Wednesday, November 01, 2006


(Nov. 1, 2006)

Rancor is a failure of the imagination.

You are confusing me with someone else: just because I am a woman / Filipino / short / luddite / et al doesn't mean I consider myself someone in the margins.

What is held in common by these two matters: poets who bring store-bought cookies to potlucks and poets who use cleavage to sell poems?

Someone set up a blog just to diss me. Thank you, Jesus: I'm famous now.

Nicey-nice has become the new radical. Tap…tap…: Waiting for others to get with the program.

Some people disagree with me, specifically citing “aggressive self-deprecation” as the new avant garde.

Over there, still the moon. But this time, it manifests joie de vivre, with zero apologies!

You regurgitate The Man’s words and you think the vomit is art?

Standards loosened through the consistent “Why not?”s.

Oh Pilgrim--you’ve not exhausted the “Why?”!

Struggling, here, for the upbeat.

Upbeat is the new radical (what eee-jit claimed there’s only one radical?).

I want to look at the moon’s grin and not call it “cheese.”

I want to see the moon crack and acknowledge it as a grin.

I want to see the moon behind the clouds.

I want to see the moon as less than full to allow my vision’s contribution

               for archetypes which are archetypes for a reason

                              and are now marginalized

Where did the sea go

               now that icebergs have melted?