Saturday, September 6, 2008

Oh no, what should I do?

It is HAWT out.

I'm sitting here with a stack of poems trying to see how they relate to each other and how to arrange them in an order that will best make sense for my new chapbook. I have a title, even though when I ran it by his darlingness Scott Bunnycake, (btw, nice "blog", only a cute picture; I suppose that is enough), he told me the title sounded pretentious. Whatever Bunnycake.

I know. I'll distract myself by blogging. Again.

I have a tornado inside of me, creativity spinning and ripping up all sorts of preconceived ideas of what I wanted this next collection of poems to be. I have a reading next month at the Ugly Mug in OC and I have to get my caca together.

I've had a new poem in me for a week now, I have it between my teeth and I'm shaking it around. Trying not to kill it, just get it to lay the way I want it to. Come on, pretty poem, be nice to me, I'll be nice to you. . .

The inimitable Mr. Beau says I've been on edge for a few days, tense and sensitive. I've been in a cooking frenzy and even made zylitol cookies for the sugar-sensitive one. But I've also thrown some attitude. Attitude=cookies. Not a bad deal.

Here is where I got the line for the title of this blog:


Baby's In Black
The Beatles

It almost feels like earthquake weather, though maybe the earthquake is inside of me.

Yesterday I was working for new customers and they were my age. In a multi-million dollar house. It was odd. They were well-dressed and nice. Their swimming pool was huge, their view stunning. A cute baby in designer duds and expensive pram. They had four fireplaces. But they were hanging lame, mass-produced art on their walls and I pitied them. I may be broke but everything in my rented apartment tells a story about where or who I've been. I shouldn't judge, but I do. I'm human. They asked the usual: boyfriend? No (with a shudder.) Want kids? No (blankly.) What else do I do when I'm not painting their brand-new hand-wrought iron to make it look artistically antique but not worn? I'm living, damn it. And I'm damn good at it.

Maybe I'm a jerk. But just this week.

No comments: