Street photos...


Why am I here?

This blog doesn't get read much, but that's OK, I don't write here anymore, either. It was just a stopgap in case Journalspace didn't come back. It did, of course, and I therefore have no real use for this site. There aren't enough features here, and no community at all. A list of links to favorite blogs is not a community.

I also don't have enought to say to warrant two journals, and copying from one to paste into another is pointless.

If I ever have a need for another outlet, I'll simply start another at JS.



A conversation with my 'self'

"There you are, Self. I wanted to talk to you for a bit".
"Yeah, I don't talk to you often, and I apologize. I think I'm getting too old for some of the shit I do, you know?"
"I mean it. Work is a chore. I hate climbing in and out of a truck and carrying stuff. I don't want to be doing it when I'm sixty."
"Really, Self, is that the best you can do? You sure have a lousy vocabulary, considering you've been with me all my life."
"Grrrr! Arrggghh! Fuck! Fuckityfuckityfuckity...."
"OK. Never mind. Something else...I'm too old to be hanging out with twenty-somethings. I know that I'm accepted, and maybe they even like me, but I need people closer to my own age, besides the guys I work with."
"Exactly. Why can't I grow up a bit more? Get away from this virtual 'lifestyle' and meet more people in the real world?"
"Arrrghhh! Asshole! Grrrr!"
"Wow. A new word. And you've made a point. A very sharp point, thank you very much. I suppose I am an asshole. What have I done? What have I accomplished? I can almost sing, I can almost write, shit, I can almost do anything. But I don't do any of it well, 'cause I've never put the effort into any of it."
"Arrrgghhh! Fuckityfuckity..."
"Yeah, I have only me to blame. Heh. I almost said myself..."
"I said almost, 'k? Look, I won't bother you with any more right now. There are other things I want to talk about, but we can do it later."
"Yeah, whatever. Later, Self."
"Pleasant dreams, you fucking silly twit."
"What? What did you just say? Self?"


Shiny cars

Originally posted 3/18/06

When I'm trudging through the city
And the rain is in my face
And I'm stepping on wet litter on the walk,
There's cigarette butts tossed by others
Soggy in the gutter.
There's people speaking;
I can't hear them talk.

Cars are oh, so shiny when it rains;
Slick and smooth, the grime just disappears.
I wish that it would do for me the same
Cause cars are oh, so shiny when it rains.

I've lived my life as average Joe
With sin and no ambition.
I've done some things that made my loved ones cry.
There isn't much left now for me
But rain and dirty sidewalks.
I need a cleansing
And another try.

Cars are oh, so shiny when it rains;
Slick and smooth, the grime just disappears.
I wish that it would do for me the same
Cause cars are oh, so shiny when it rains.

A poem about Journalspace

With apologies to Gordo

JS gone in May
JS journal madness has touched the blogosphere
And through the smoke from hard drives
You can see it far and wide
The PCs sitting useless
Yet the bloggers stay inside

JS gone in May
JS gone in May
And the soul of all JSers is bared across the net
As the need for blogging output is what they cannot get
They flood the other blog sites, withdrawal makes them sweat

JS gone in May
JS gone in May
In the streets of JS city, a discarded server drawer
And the body of a hard drive lies flung upon the floor
Upon the shiny concrete
A new one they must score

JS gone in May
JS gone in May
JS journal madness has touched the blogosphere
And the bloggers rise in anger
And the forums start to fill
And there’s venom from the users
And and some do it for the thrill

JS gone in May

In the server room the lone admin
Tries everything, his patience thin
The emails keep on pouring
And the post whores keep on whoring
And they wonder how the site died
And they really know the reason
Lack of money, parts and free time
But the bloggers feel it's treason

JS gone in May
JS gone in May
JS servers burning with the bloggers running wild
They reflect upon their journals that have fallen to the ground
And everyone is bitching
And everyone is wound

JS gone in May
JS gone in May
The internet still functions
So the news is quickly flashed
And you read your morning email
And you sip another Coke
And you see JS is still gone
So you have another smoke

JS gone in May
The admin tries to circumvent
From Best Buy all the parts are sent
There’s really not much choice you see
Must quel the blogger anarchy
And then the parts are bolted in
Restore the data best they can
The site must reappear online
Or user fees may soon decline

JS gone in May
JS gone in May
The blogs of JS city now are quiet and serene
But the shells of blankened journals
Bring angst unto to the heart
And you say WTF happened
Backing up would have been smart
Why can’t we get it all back
Why can’t we write some more
But the laws of Mr. Murphy
You never should ignore

JS gone in May
JS gone in May
JS journal madness has touched the blogosphere
And through the smoke from hard drives
You can see it far and wide
The PCs sitting useless
Yet the bloggers stay inside


Old poems, reposted

2/28/06, after a photo by Burstmode

Whether sunny or cold
These are days of gold.
On the green, at play,
They will never be old.
They are frozen here
Year after long year.
The smiles will not fade,
They'll not shed a tear.

