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NAPoWriMo 2008's Journal
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Below are the 15 most recent journal entries recorded in NAPoWriMo 2008's LiveJournal:

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Saturday, April 4th, 2009
10:10 pm
Switchin' off, folks.
I'm posting my stuff to napowrimo now. It's active again.
Wednesday, April 1st, 2009
11:09 pm
1: Woolworth
Two rows over, woolweave, laces through leaves
We'll find each other's fingers in the smooth cool dirt between us
Not a path per se, but we're both there
And in some cases, seeing
We'll find him, you and I
Us two are dew droplets on a spiderweb's netting
Baubles strung in the hair, decor
But we're so much more than that, no matter
how much they won't let us
Seatbelt, staple us down
Won't work when our fingers are oh so good with the locks
Just like Daddy taught us in the first place

I'll find him, if you find the way
Sniff the air
Find the bad spots because we ain't no canary
And dropping dead wasn't my agenda here
Sometimes you gotta mine for gold
In the heart, in life
In foolish wastelands
Sometimes people are left behind
And you gotta catch em
It's the only thing that can be done.

Dear Papa,
Trust us
We'll bring the bacon back home.
You can wedge that in between covers and sew a binding right on
Laces strung every which way
Glue down the spine
Slap me till it sticks.
8:20 pm
01 - Re:
Playing-card insecurities
and witty ripostes by email
baby-scars and an age spot
and a  '58 Corvette L8
comment thread a mile long
zero to 30 all too soon...
Fresians replaced by Subarus
(does the Prince have a steady job)
the first notes of the BVW 565
and the lingering bite of chardonnay
all that's left of the midnight oil
a smile at 1 AM with a Kodak attached
an arc Overwijk could have scribed.

Current Mood: tired
Thursday, May 1st, 2008
9:36 pm
#30 - Claims
You'll let me put a word or two to you.
I've right enough to recollect
I've right enough to pen you by now
If you want, you can have the candlesticks back
in exchange for the poetry.
I'll even give back the tiny end tables
(whatever you call them, they're fancy)
for a short. More than a bit of flash-
I think the effort involved in stealing them
credits me something more than just a chapter.
You like the cat enough
(and I know you do, don't deny it)
that you ought to find me worth
the time
You of all should be able to.
Wednesday, April 30th, 2008
11:43 pm
#29 - There Is No Path to Old Home Anymore
I don't know what to call to anymore
except, I do
I just don't know why this pile of goosedown
is here
and where did it come from and where
and where
did the times go did the pearls disappear to
where is my wife she's off sleeping with the daisies and
in the interim
I wonder why I went there, wonder
if it was all really just crookery
and heists and
madcap teenage hijinks or was it really
reaching up
but being pulled sideways am
I really
getting this story straight or
telling it to myself through the funhouse mirror
am I getting it right
am I getting it right
good Lord, am I getting it right?
Tuesday, April 29th, 2008
5:42 pm

Three years.
Several edicts issued
promoting an arbitrary deadline
as if putting a limit on the crawl of time
itself would put a stop to the rise of the kingdom.


I dove backward today
through a hospital stay
(worked so close to death
that my family cared)
my own body betraying me
(so cold, so painful
the loop that saved me)
the skidding next to Sunset
(three hours wasn't
enough to stop the car)
somewhere along the way
I got a sense of where forward is
but it was lost in the
checkout line at Von's.
Monday, April 28th, 2008
1:55 pm
#28 Squares
Welcome to the new story

It's a lot like the old one. We've just tightened a few screws and
kicked out some loose boards
I think you'll like it.

We'll like
playing that same old game again
but different, and this time,
for more points. We'll like
playing for keeps this time
for the second time
and not having to remember which way was the right way
not having to worry at all, because
you see there are no funerals
there are no diagonals
there are no more urinals

this is baseball
this is chess
this is jenga

and when I cast the chips in I'll cast the chips in
all real on the pile, no wooden
nickels no
false corners no
dutch ovens without
well-played hands

and we'll see who gets the last laugh but
it's not so much the laugh that's
important, but
which will have echoed.
1:46 pm
#27 - Understand
She didn't look like she was going anywhere, but
that is the first mistake me make, that first look
defining purpose by impression. No one wears it on
their shoulder, or on their hand. They don't even
carry it where they can pull it out fast. It's just
there, in the pocket of a heart, maybe jangling
around her ankle the next day, and later on it'll
be tucked up in her cheek. We don't think about
where to put our purpose, we're too busy with it
to keep track of it. And when we want it, need it,
it's always right there in the palm anyways. Right
where we meant to put it, if we ever had wanted to.
1:42 pm
With the max line it's always a matter of
not accounting for the times we didn't relay

It's easy. With everything comes practice
With every action comes
and in the interim, in the small thuds of silence afterwards
we pause
and consider

The swan was dark blue, stood on two sturdy legstumps.
Its tail trailed behind it, scale on scale on scale.
And with its crown perched on its head, I wondered why it so resembled a peacock.
As far as I could recall, there were no peacocks anywhere.
Friday, April 25th, 2008
10:29 pm
In the precise area that followed
who would be able to know
how the dust and the plumes fell
what swallow-laden remorse would pile redemption
on your pillow with the posies
and make up for something more

Who would say goodbye, with a pinprick
and give you what you couldn't pretend was snow
who would make you into tulips
and tell you how to breathe once more
10:23 pm
It is not the 24th
Pineapplecones drifting down a swallow
In Vista it's almost instantan
Well, I have a whole 512 gigs
of meg

When you see a drink it's best to drink
After a year that rule is no different
But the company is what really changes
Whether the liquor is smuggled or not

4:16 pm
Wednesday, April 23rd, 2008
9:32 pm
#23 - In & Out Art
I was so in love with the canvas
I just couldn't put
on it so now
I have thrown paint across it
hurled curlicues of lavender and velvet blue periwinkle
and now it is no longer
or maybe it is finally sacred enough
to put paint on

I'd tell my parents
but they would just ask me why
I hadn't called
8:57 pm

Washed today down with
can't concentrate
there's XKCD in the channel
where Pipe is X to tha D
       - no salt on the frizzle
and drinkin' Bailey's from a shoe
and Dad hits me with the worm
and takes it back
Tuesday, April 22nd, 2008
11:18 pm
#22 - Development
We had a talk, the two of us
the other night, under a long moon
its light cast in reflection over reflection over reflection
layering the waves
ocean below us, before us
we were high up on our cliff

And it feels like "ours" at that distance, even though
it's more yours than mine, much more
Anyways, I had a cigarette
offered you one, and to my surprise you accepted
'What a gentleman', the other voice in my lapel pocket
but only with so much mock
at this point in developments it's conversation too.

A three-way conversation more than a two-way
but you knew that before I even asked if we could talk
you and I, under the stars
you know I don't go out alone anymore
Still, I extended the offer
because it seemed to matter that I tried.

I always think of what I miss. It's nice to know you miss
that upon change, you acknowledge, and that you can reflect
I don't think that is relevant here but,
in a way, is it what this has been all about?

I ask you about the stars. Or maybe I talk to you
no questions, no motives
who's to tell the difference at a certain elevation?
I ask about K, about my tribe, and my family
I ask most of all about myself and that which I've beget
I make shapes with the smoke I inhale.

It's all part of getting comfortable,
I suppose
It's all part of growing into me
breaking the new shoes in

You give them pots, they whose roots you tend
He gives me shoes, he who my roots now lead to
I wonder at how accurate that metaphor might be
How close to home
A transplant's ponderings.

What words did we really have besides idle conversation?
Or was this what all the trouble was about?

Sometimes, that is enough.
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