All entries for February 2011
February 22, 2011
Rice Dream Boy
I remember this much
On good days we drank rice milk from scarlet cartons
Cupping the sweetness on our eager tongues,
And sank grateful hands into cereal boxes,
Running granola mulch through our fingers,
Like soft expletives round broken teeth. It was
A better time.
I remember this much
The velveteen truffle hound in a wicker prism,
Snuffling over ankles in the dusky afternoon.
The conservatory veils, intervals in sunlight
flickering across your face; a tinted lantern
Knocking against tarnished glass,
I remember this much
Painted eggshells on the Easter table
And the whisky-spiced musk of your holiday suit.
Crisp cinnamon biscuits with spun sugar constellations,
Parted lips at midnight, and finding home
In the taste of lucky strikes and raspberry,
Snaring bliss from the precipice,
I remember this much.
February 21, 2011
莊周夢蝶, or Zhuangzi Dreamed he was a Butterfly
Is it a dream
when startled wings scatter livid dust
across an infinite sky?
Or is it when sticky lids unslick themselves,
exposing the midnight impotence
of some starless dark?
I cannot say; I can only hope
that delicate feelers,
softened by some rich fuzz
of dust or delighted fur,
might someday belong to me, again.
I am Batman’s apolitical elbow, restless-Lee
high-kicking to the beat of the Krakatoa dragon Heap-ing
hannibal piles of miscreants on the Gotham city floor-Ring
tossing with Robin for the rebirth of Marvel-Louse
picking the remnants of King Kong’s mane Concerned
about the barefoot vested ecstasy tablet discount-Less
than a thousand feet from ordinary; but I’ll jump.
Cause in the incandescent bat light of Gotham City Station
I'm a monstrous human construct or a misappropriation
Of the million million heartbeats sucker-punching expiration
To the underbelly innards of some mafia affectation
I'm no crystalline avenger or arachnid radiation
I'm a capitalist metaphor for phallic masturbation
I'm the wet-dream of geeks, check my bat-ejaculation
Or just subscribe to my blog, it's got all my information.
I am Batman’s apolitical elbow, shuttered in my bat cloak
Folded round a bat-ladder, practicing my tennis stroke
Brooding batlike vengeance in the gloomy batlike dark
Punctuating violence with my exclamation mark
I am Batman's apolitical elbow
I am Batman's incurious shin
I am Batman's black and grey basque
I am Batman's bat-rolling-pin
I am not walking home from a party at nine
Wishing I hadn't thrown up on the spice rack.
February 11, 2011
I've been a little preoccupied with having an actual life as well as a blog life in the last few weeks (hence the lack of quality obsessive blog posts) but I have also been a BIT productive. In terms of my webcomic plan, I've been teaching myself to use a tablet.
In case anyone was thinking of buying one of these tasty little dealies, which allows one to draw on the computer using a pen-mouse with the accuracy hitherto never reached on MSPaint, I would like to say that Bamboo, the somewhat ubiquitous brand which operates both on PC and on my (delicious gorgeous goddess of a machine) mac, is OK.
The programs on offer with the cheapest version of Bamboo (which of course I had to opt for, being a trampy student with an expensive sushi habit) are not, however, marvellous- although you can download LiveBrush on their website, which can give good results. Here's an example of what has so far been achieved on LiveBrush, my stand-in until I can figure out a way to steal PhotoShop from the ether:
February 03, 2011
His trouser tips just hovering
a hesitant five inches
above the parquet floor,
not quite touching, even
he will stand too close,
and tuck his shirt into
I generally like to fantasise about the social behaviour of strangers- I find the gap between the exterior appearance and actual personality really fascinating, so I like to spot people who seem a little out of place and imagine how they got there.
Uhhh basically I saw his man in an elevator, and I bitchily wrote this little description of his tiny trousers. It's supposed to sound a little nasty? I've turned it into a poem because that's the module I'm struggling with right now. So that was my today.
February 02, 2011
A sonnet(ish) for an assignment, I can't really do the iambs but I've managed the rhyme scheme, good for me. I don't think much of it, but the story is at least vaguely interesting? Thoughts?
Wife! I Am Risen!
Having quit the business of living, and
With little else to do, Mr Gapdear
Boldly left for the undiscovered land
Wearing his best suit (though rather austere)
Sailing in his coffin, he reached a plateau
A lone pimply youth sat in a hotel
Spluttered Mr Gapdear: "Where did they go?"
"So sorry sir, but they all left for Hell-
Heaven's the dullest place to volunteer:
Hell's got fighting, sex, breast augmentation?"
(Thus Hell-bound softy swept Mr Gapdear.
Landing at what looked like Clapham Station)
"Oh" said his wife "What time do you call this?"
"Dinnertime" he said, bestowing a kiss.
I dislike the sonnet, even if the word sounds like a cross between sun and bonnet, two things I currently crave (I want some sun, but being fair I crisp up from ghostly to lobster in a matter of seconds- thus the bonnet). More bad poetry next week.