trick or treat

last year, while working at the hotel, i introduced Jaimin and Ritin to Pumpkin Carving. their mom-Rita-and dad-Raj-had never carved pumpkins before either, so the adventure was a new one for all involved. i gutted the pumpkins and baked the seeds for them. they had such a good time last year that i decided, even though i don't work for Rita and Raj any more (we're still friends which is great, because they are the best people i've ever had the pleasure of working for and with), that i would make the pumpkin carving practice an anual event. so again, i gutted the pumpkins and baked the seeds (though i don't think they turned out as nice as last year) and went over to the hotel for some carving ^_^

below are some pictures of the "pun-kin" fun!

on the left is Jaimin, on the right is Ritin. step one is a little boring...

... Raj helped Jaimin with the actual cutting of the pumpkin after he'd drawn the design onto the pumpkin face.

i ended up helping Ritin and Kaylin's mom, Cecilia, helped her.

i took about... 15 pictures of these three little monsters and in not one are they all looking in the same direction!!! kids. amazing.

and the finished product ^_^ a pumpkin on a punpkin, a spooky crazy doctor guy, and a creepy cat!
happy halloween everyone!!

a translation

on being converted

9

'gaping, as the time of humanity expires, one's fitness
from fear, the shivers, does not last long'
I knew, of course I knew, I could escape to no other prison

Now I am one of those who worship none other than cthulhu's way for
drought and none of his riches and what has happened
to me
Have grown gills

To dream of the shore
For the breath of an instant through the lungs,

The untrustworthy air

The unearthly chains
Of the master

Which is the heart break of mermen





on being numerous -by george oppen

9

'Whether, as the intensity of seeing increaes, one's distance
from Them, the people, does not also increase'
I know, of course I know, I can enter no other place

Yet I am one of those who from nother but man's way of
thought and one of his dialects and what has happened
to me
Have made poetry

To dream of the beach
For the sake of an instant in the eyes,

The absolute singular

The unearthly bonds
Of the singular

Which is the bright light of shipwreck


previous translation: tower and gentleman

the point

(for kate)

i.
i found you at the top
of the lighthouse tower

peeling back the skin
of an aging scar

where a wart used to rest
on the point of your elbow

ii.
i offered you a seed
from my pomegranate

and you offered me
a back massage

you commented after:
my hands smell like cherry

iii.
the day before halloween,
this year, is a monday

let's take the day off together
to get wasted on grenadine and soda

link-happy katy

would like to send you to this exploding dog picture. the explosion comes at the end, so make sure you read through. it made me laugh.

teh brother

watashi no otootosan wa artist desu.
my little brother is an artist.
click the link: link

my blog, my rules

and oh she can rant.

it starts with the back pains. these stretched ligaments. enter - lower balcony stage right - a girl with a voice that carries. her dress is too big. some one is cheating on her or the person on the phone. the other person cries. i want to cry too.

act two means i leave the balcony for the lab. i have one bulk email, which i leave there. i am reading, truthfully, teaching rhetoric. i am really thinking about how "l=a=n=g=u=a=g=e" looks much better in capitals. i will not abuse my TA {privileges} by printing out this entire journal. although i would like to. i will read it online instead. i used this post as a bookmarking feature. i abused this post. i am thinking about the lower case i. who did i tell recently? i told someone that i prefer the look of the lower case i (I) (i) (I).

set change in motion. i wrote a poor poem earlier:

motivational speaker: motivation - the conversation in the
hall way - to hear - all the details you shouldn't know.

except the poem occupied six separate lines; not including the title which held its own in two.

in my own voice i let my class out too early this morning. which brings us back to the villainous back pains.

i should read more chamorro, more arabic. ashraf, this is my mou'sif -est moment. if you were wearing that sweater he got you (the orange one) i'd be there to hug you. if you weren't a six hour drive from my home. i'm afraid to use the table clothe. i'm afraid to get it dirty. afraid that max might tear it. but i look at it every time i take out my tea cozy. i use the tea cozy at least once a day. especially this time of year. the tea needs to stay hot.

the end is simple. i'll be seeing my doctor again on thursday. the end is beautiful. the girl with the voice that carries leaves the stage and we can all enjoy the rest of the day play.

p.s. this is where my mind is going, an hour and a half later.

for mature audiences only

the ringing got wet

the upside down owl

a poem for c.s.perez
('cause he encouraged it)

i wanted to be the upside down owl -
the one different from all the others

to distract the light from passing cars
fitting it into shapes, my wings, my eyes

the reflection you could never see past.
fit or foul - i wanted to watch you

for a child's nightmare, an innocent fear
or the deepest seeded, but not knowing.

if i were that owl i could have known
and never felt the glare

of the other two owls, the perfect pair
sat upright on the empty, brown branch.

some pictures from last weekend...

we've got a photo of the two of us with ken foree from the original dawn of the dead who makes us both look like little children. we plan on putting that picture and this one along side each other on the wall for obvious reasons. michael j anderson (aka little mike) is one fabulous individual. it was an absolute treat to meet him and be able to spend so much time with him over the weekend.

below, "the sexy michael rooker" (Grant Grant from Slither, if you haven't seen it... what's your excuse?) gives ryan and i a little squeeze. and yeah, i'm making a really stupid face.

and here we're just being cute.

thank you, michelle, for all the pictures!!!!

zombies and comics

i don't read many comics, but occasionally if the story is interesting or the art work is really fabulous then i get into one. it doesn't hurt when it comes in a book either.

