halfjack

blah. my roomate is leaving to take care of family stuff. which really sucks, cuz i have trouble making really really good friends like him. especially with dudes. at least he's gonna try and get me a job before he leaves.

more venting: wtf is up with the fact that gay men thinking that i'm the hottest shit since like, dance music? all my gay friends are crazy hitting on me and all up ons and the womens, well, i mean i'm not exactly in any rush to get my freak on but it'd be nice, ya know, if there was like some interest. just to keep me sorta like, "one day cap'n. one day. you will rock this boat."

hey. remember when alec baldwin was a bad guy? in ahhhh, the juror? ya know wih demeeeeee more? that was neat.

i missed this poem. i found it. yay. anyone like robert penn warren?

There's a grandfather's clock in the hall, watch it closely. The
minute hand stands still, then it jumps, and in between jumps
there is no-Time,
And you are a child again watching the reflection of early morning
sunlight on the ceiling above your bed,

Or perhaps you are fifteen feet under water and holding your breath
as you struggle with a rock-snagged anchor, or holding your
breath just long enough for one more long, slow thrust to make
the orgasm really intolerable,
Or you are wondering why you really do not give a damn, as they
trundle you off to the operating room,

Or your mother is standing up to get married and is very pretty,
and excited and is a virgin, and your heart overflows, and
you watch her with tears in your eyes, or
She is the one in the hospital room and she is really dying.

They have taken our her false teeth, which are now in a tumbler
on the bedside table, and you know that only the undertaker
will ever put them back in.
You stand there and wonder if you will ever have to wear false
teeth.

She is lying on her back, and God, is she ugly, and
With gum-flabby lips and each word a special problem, she is
asking if it is a new suit that you are wearing.

You say yes, and hate her uremic guts, for she has no right to make
you hurt the way that question hurts.
You do not know why that question makes your heart hurt like a
kick in the scrotum,

For you do not yet know that the question, in its murderous triviality,
is the last thing she will ever say to you,
Nor know what baptism is occurring in a sod-roofed hut or hole on
the night-swept steppes of Asia, and a million mouths, like
ruined stars in darkness, make a rejoicing that howls like
wind, or wolves,

Nor do you know the truth, which is: Seize the nettle of innocence
in both your hands, for this is the only way, and every
Ulcer in love's lazaret may, like a dawn-stung gem, singor even
burst into whoops of, perhaps, holiness.

But, in any case, watch the clock closely. Hold your breath
and wait.
Nothing happens, nothing happens, then suddenly, quick as a
wink, and slick as a mink's prick, Time thrusts through
the time of no-Time.