Let us talk, communicate via things I wonder about everyone

I decided last night, or rather the insomniac morning at four-fourteen am that I could or should come up with a few leading questions and ask for responses - like a quiz - the rules are simple - answer what you want if you want - in the comments or on your blog to perpetuate the idea. If you participate, please leave the link in my comments section. I will answer at a later date but all my answers are known already by me so there will be no cheating off others papers.
Oh, I do not think that the answers to these will really tell me anything beyond what your answer is at the moment you write it. There is no one question that leads to the profound truth about a persons person.


1. Do you write in the margins of books?
     a. if so, what do you write,
     b. if not, why not?

2. How particular are you about your clothing?

3. Do you listen to music when you write/draw/paint/do what it is you like to do?
     a. if so, what?
     b. if not, okay then, next question.

4. Do you intentionally or mistakenly mix metaphors?

5. Do you finish more than seventy-two percent of what you read?
      a. please approximate how much.

6. What are your personal feelings about cliche?
     a. realize that it is cliche to hate them before you answer.

7. Do you use a thesaurus?
     a. If yes, how many different kinds do you have?
     b. if no, how many different kinds are you hiding?

8. What is your preference:
     a. a frog reading a book paperweight, or
     b. a monkey reading a book paperweight

9. what are your vices?
     a. what are your real vices?

10. If you came across a bag of money, no-one around for miles, how would you justify taking it and not reporting it to anyone?

11. if the coffee barista never charges you for your really fucking expensive drink, how long do you wait before insisting on paying or do you just keep the latte train rolling?

12. How do you sleep at night living in a world without Don LaFontaine?

13. How much research do you put into a statement before making an ass out of yourself in front of someone else who knows better.

14. Define theft.

15. Define theft as it applies to you.

16. Define honesty.

17. define how you want it to apply to others about you.

18. quick, how many fingers am I holding up?

19. This being the last question as asking 20 goes against my sadistic tendencies (I know there are the OCD sufferers out there reading this)  I will ask, simply, if you only have 30 seconds to make a permanent judgment about a man - what would your criteria be - is it the same for a woman?

21. kidding. lying. What is your most harmful obsession?





ah, that was fun and slightly inane.

Two new links - I hope they both work - one, on the left, to follow by e-mail and the other - on the right, to buy my book from me directly, sometimes cheaper and always signed.

edit: the button for the book works! Thank you to Kevin Shear for being my Guinea pig on that one.
Still waiting to hear if the e-mail button works.

as a side note

as a poet I am venerable,

vulnerable.

I cry.

weep.

stagger.

close my eyes tight.

hope.

dream.

love.

hate.

dance.

I am not weak.

vulnerability is not a weakness nor a reflection of weakness.

I defy any human who fails to see my strength,

with my toothy bared teeth,

my child's smile,

my care free

turn of daffodils and dandelions.

I do not recite the Lord's prayer,

I am a poet,

I shall be beatified,

I have my own.

 - Hoc Scripsi - a mediation on Saul Williams and his expressions

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as an aside and I hate to put this here:

support your favorite poets...

click here

Today

I am fairly embarrassed to call myself a blogger lately - as you can tell I've had other things on my mind and keeping up with everything is difficult - So, I've read almost no blogs, written very little in mine and in general am none too fazed by this.

The words on the page look foreign to me and today we recall the death of Willem de Kooning. Becoming a ghost of his own brush stoke today in 1997. 

Listening to Chopin, Opus 34, no. 2 in A minor - Writing a letter to a friend who I owe more than just that letter. I managed to nap between nine pm and eleven pm. awake now or still I can only think about Willem and Chopin, My friend and my pajamas.

Magpie #57 - spontaneous from prompted poetry

wanting the birds to sing in winter,

I stoop to pet a plant
inadvertantly knocking over the light fixture.

I miss every painting I've ever sold.

 - Hoc Scripsi











Image Courtesy of Magpie Tales #57

this has kept me up all night

I just don't think it would be that hard to figure out who Banksy is.

What I know for sure...

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every dog my parents ever owned has bit my father.

as of May 21st - this will no longer matter

not that it is of great import now either, but it seemed important at the time.


I've lost count how many "end of the world" scenarios I've lived through so far, I can only be sorry for the ones I'd missed due to the year of my birth - it could have been more possibly. From memory most have been from 1988 to 2012 - obviously I have yet to survive the Mayan end (didn't that culture already end?) and am looking forward to the May, 21st 2011 Rapture where everybody I know will wake up on the 22nd - and the real party can begin.


I wish to publicly congratulate Lynne Hayes on her editor ship of Bicycle Review - I've been known to use connections before...

Also, there is a new cat around my house - a kitten in fact, five months old, cautious and loving, the other cats are keeping their distance for the most part and the kitten hisses more then the established - I think it will only take a few more days and they will all tolerate each other publicly and love one another privately. 
Now we have - Mingus, Ellie and Billie - a Jazz trio. We use to have Miles but he got ornery and didn't want to play in the band anymore. We still miss him dearly.


last thought for the day...

pow

pow

dazed and tripping backward

blood pouring from my nose

tears bursting from my eyes.

it’s not the first time I’ve had my nose broken

but it never feels the same,

it is always unexpected;

and no-one ever remembers a broken nose

or the stains left on the street and

your street clothes.

and the pretty face

my mother loved

is never

going

to be

the

same.

 - Hoc Scripsi

I'm sorry, please hold.

I haven't posted much lately.
frankly,

I've been busy.

when life....

Hopefully you get sugar and water,
hopefully there isn't too
much blood
on
the
dance floor,
but
you'll probably just learn to suck on a lemon for a long time.