Pardon My Creaking

If there is any place on my body these days where I don't have arthritis, it must be that I don't have a place that's called that!

Oh Shut Up It's Good For You!

Check out this poem

"Didactic In November"

at Judy Garland Blues.

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Great Day

Today's going to seem like a great day, and that's enough for now. I heard some nitwit TV reporter talking about how great Ronald Reagan was, even on this day of Obama's inauguration, but I guess it's too much to ask for every single republican to show an iota of sensitivity. But we have the advantage at present, since Ronald Reagan is very agreeably Dead.

More Naked Bob

Listen again if you're not lazy; Bob Dylan won't mind. Hear "Every Grain of Sand" again or hear it for the first time if you missed it before.

Hobgoblins

For several years, since my illnesses began, I got into the habit of sleeping with a night light in my bedroom. It started out as something to calm my nerves, but lately became merely a means of avoiding having to blind myself with a regular light when I get out of bed during the night! Last week the small bulb burned out and I can't remember to buy a new one, so for a few days I left the closet light on and shut the door most of the way. Last night, I made sure that I could reach my small flashlight and the bedside lamp, then dived into the darkness. No hobgoblins under the bed, no monsters in the closet! Not even a small grass snake under the bed covers. Maybe I'll remember to buy a new light bulb, maybe I won't. At least now, it won't matter.

Demmy dommi!

Quatoo! (The end of the world will shortly follow!) Some say Demi Moore; I say Demmy Less! How much you dance is up to you.

Mutterings Take Over

Yang me to death with your supple wrist or Ying me to heaven wih your ripe ruby lips! How could that cause any trouble?! (Well, anyway, what else is there? And how much could it cost?!)

It strikes me I should have a mutterings label, though sometimes they're also poems or also just regular (daily) posts... And I think I'll hold off on any Self-abuse label, regardless of any truth. I'll give the mutterings label a try and see how long it lasts.

Dear Heart

There's probably nothing to do about it in the short run and nothing that would come of it in the long run, but Christ I miss you like crazy these days...

What's He Sez Now?

So what if I'm an odious churl?! So what?

The Jabber of Small Dogs

What does it all fucking matter? Lose this, lose that, gain a pound, drop an inch, Trace a pattern in the snow, Pick the threads from a stitch, Draw a semi-circle around a flaming itch-- Memories mesmerize, memorize memories, And all future lurid awakenings Will rock us back to sleep at last In front of the TV with one sock on. Address, repress, reorient, and confess! You can bowdlerize it or jabber about God, But sometimes nothing will raise the quality Of all this crap we rave about, That bears right down on us And weighs us down like hammered shit, That beats us into the ground like spikes that never wear out And tears our throats out as if we're only small dogs Where Big Dogs were turned loose on us once again, And we all do little more than Watch ourselves fall back into regret.