… to watch a 3-D movie.

He used my five suggest words*.  Go check it out!

*pumpkin, wavy, burlesque, clog, boiled

I’m coming out of a poetry-less funk, or trying to come out of it anyway.  I go through these phases pretty often and they can be of two types:  the I-don’t-care-about-poetry-at-all-right-now type or the I-care-but-can’t-write.-HELLLP! type.

I’ve always thought it was just a quirk of my brain, a feast or famine tendency or a desperate struggle to get away before being Michael Corleone’d right back in.

But is it?  We all know people who wrote poetry as teenagers, people who turned to poems and then turned away.  Did they change, or did they learn that poetry can’t give them what they need?  Did they fail as poets, or did poetry fail them?  Do I turn from poetry because I am fickle, or because I’m starving to death on a diet of imagery and Big Endings?

Biologically, pandas are carnivores.  Yet they survive on a diet of bamboo.  Bamboo.  One of the least nutritionally dense plants in the world keeps the pandas alive.  A few years back, I read a story that said farmers were noticing something was eating their sheep–hungry pandas whose bamboo was too scarce were reverting to their carnivorous ways.

Did they turn back later?  Go back to bamboo and maybe lie awake dreaming of mutton?  Hell if I know.  And hell if I know whether my own lack of sticktoitiveness reflects more on me or on poetry.  Some things by their nature are flashes in the pan.  Some things by their nature are bamboo.  Some people by their natures are fickle.  Some people by their natures are quitters.

Which fails first, the dodo or the feather?

“SnowJob SquareGlasses.”

Political pundits really can be funny.

Julie, if you were born to Sarah Palin, your name would be:
WMD Cessna Palin

You can call me Cessie, ’cause I sure as hell am not gonna answer to W.

I’ve been incommunicado since Sunday because of a power outage after some surprisingly strong winds after Ike. That’s when it becomes obvious what an electricity junkie I am.

And how astonishingly whiny.

I’m going to be starting the Couch-to-5K running plan next week. Anyone want to join me?

Apparently, according to John McCain I am therefore an expert on energy.

Who knew?

Now, someone pay me for my expert advice. I’ve got TONS.

OK. I had what I thought would be a crazy idea to start a blog where poets could share poems from the first-raw-sometimes scary-first-draft to the finished draft.

The new blog is Quarrel.  Five poets are participating, and they need word suggestions, so go comment!

I want to practice making voice recordings of prose.  Any suggestions?