). I clicked the tab. The new email was from a guy I had had a crush on once. It was a link to a youtube video.

I finished watching the music video and then I clicked his link. I closed the other youtube window. I watched the video he had linked me to. It was some kind of British comedy thing, skits with one dark haired fat British man and one weaselly looking British man, but it wasn't the one with Hugh Laurie. I thought about how much I liked Dr. House.

My housemate came in. I paused the video the second that I heard the door open. I always felt nervous watching things around people. She peered at the screen and was looking at the square that was the paused video.

"What are you watching," she said.

"Some kind of British comedy thing," I said. The title of the show was in bold print right above the video square but I didn't read it aloud to her.

"Do you want some wine," she said. She gave me a glass before I could say yes. I looked at the wineglass and thought how classy we were to have wineglasses. It was a little too full to look classy so I had to drink some of it. I brought down the amount of wine to the correct level. It was cheap white wine but I pretended I was Jackie O anyway.

The clock on my laptop said it was 10:26. The laptop was really warm on my legs and I imagined my legs charring under it even though the blanket was a barrier between us. I checked my emails one last time. I wrote a one-sentence response to the guy I had once had a crush on. I felt like I was telling him I didn't care anymore because I didn't use any capital letters. I closed the lid of the laptop and lay it beside my bed. I got out of bed and put on some pants that were lying on the floor. They were jeans that rode up a little too high. I wanted to put on a long gray sweater I had had for years that always made me feel classy. I looked around my room for the sweater but I couldn't find it.

I went downstairs and found the sweater hanging off of one of the chairs. My housemate was sitting at the table doing the crossword puzzle. She could even do Friday puzzles. I put my sweater on and stuck my hand in the pocket. My wallet was in there. I knew I had at least fifteen dollars. "I'm going out," I said.

"Where are you going."

"Like a party or something."

"Okay," said my housemate. She didn't care that it was Friday night.

"Bye," I said. Then I put on my shoes. It took an awkwardly long time to put on my shoes and I had already said goodbye to her. I hurried out with my shoes partially on and got into my car and tied my shoes in the car. I turned the car on and listened to the Cure on the radio. I felt lonely. It was dark and chilly and I felt a little excited in my bubble of car.

I drove over a bridge to a club I had only been to once. There was plenty of free parking space around the club and I started feeling nervous that nobody was there. I parked half a block away and texted someone in one of my classes. "Are you going to the thing tonight on River." She didn't respond and I got out of the car clutching my wallet in my pocket and walked to the doors of the club.

The lights were on inside. It didn't seem very loud. There was a man at the door wearing a sleeveless shirt. "Seven bucks," he said. I got out my wallet. I had a ten but I wanted to keep the ten. I had a twenty. I gave him the twenty and he sighed and looked for change. He found change. "Stamp her," he said. "Go over there," he said to me and moved his head. I followed the movement and found a girl on a stool with long dark hair. She was Asian. I held out my hand and she held it professionally and stamped the back of my hand. I looked at the stamp. It said "INSECURE." I was confused by the stamp. I felt branded. "So can I go out and come back in," I said.

"Yeah," she said, "just show us the stamp."


I went inside. There weren't a lot of people there. I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket and looked at it. My classmate had texted me back. "Maybe," it said. I felt dissatisfied. I went over to the bar. The bartender looked familiar but I couldn't quite place him. He narrowed his eyes at me unpersonally. "Can I see some ID," he said. I blushed and took out my wallet and gave him my driver's license. People still thought I was underage. I wasn't sure how I felt about that. He nodded and slid it back and said, "Thanks. Can I help you."

"I'll take some white wine," I said. It was the first drink I could think of. Immediately I regretted saying that and wished I had asked for a pina colada instead. A pina colada was a real party drink. "Actually can I have a pina colada," I said but I said it very quietly and he didn't hear me. He was doing something with his hands below the counter, I couldn't really see. I felt like I was blindly trusting him for no reason. He brought me a glass of white wine that was a lot too full. I didn't want to have to correct him. "Five dollars," he said. I gave him five ones that the man at the door had given me. I sat on a stool and drank the wine quickly. I felt a little bit sick. I texted my classmate. "You should come," I said. Then I texted her again, "It kind of sucks but I feel lonely." I am basically the only girl here, I thought. I almost texted that to my classmate but I didn't. There were a couple of girls dancing and they looked like sluts. I felt too un-slutty and thought about going home and putting on my housemate's clothes and coming back. But I was too fat to be a successful slut.