i guess i don't really get into comics because i'm impatient as anyone. i don't think i could stand waiting two weeks or even a month at a time for a couple of pages to come out in stores.

it did happen once though... ryan bought me the first issue of Wolverine: Snikt! and i was like a bloodhound while it was being released--thank the comic gods it was only a 5-book long run! i may have gotten a bit obsessed. or i would have given up on it altogether. i never finished the final installment of it, come to think of it, and i haven't the foggiest idea as to where in this house they might be piled up.


over the weekend at rock'n'shock, paul (new best buddy, paul at action-figure.com!) let me have a copy of The Walking Dead which i just finished and LOVED!

if you're down with the Romero zombie, then you're down with this comic series. it has all the quintessential elements and the art is realistic and lovely. though i'd have liked to see a few more zombies up close and detailed. maybe in the next book?

so, that's what i've been doing all day; fighting zombies!

recently, ryan's been reading World War Z by Max Brooks (proud son of the Mel Brooks, yes), which is apparently very scary and plausible in nature. i don't know that i'll be giving it a read any time soon, but having heard what ryan's told me about it sounds like an amazing pseudo non-fiction book.

and if you love zombies sooooo much, then get the board game!! i got a whole pack of glow-in-the-dark zombies to go with mine ^_^

open season

as we drove past we saw them
holding dried autumn flowers

and singing christian prayers
over the dead body of an atheist deer.


further, beyond the exit ramps
pick up trucks bordered the road side

arranged in short, neat rows
like a boy's favorite collection.


then even further beyond
a truck driver could be seen

crying in the window of his rig
for the father he lost as a child.

The Ringing of the Bards is Getting Wet!

The 18th edition of the Ringing of the Bards—poetry carnival—is being hosted by the six sexual deviants of WetPoems© on October 21st 2006 and we’re counting on your submissions to make this the tastiest ringing to date.

Below are some guidelines that will help you unleash your fiercest pheromones on the rest of the ringing public:

Only poems of the naughtiest nature will be considered for this up-coming ringing.
If you're not familiar with the Art of Wet, come spend a few private moments with us at WetPoems (*not suitable for the workplace*).

Due to the nature of the 18th ringing of the bards, the members of WetPoems have provided the following submission guidelines in order to accommodate our fellow blogging poets. We realize that not everyone is ready to acknowledge their inner naughtiness, but we hope that by providing the option to anonymously submit to this ringing we give all of your inner sexuality and sensuality some room to play.

Please Read Carefully:
• Submissions can be sent to any 6 of the wet members; whom ever you (the poet) choose to email will then (more likely than not) be presenting them in the wet ringing. So if you want to be a member of ozy's brothel, you should email ozy. (email’s listed below)
• Include the words “Ringing of the Bards” in the subject of your email submission otherwise it will not be read by any of the wet members and therefore not be included in the ringing!
• Submissions should include the full text of the poem and/or a link to the post where that poem lives.
• If you do not include a link to your poem then you must include a link to your blog.
• Poets who wish to remain anonymous must indicate so (anonymous poems will be posted as such and links to all contributors’ blogs will be listed at the end of the ringing of the bards; therefore, you will get a link, but no one other than the wet member you email will know which poem you've written).
• It will be assumed that any poet who sends a direct link to the poem as posted on a blog agrees to their identity being disclosed to the public within the ringing post.

Submissions are due by Friday October 20th —anything submitted after the date may not be included in the ringing.

Email any of the six sexy members of wet:
Yasmin = grlscoutfinch at yahoo.com
Cecilia = clearcandy_daily at yahoo.com
Ozymandiaz = ozymandiaz at danworld.com
C.S. Perez = jspirit_00 at hotmail.com
Katy = kaacheson at yahoo.co.uk
Ô¿Ô = transientrevelation at gmail.com

@

the truth behind a love poem

he told me "you have beautiful eyebrows"
so i followed him home

the note on the fridge

inspired by "fridge"

a male poet
tries to write
a note about
the lovely peach
he ate that day

(having a guiltless
objectivist moment)

when the female poet
enters the dining room
followed by the cat
and long-winded sentences
about the taste
of pomegranate juice
and jewelry boxes.

still ringing

daniel of talking to myself is hosting this weeks ringing of the bards!
and i totally forgot to submit anything!

for next week, there's still no host, so if you're not too busy (i'd volunteer myself, but i will be hosting the following week along with the other wet ones; nevermind the fact that i have a rather interesting weekend ahead) please contact billy the blogging poet at idleblogs @ yahoo.com and let him know you're interested in keeping the bards ringing

dear leonard

i watched - diligent and patient -
as you devoured my poems.
turning pages like sheet music,
your eyes pacing.

until the way you lace your shoes
distracted my skeptical eye
and the hole in the left toe and the
dirty nature of your rolled up jeans
and the smell of the stale tea
in my cup.

redirected by a terrible smirk.
i began to count pages,
trying to deduce what provoked you.
before i finished counting
i got angry again, for
the speed i was swallowed,
you interpreted me;

you read it too fast
to want to sleep with the poet.

robots do

poets
don't do
math,
but
robots do.

on S. C. in memoriam

and oh,
to be but one of the days
in your september

one of hardy's girls -- just a loose scent,
a floral pattern, the 10th brunette or
the second bed you've rested in
on the 3rd floor of this complex

hardyf of torn labels emailed a pdf of his new chapbook to me and others this morning. inspiring to say the least. and at least: read the first poem, the first line, and fall.

to get a copy, email hardy.

there is NOTHING beyond this link.

no ringing, no bards, no leaves and certainly no poetry!

and all thanks, or none, to billy.