We watched the Miss America competition tonight. This was my reaction...
A Genetic Viewing of Miss America
There she is, Miss America
a prize given for liking make up,
taught to pose young,
and getting lucky,
genetically speaking.
Mendel content in his grave
that his pea pod can be used
to explain how women
parading across a Las Vegas
stage In Bathing suits
with rare bodies,
denied by independent assortment,
to most children's wildest dreams,
is going to be a positive influence
on little girls...
......and Darwin chuckles at their stilettos.
Jan 21, 2010
Regrets
Regrets
I wish I'd done some drugs, cause I'm too old to start,
I wish I'd had more sex, and had partied in high school,
I wish I'd had more crazy night and more stories to tell,
I wish I could relate to my favorite rock and roll songs,
I wish I'd caused more trouble and raised a bigger ruckus,
I wish I'd broke some windows and gotten in a fight.
and now I'm pushing thirty and my tales are all exaggerations,
I wish I'd gone camping more often and knew how to light a fire,
I wish I'd smoked a few cigarettes to I wouldn't look so boring,
I wish I'd been more impulsive, reacting without thought,
I wish I'd failed a class and even had detention.
Instead I was just a goody goody and I still don't have a job,
so what was it all good for, when to I get my reward?
I don't believe in heaven and no ones keeping score.
I can't believe I'm sitting here in my underwear with regrets,
when the suns out outside with a sinking feeling in my chest.
I've better get moving and start to rock this out,
I may never have wild sex or do drugs but that's not what my best stories
are about.
(I wrote it in the bath tub)
Maybe a kid's story later. Going to go drink tea and finish it and my genetics homework.
I wish I'd done some drugs, cause I'm too old to start,
I wish I'd had more sex, and had partied in high school,
I wish I'd had more crazy night and more stories to tell,
I wish I could relate to my favorite rock and roll songs,
I wish I'd caused more trouble and raised a bigger ruckus,
I wish I'd broke some windows and gotten in a fight.
and now I'm pushing thirty and my tales are all exaggerations,
I wish I'd gone camping more often and knew how to light a fire,
I wish I'd smoked a few cigarettes to I wouldn't look so boring,
I wish I'd been more impulsive, reacting without thought,
I wish I'd failed a class and even had detention.
Instead I was just a goody goody and I still don't have a job,
so what was it all good for, when to I get my reward?
I don't believe in heaven and no ones keeping score.
I can't believe I'm sitting here in my underwear with regrets,
when the suns out outside with a sinking feeling in my chest.
I've better get moving and start to rock this out,
I may never have wild sex or do drugs but that's not what my best stories
are about.
(I wrote it in the bath tub)
Maybe a kid's story later. Going to go drink tea and finish it and my genetics homework.
Jan 2, 2010
Red, White, and Blue Lasso's
So I think before finishing the Cable Knit Commute full zine. I am going to compile a lot of Haikus that I've written into a really tiny booklet. I think they're fun and simple. Anyone can do it, it's a great controlled therapy session. I got the idea a while ago from this book: http://www.haikuyear.com/.
Here's a poem I just wrote while sitting here listening to Neko Case with a touch of a red wine headache. Just before this I ate a cheese steak. Is that necessary knowledge, no, do I like it, yes.
Life is Like Making a Rope
Life is learning how to make a rope,
I learned that in Houston Texas, at the Rodeo,
in the Astro-Hall where livestock, fattening foods,
and crafts were for sale.
The actual show was in the dome with Bill Cosby
as a special guest.
A man in full cowboy get up was selling
handmade ropes, and you even got to help.
What second grader could resist?
I held one end and the man braided
the strands into a patriotic red white and blue
Rope that was around 6 feet long and surprisingly
non-flexible.
I’m sure my parents handed the man a twenty and shook
their heads at the poor quality of their purchase
as I immediately began pretending I was lassoing
a wild bull and pulling it down to the dirt ground.
I wasn’t allowed to have toy guns so I just used my fingers
to stop the bandits from robbing my He-Man fanny pack.
I’ve lost the rope since then, but I’m convinced it’s
A perfect metaphor for life.
Here's a poem I just wrote while sitting here listening to Neko Case with a touch of a red wine headache. Just before this I ate a cheese steak. Is that necessary knowledge, no, do I like it, yes.
Life is Like Making a Rope
Life is learning how to make a rope,
I learned that in Houston Texas, at the Rodeo,
in the Astro-Hall where livestock, fattening foods,
and crafts were for sale.
The actual show was in the dome with Bill Cosby
as a special guest.
A man in full cowboy get up was selling
handmade ropes, and you even got to help.
What second grader could resist?
I held one end and the man braided
the strands into a patriotic red white and blue
Rope that was around 6 feet long and surprisingly
non-flexible.
I’m sure my parents handed the man a twenty and shook
their heads at the poor quality of their purchase
as I immediately began pretending I was lassoing
a wild bull and pulling it down to the dirt ground.
I wasn’t allowed to have toy guns so I just used my fingers
to stop the bandits from robbing my He-Man fanny pack.
I’ve lost the rope since then, but I’m convinced it’s
A perfect metaphor for life.
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