Me and Dr. Frankenstein, eh? We've created (gasp) a mon-ster. LOL. Thanks, all of you, for bearing with me while I threw my little tem-puh tantrum. I assure you I am just fine now and the padded walls of my new little room are oh so comfy. Just kinda hard to type with these loooonnnngg sleeves that wrap around such weird places.
Great poem, Sierra. Danke. Mahalo, Lore. Yes, Rebecca, we go back 4-evah. Thanks, Barbara. Carol(s), had me grinning in spite of myself.
So you've begun writing each other? I love it. About time something like that happening. First thing we know this might turn into something even better than we'd ever envisioned.
Congrats to Nu and M. on their recent online ceremony. Should have been there but wasn't invited (heh heh). And very best wishes to our sister Loveisarose who is very special to me and pretty much saved my butt from the concrete industrial thing of Tulsa. Danke, darlin, and keep dancin.
Mischell, wasn't aimed at you. Was trying to blow a hole in my foot, but, well, the gun backfired and my foot blew into my mouth. Call it, Instant Karma.
Sharply colder today, folks. Was up on the roof at Nancy's Farm trying not to act like a sail and get blown away. Was *very* careful approaching the Edge. Got quite a bit of trim done before my hands began cramping from the cold.
Good news: Finally got my Interlinear Greek/English translation of the New Testament. $28 and change, but at least I have it now. Just think: I can sit in JavaBreak and look *very* (cough) intelligunt. Perhaps I should begin smoking a pipe? Corncob would look hip, kewl, groovy, dontcha think?
I'm not sure I want to spend Christmas in Kansas. It's already November and the new century is just ahead of us, and of course I'm excited about that, never having thought I could survive myself to make it this far, but, sigh, here I am. So we shall see.
The first two weeks of November have frequently been drama-filled times for me, life-changing events, relationships often pop up during this time, so I'm a bit apprehensive about what lies just ahead. I see finally moving into the Greek as being...powerful. Btw, beware of eeks bearings gifts. And, speaking of Bill Gates, do you really think the geek shall inherit the earth? (Ok, ok, I'll shut up. I have this horrible sense of humor stuck right at the 7 yo level.)
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I have no poetry today, raving or otherwise. It was lovely just to crawl leisurely out of bed, head down to JavaBreak where Mindy told me she and Nicoletta had spent all yesterday telling anyone who'd listen that I'd said they were "achingly beautiful." Well, they are, so there. But those squashed-up straw hats surely added another dimension. Hee.
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So, Sierra, tell me more about that poem, please. And how yr life is going of late. I would have answered yr IM yesterday, but apparently I was elsewhere and didn't see it until you'd gone. Sigh.
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Yes, Dalila, the Dark Night of the Soul now and then pops up, hopefully just before the dawn, eh? Keep translating, girl. And don't even *think* of sending me a bill. Heehee.
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Tynidncr, I personally think you're the better poet, but by being my pal you challenge me to grow, too, and I really don't think that kind of thing matters. Put it this way: I like yr stuff, you like mine. Sounds like a friendship to me.
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I do not have a poetic bone nor thot in my body this evening, and I'm gonna say that's just fine and kewl, cuz I need a break from always having to be that way. Just gonna relax a bit here. It's good to have you all as friends; good to know I have a place to come to "let it all hang out." And sometimes I need to do that.
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Patti wrote me this really neat little poem, and I'll bet she doesn't write that many. Big smile here, girl. I liked it. Let's rent a video oneathese times.
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The Jam (not Slam, I'm told) is coming up real soon, and I should go, but am not sure I'm up to it. It's 95% performance pieces, and I just don't do that stuff. Ms would be perfect, her pubic hair poem, I'm thinking.
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I did get a chance this morning to talk with Matt Fowler who is, I think, sort of the MC at the Jam. He talked about the last time Allen Ginsberg came to town, how lovely it was; and talked about being out at William Burroughs' place when Old Bill was blasting away with his shotgun. Apparently he created ART that way. Not to mention killing his wife accidentally back in the 50s. Ohwell. Bill died a year or so before I got back to Lawrence, and I keep meeting all these people who knew him, including his ex-maid. "Driving Mr. Burroughs," eh?
I'm going to send this off before the cyber-thing eats it. Again, thank you all for the love and support. I'll let you know when the next NervousBreakdown is scheduled. To be playing soon in a padded cell near you. Hee.
Luvyas.
Dickens
Jeandee
Dicks
