Archive for September, 2003

The Butterfly in the Mill

Monday, September 29th, 2003
Current Listening:
REM: “Sweetness Follows”
It’s these little things,

They can pull you under.

Live your life filled

With joy and thunder.

Yeah, yeah we were altogether

lost in our little lives.

Oh. Oh. Ah.

Sweetness follows

Wow. I skipped Applied Literary Criticism this morning and my acting class was canceled. So today was basically like a weekend. Nifty. 😉 I called Chance and it looks like we’re gonna practice, so the show will probably happen.

The Butterfly in the Mill

A clattering cacaphony of saws and shears.

Sawdust billows breathlessly through the air

and mingles with the stench of

men, and grease, and caustic exhaust.

Boards clatter into sanders one at a time —

the slamming strangely arrhythmic. A saw whines

as it slices boards into manageable lengths.

The shrill whistle of a forklift slashes

through the random heartbeat of the mill.

The parching dust now fills the mill

and fills the air inside and outside the

men. A window is opened.

Butterfly wings

Gossamer things.

About her the slamming continues —

each noise falls off of her beat,

so harsh compared to the perfect time

of her fluttering wings.

She graces a belt sander until

it eats the next board. then she is


She draws a path through the mill,

loopinging, cresting, coming abreast

of everything.

Straight lines bleak corners white paint

She finds her window and leaves and


the mill is a mill.

Elegy for Summer

Thursday, September 25th, 2003
Current Listening:
Tori Amos: “Mother”
Mother the car is here

Somebody leave the light on

Green limosine for the redhead dancing girl

And when I dance for him

Somebody leave the light on

Just in just in case I like the dancing

I can remember where I come from

Elegy For Summer
A fragment

The last tired vestige of summer lingers

In the dwindling fires of the sun.

Naked trees stretch out their bony fingers

To our star, as if begging, “Please, give some.”

But he is now a miser, giving none.

The last leaves begin to quake, start to shake,

In a spiraling plunge they come undone.

As they melt into the ground one cannot mistake

The head of winter, the constant seasonal ache.

The world above my eyes begins to fade

Into an endless expanse of dire gray,

A cold, barren world of empty sights made

Of the ghosts of all that has passed away.

With the withering sky soon wanes the day.

The world becomes a silent film, of black

And white, a monchromatic boquet.

The world in vision is defined by a lack,

The year unwinding, made up in the end of slack.


Wednesday, September 24th, 2003
Current Listening:
Do Henley: “The Last Worthless Evening”
Every night it’s the same old crowd

in smokey rooms

You catch a faint glimpse of love sometimes

But it never blooms

I’ve been around this block a time or two

And I’ve made some big mistakes

But girl I promise you, I promise you

This is the last worthless evening

That you’ll have to spend

Just gimme a chance

To show you how to love again

This is the last worthless evening

that you’ll have to spend

‘Cause it won’t be long

‘Till your little heart is on the mend

Bob Dylan Biography

Bob Dylan biography. Between

pages 23 & 24:

a receipt.

Due back May 3, 2001.

on the back, a ballpoint

scrawl: “Don’t forget—”

the slip is ripped, what was not

to be forgot


On The Table in the Spotlight

They slew the beast in a glen

Then prepared it for the feast.

First they ripped of the bird’s limbs

Then they pucked clean the carass,

Cooke, cut, and served up the beast.

Feasters, slobs, vicious, minds dim,

Gather ‘round the table en masse.

These shifty, ravenous men

Leave nothing but hunks of skin,

Bare bones, cracked plates, and stained glass.

They lean back, beliies gorged. When

Full, all left of the deceased

Will be their shit, bones picked clean —

No clues to what it had been.


The sky is spinning slowly tonight

as my friends dance in the stars without music.

In the dark they have not a care; they

know that the recess bell will not ring.

Danny rides the merry-go-round,

spinning with the moon. His hair flies

out in every direction, bouncing with the

wind. He fills his face with his lunatic grin.

Timmy is climbing the tree

growing next to the jungle gym. He races

an imaginary foe to the top and almost

loses his grip, one hand swinging in the

air wildly.

Courtney sits below him with her

Knees akimbo.

She plays

with her Troll dolls, oblivious to

the others around her and the peril above.

Mike leads a company of adventurers with

baseball bats for swords and gloves for shields

around the baseball diamond, which could

be an island, a spaceship, or nothing in particular.

I lean my head against the cold metal of the fence, smiling fondly.

My fingers are looped through its metal, stuck in a way.

I want to climb and join in but something holds me back behind the chain link.

Justin leads some other children — faceless now and

nameless with time — in a game of

tag. “One, two three… not it!”

“Not it!”

“Not it!”

Ten Foot Pole – “Hey Pete”

Tuesday, September 23rd, 2003

Hey Pete by Ten Foot Pole

“hey pete” she said “it’s not too late

i still think that you’re just great

you need to wait in the right place

where you’ll meet a girl with good taste”

“aw, ma don’t you think i tried?

i think there’s something wrong inside

i have no problem making friends

but that’s where the story ends”

i have no problem hanging out

then i see a glimpse of doubt

and i don’t understand — what makes them not like me?

i’m just trying to be myself

but it’s so far from everyone else

and i don’t understand what makes them not like me

“hey pete i see from what you said

that the problem’s all in your head

and if you want to make a change

you must let go of being strange.”

“yeah mom the problem’s in my brain

sometimes i really think i’m insane

it goes much deeper than fear

deep down inside me i’m just weird

maybe i’m just weird

“you’re not weird pete you’re just fine

and i’m proud to say you’re mine

regardless of the strange things you’ve done

i’m so glad that you’re my son

i really think from what you said

that the problem’s all in your head

and if you want to make a change

you must let go of being strange”

i have no problem hanging out

then i see a glimpse of doubt

and i don’t understand — what makes them not like me?

i’m just trying to be myself

but it’s so far from everyone else

and i don’t understand what makes them not like me

I Am Riff-Raff

Sunday, September 21st, 2003

Hooray For Richard O’Brien

Which Rocky character are you?

