i have crabs
and i haven't
i haven't been
and i have no
they're clinging on to
i have fleas
in my hair
and in my
not leaving me
my fingers are
i can't pick at
and i laugh and
usually i'm thinking of something specific when a poem comes to me. this time, the first lines of this came to me while i was high and persisted in haunting me after i sobered up. so the piece had to be written. and i had no idea at all where it was taking me. it wrote itself and took me on a ride in the process. and it's not about any particular time in my life or trip i've been on. when i have bad trips it's always spiders. so, like i said, i have no clue where this came from.
i just coughed once and doc woke up, it's going to be one of THOSE nights. where every sound wakes him up. this afternoon was like that. i was even breathing too loudly for him to sleep. he needs to get a bed. he needs a lot of things before i need a medical marijuana card, but that's what he's chosen to spend his money on. after he puts some away for the elephants.
if we could find a room mate who knows their place, eats their own food and pays their own way, we would be set. so far all the offers we've had have been from deadbeats. and i had enough of that with syzane. it might have been tolerable if she had paid her way. no, i still would have wanted to break her neck eventually. and i was wrong, i don't miss her. not even the companionship. i'm much happier alone.
i also found today and yesterday, the external floppy drive and the external DVD burner. i also found the firewire to the DVD burner. all i need to find is the A/C adapter for it. and i'm pretty sure i know where that is. i gathered them all up when i unpacked and put them all in one box, labeled the shit out of it and put it up on a shelf in the garage. i also got the CD drive on computer1 working again. i'm not sure how. i just disconnected and reconnected it, but it works now. did not have the same luck with computer2. it's an emachine and the innards are all blocked off by a metal panel. i was unhappy. i did what i could, cleaned it out, connected whatever what loose that i could reach and hope for the best. i haven't turned it on yet. i've been busy on this one.
all poetry dating from the present day to 2002 has been gathered in one place, proof read, and titled. now i just go to lulu.com and figure out what format i want it in and do the formating and conversion to PDF. the hard part will be designing the cover art and titling the book. i have a bunch of titles running through my head, but they are all inside jokes, and that didn't work very well with Stop Poking Me Lady. maybe No Sonnets Allowed . . . right, no.
i got my SD card reader to work on computer1 today, as well. as you could tell if you saw twitter, since i downloaded all the pictures i've taken the past two days of the cats. when doc gets up, i'll download the webcam software and be able to take pictures of myself again, joy. from different angles. oh, i don't need to download the web cam software, heh, i have it on CD and floppy and i have ways to read both now. i'm so good. i just wish i could fix computer2.
my obsession with the two will end and i will miss the laptop eventually. especially when i go to the slam. i even had a seat by an outlet scoped out so i didn't have to rely on the battery. or when i want to use blue max. which won't happen for a while. like i've been saying, i have a lot of work to do on computer1. the formatting and publishing of the new poetry book; the update of my web site; the updates of my five cafepress stores. all this stuff needs to be done on here, this is where all my older design software lives. so it's good that i was forced to focus on it and fix it and get it up to speed. i'm not worried about not having blue max to store stuff on, thanks to the Tech Fairy, i have enough flash drives to store any number of stuffs.
this is almost a college essay. 1000 words. or a newspaper article, a long one. or a short magazine article. or one one hundredth of a book. and i have said absolutely nothing.
which isn't hard to do. i have an acquaintance who is a very prolific writer of fiction. and he keeps writing and it seems to come naturally and effortlessly to him and i envy him that. i also envy that he has been published in book form where i have not. and because of these little envies it has taken me a long time and multiple readings of his books to be able to say, his work really sucks. he goes on for pages and pages and says nothing. it's horrible. i don't want to be one of those writers. maybe thats why i never seriously got into fiction, i knew i couldn't hack it. the short story evades me, and the book confuses me. the poem is where it's at.