Behind the Curve
Friday, February 27, 2004
Stupid girl
Nothing makes a phrase less sexy than hearing your philandering office mate say it to one of his many girls over the phone on the cubical behind you.
Thursday, February 26, 2004
The thing is...
I'm 27, and getting old. Remember in The Breakfast Club, when Ally Sheedy says "When you grow up, your heart dies?" Well, I'm a lot saner than I was in high school or college. A lot happier, or at least a lot less miserable. I think.
If I'm tired now, I have to remember that I was at least as tired then. The thought of eventually having kids (the most exhausting experience in the world, I've heard, is conceptually beyond understanding, I'm afraid.
On that note...
Here is a poem about zombies, which I wrote after seeing 28 Days Later, a fine zombie flick.
Ode to Zombies (or There’s Nothing Sexy About Zombies)
Voodoo slave
You stumble like a zombie
Through the sugar dust fallout
It’s a sweet drug
Zombie love
Pure infection confection
Don’t stop breathing it in
Black magic’s got you
Radioactive
Inside you’re glowing like the sun
So hot
This fever shock won’t stop
In the meltdown
This heart’s a biohazard
Your eyes go epileptic
With spontaneous decay
Hunger penetrates
Like x-rays
To the bone
You’re mutating
You’re not the man I knew
This half-life’s really got you down
Premonition foaming on my tongue
Heart in your mouth
Our race is done
Spastic panic
Brain and body
Liquefy
Dusk slams down hard
So do I
One last lucid moment slips
Convulsion grips, or is it you
There goes the sun
In the beginning...
Hello, world.
This is an attempt to see if having an (imaginary) reader pool might help me focus. Too much MTV in the 80s just sapped the attention span right out of me.
