The Story of Stuff

Gakked from Mary DeMuth's Shoutlife Blog: The Story of Stuff. It's good stuff. Takes a couple of seconds to load the video, but it's worth the watch. More reason to minimalize your life.

--God is calling
God is calling
When you think he has forgot
When you think you have forgot
He remembers
and he speaks
your name out loud.--

today's poem

Joys of Forty


Hard to believe I ever was a baby
Although pictures never tell a lie.

I am Spam

She’s a cutie
He’s got a degree
He sells the latest stock in trade
Prophylactics, monkey antics
And Microsoft’s latest tool.

Download me
Purchase me
send me your details.

Win a prize
Collect the money
Sequestered by some foreign bank

Send your papers
Call this number
Be sure to have your account on hand

Here’s your code
Here’s your MBA
Here’s your gucci,
Here’s your prada
Here’s your imitation brand.

What more could you possibly want?

Enhance your sex life
Increase libido
Don’t be shy

We accept credit
We accept cash
We accept
The possibility
Of taking you
And breaking into your life.

In the Mail Today

The New Weird Anthology, edited by Ann and Jeff VanderMeer -- have already snuck into the introduction which made my head go ping. I am already liking it and looking forward to a nice cosy sitdown with the stories.

Also received, Beggars in Spain which I'd ordered from an Amazon.com seller.

The Borges book I ordered is still footsie. If it doesn't arrive tomorrow I am going to have to complain.

**

And because poetry makes friends, my new year's resolution is to send poetry collections as gifts to poetry loving friends.

I'm really looking forward to gifting peeps with Luisa Igloria's soon to be released Juan Luna's Revolver.
I don't shop a lot, but I compensate with book buying :) Funny how this can be much more rewarding than buying a new pair of shoes. Having said that, I suppose it would be redundant to broadcast my bookwormism.

**

Must be the time of year. I am writing poetry again...to quiet the clamor inside my head.

Dear . . . .


Sometimes, sleep is the only escape
and even then this dull ache
turns my dreams somber
I awake shedding tears over
the memory of mangoes

this is why I love poets and poetry

There are days when stories clamor for existence
And my head is filled with noise and the clash-bang of giant drums

I will always return to poetry
To this luxury of resting in its arms and knowing
I can be.