A guy sat down next to me. "Hi," he said. He was stubbly and looked like that actor from Sideways and Spider-Man 3. I looked away. "Hi," I said very quietly in case he wasn't talking to me. He downed a foamy beer and tried to make conversation. I spoke a little bit. My hand was on my wallet in case somebody would try and steal it or it would fall out of my pocket. He gave up and went over and started to dance. That was unsuccessful, I thought. I watched the dancers. The music started to skip and the DJ had to go up and put on a different song. I wondered if anyone in the club knew the Soulja Boy dance. If they played Soulja Boy would anybody know the dance? I thought about how I had looked up the meanings of the slang on urban dictionary and how disgusting the lyrics were. I wondered if any of the sluts in the club had ever been "supermanned." I had drunk my entire glass of wine without noticing. The bartender came over. "Can I have," I said. I hesitated. I wasn't sure what to ask for.

"You don't look like you need any more," he said gently. "Why don't you go dance."

I felt embarrassed and went to the dance floor and pretended to dance for two minutes. Then I left the club. I looked at the INSECURE stamp on my hand and felt outed.

I went to my car and drove to Safeway near my house. It was a big Safeway and they had a sandwich making stand that was still open even though it was like one or two AM by now. I went to the sandwich stand. "Can I get a vegetarian sandwich," I asked.

"Do you want this," said the server. He was small and dark. He pointed to rye.

"Yes," I said. He picked it up and I thought about sourdough and didn't bother saying anything. I didn't want to correct him.

"Do you want this," he said. He pointed to mayo.

"No," I said.

"Do you want this," he said. He pointed to mustard.

"Okay," I said.

I paid three fifty for the sandwich and then I took a basket and looked along the shelves. I bought Ritz crackers and shampoo. I looked at the makeup and acne medication and decided not to buy any because I didn't want to be the kind of person who actually bought that stuff. I didn't want to be caught with it even though I felt like I was breaking out. I bought a 7-Up. I saw an opened thing of bread and I took out the end piece and ate it right there in the store. I felt a rush of adrenaline. A fucked looking blond man walked by and I turned away. I didn't want to get caught. I felt fucked under the flourescent lights.

I went to the place where you pay for things and put my things on the black belt and put an orange separator thing after I was done putting my things on there even though there was nobody behind me. I paid for them and took the bag and went back to my car. I didn't feel drunk. My mouth was dry from the illicit piece of bread.

I put my key in the car door and drove home. I parked badly outside my house and went inside with everything.

When I woke up the bag of things was lying beside my bed. I couldn't remember coming to bed but I was in bed. I was still wearing my sweater. My phone had died and I stuck it into the charger. The sandwich was still in the bag. I had never eaten it. I remembered dreaming about how the weaselly looking British man in the comedy had been operating under the impression that he was Hugh Laurie and I had had the responsibility of telling him the truth. I had had to "let him down easy."

Monday, February 04, 2008

Super Tuesday

Unresolved tensions buzz out their slogans.
(15 promised hours & I still repent.)
A dog barks lonely in the night. he don't
know who he stand for. &

I sing the Kennedy name in my sleep
I sing the Kennedy curl in my heart
I sing a Kennedy endorsement in my
........young-old idealist soul;

-- & maybe an abstract campaign trumps one
of crocodile tears and desperate lovers
-- & maybe the world will bring back the dollar when
it sees us thinking clear
-- & maybe 100 years in an abstracter war isn't
the quagmire I'm looking for
(-- & maybe those young doomed transplants sink in
the quagmire you're looking for)
-- & he's someone I'll refuse
to regret electing if we don't
neglect electing him.

Now You Know Where I Stand. & Take Your Pick.
Democracy's a fruit I can't quite taste
But you know your ballot could be the drop
That carves the weakened cliff of expectation.