Can I join them, please,
And put my burdens at ease?
I would give up the sky
For golden days such as these.

4/16/06, in TeopDas's journal

My appetite's gone.
Even if I could eat
It would still taste like ashes,
Whether veggie or meat.
Time is abundant
And abundantly slow.'
Til you come back to hold me
That's the way it will go.

I don't want to move,
But I just can't sit here
While I wait for the sound
Of your breath by my ear.
Inertia has frozen me
And this you should know,'
Til you come back to hold me
That's the way it will go.


I think the title is apt...

...for what I will be putting here. I will use this as a repository for all of my poetry, and my rewritten songs that I previously posted at JS. I will add to it over time, perhaps with a few photos. I wish there was a main page here like the one at JS.

Poetry contest entries

1) Jack and Jill
Jack and Jill went up the hill
To fetch a pail of water.
He asked for sex, it Jill did vex;
She smacked him like she oughter.

Up Jack got, the pail forgot,
His face got red and hotter,
And Jill, for fun (she wasn't done)
Did soak Jack with the water.

2) Pictures of You
Pictures of you
A long time ago when we were friends,
Before we became lovers.
Enjoying a party,
Enjoying the beach.
You were so cute in that swimsuit.

Pictures of you
Not so long ago, when we were lovers,
Before we took our vows.
Sitting in my car,
Sitting on the bed.
You were so lovely on that bedsheet.

Pictures of you,
It seems like yesterday, partners for life
Before life turned away from us.
Holding our first child's hand,
Holding our second child.
You were so beautiful in a house dress.

Pictures of you
I capture no more, for you aren't here
And my camera is broken.

3) Our Hero
When last we saw our hero
Standing tall and true,
He was fighting baddies
In cape, and tights of blue.

His eyes were diamond brilliant;
Each tooth a shiny pearl,
And muscles bulging, rippling,
Black hair with a single curl.

Today our hero walked the street
Instead of flying. Why?
His face was pale, he'd lost the gleam
Of diamond in his eye.

He placed his hand upon his mouth
And coughed, my God! The sound!
It shattered nearby concrete block
And glass for miles around.

While others ran for cover,
The end was here for sure
I scrambled down a manhole
To watch the rest, secure.

The air was heated ten degrees.
At first I wondered how,
And then I knew it must be from
Our hero's fevered brow.

What happened next I can't describe.
The smell, the foul ooze.
Our hero clenched his cheeks and still
Destroyed his SuperRoos.

It must have been a SuperBug
That nearly felled our man,
And wheezing, smelling, sniffling
Shuffled off to find a can.

And as our hero staggered forth
To find the nearest loo,
I knew 'twas not from greenish rock;
Even heroes get the flu.

Is It Cloudy Where You Are?

I rather liked this one, first published 5/07/06

Is it cloudy where you are,
Or does the moon peer shamelessly
Into your room,
Exploring every crevice
While you do the same?

Do the sirens pierce your night,
Or does the quiet cover you
Like a blanket
Smothering the small, soft moans
Whispered when you came?

Do the street smells assault you,
Or does your own sweet, sweaty stink
Pervade the space
As you lie sprawled on the sheet,
Contented and spent?

Would you want me there with you,
Or would you defer to the night
To caress you
And to keep your secrets safe,
Nothing to repent?

Is it cloudy where you are?
Inspired by a photo of an old birdhouse, by Burstmode 3/14/06, on his previous blog as Rondo1957.

A father's project, weathered and proud
And long forgotten.
Yet there is new life
Continually birthed, even as
This small monument
Withers to dust.


Sent in a private message 3/23/06, not previously published.

Six hours 'fore the sun will peak
And sear the pale blue sky,
The pinkish yellow glow falls o'er
Your face, your breast, your thigh.
A gentle wind insinuates
Itself into your hair,
I gaze upon your sleeping form,
Oh, joy! to lie right there.

I feel a stirring; would caresses
Bring you out of your respite?
Do you dream of gentle loving
Now, before the the day is bright?

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