Note: This was a post of survey results for “Which Rocky Horror character are you?” I got Riff-Raff. The site is dead now and just a parking page.


Wednesday, September 17th, 2003
Current Listening:
Tom petty: “King’s Highway”
Lover I await the day

Good fortune comes our way

And we’ll ride down

The king’s highway

Whew! I just went for a bike ride in the rain. There’s nothing like the feeling of being soaked. When I ride my bike I listen to CDs and sing along. I must’ve looked quite a sight to passersby: heavy winter coat, headphones, fogged-up glasses, and singing. Oh, well — this is Missoula, for Christ’s sake!

Last night Tony and Shawnie Transue came up from the valley and we watched Liar, Liar in Brooke’s room. Jim Carrey does best, I think, when he’s not making rubber of his face. This film shows both his ‘funny face’ and his ‘actor’ side, and it’s clear which is more entertaining. Yes, he can stretch his face into ungodly configurations, but he can also act sincerely when he wants.

For Cat Stevens

Wednesday, September 17th, 2003

For Cat Stevens

Where do the children play? It

Certainly ain’t here no more. Perhaps they are

Busy throwing rocks, brewing

Hatred, and sipping malitohv cocktails. It would

Be absurd to think they still drink

Tea with the tillerman.

He’s moved away; he’s gone to safer parts.

Would you blame him? Rocks litter

The tracks; in other places they have been

Warped. Smoking holes defy any passage

On the peace train.

Hey, Cat, it’s a wild world, innit?

One hellof a world(which is they all

Say where everyone will go). So maybe

The children have looked upon us, seen

The adults hurling rocks and insults, arguing,

Blowing each other

to bits. I hope they have seen this

And laughed.

Grownups can be so silly sometimes, huh Cat?

Lectures and Scenes

Tuesday, September 16th, 2003
Cool Link: Congress Eats Crow and French Fries
It’s about time. I hope France makes a big-ass stink about this. And to think, we elected these people. Nice way to look to the future, jackasses.
Current Listening:
Screeching Weasel: “The First Day of Summer”
A summer day

And I thought

I heard you say

It’s just another day

Watch it go by

Nothing much to report. I got my financial aid, which means my education will only cost $300 this term, instead of $3000. There’s a lecture about Milosovik tonight, which I might go to. I dunno, when an opressed people overthrow a dictator it goes unnoticed, but when the U.S. does it? Hm….

Acting class is getting pretty nifty. We started doing emotions, something we really didn’t touch upon in the 111 class. It’s nice working with people who want to act. Tomorrow, we get to act out actual scenes. And, if you can imagine, I’m not the only gung-ho person in the class!

I’m reading a biography of Bob Dylan. It’s really quite interesting; I never realized that so many supposed details of his past were merely the result of a façade. It still doesn’t change the fact that he’s an enormous songwriter. And has a sucky voice. Almost as bad as mine. 😉


black ice and white mist,
streetlight ghosts hum noiselessly
while Missoula sleeps

the tiny-
bird is up(no more)
on the ground

here a s
angui(sh)ned feat
her(e) a l e g bnet awk-
she will gr(ow)
ace the sk(wh)y no
more (Sweet songs) no
(head bobbing any)more

Fear God
Pre-marital sex
Power-hungry women
Spineless men
Child-molesting homosexuals
Godless Evolutionists
Anti-Bible Bigots
Lying Penteco$tal$
Pro-abortion baby butchers
Sports fanatics
Cult of the effeminate intellect
Unbelieving Jews
People that talk to pets more than GodMisc. heathens

I see your sign. And despite my
Best efforts, and though I might try
To resist, there is still a part
Of me that hates you in my heart.

That, my friend, is my greatest sin:
Somehow, somehow, somehow, you win.

Brooke’s Birthday

Sunday, September 14th, 2003

Brooke’s birthday went okay. Tony had his housedecked out. Streamers everywhere. He filled a room knee-high with balloons. Brooke was genuinely surprised, too. That was in no small part because I called her, saying that Aaron, Carrie and I were still in Missoula. Self-congratulatory, I know.

I was in the valley for less than twenty-four hours, now that I think of it. Gramma and Grampa from mom’s side and Grandma Short were there, but I barely saw them! I had too much to do.

Brooke’s mom took Brooke, Carrie, and me back up to Missoula today. Then Aaron, Carrie, and I went to the Pita Pit. We took the long way, down to Higgins then across the bridge. I was hungry — I hadn’t eaten all day! Aaron of course had to get ice cream, so we went down Broadway to the footbridge, making a full loop.

I’ve got more poetry — a lot more. Just gotsta type it.

Dinner in the Park

Thursday, September 11th, 2003
Cool Link: The Flat Earth Society

God, class was boring today. Even Astronomy. Poetry was okay; we workshopped poems and it was somewhat fun, but we didn’t workshop mine!

Current Listening:
Mineral: “LoveLetterTypwriter”
Summer unfolded

like a tapestry

And you were there

as you have always been

There glowing where

the sky meets with the trees

Air softly crowing,

singing fears to sleep

So after dinner we (we being John, Aaron, Carrie, and me) went to the “Dinner in the Park” thingie. The last one of the year. It was smoke-free, but it was raining! I guess good weather and these thingies just don’t mix. Guess who we saw? Sarah, who had just moved up today. Nifty! I invited her to Drew’s Margarita Monday next week, we’ll see if she calls or was just humoring me.

Then we played some mad Foosball.

My CD is almost mixed!