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jen does not rhyme with penis

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(no subject) [Dec. 25th, 2010|03:07 pm]
jen does not rhyme with penis
[audio |"angelina jolie" - edie sedgwick]

I was recently admonished for forgetting about my Livejournal. Hello, world.

I work a lot and procrastinate more. I'm applying for grants when I can figure out how to blow away the self-loathing smog that chokes me all the time. Last night, my mom and her friend watched Make Way For Tomorrow and are still bitching about the sad ending. I'm starting jiu-jitsu on Monday. I had a gory nightmare last night involving the wheelchair guy from Glee, a drive-in movie involving talking bears and Magritte-esque guys in suits, vomit the color of a lunar eclipse and hundred-dollar bills. Merry goddamn Christmas.

How are you?
Link1 landscape|the superego's waking

to the fight. [Oct. 3rd, 2010|05:09 pm]
jen does not rhyme with penis
[audio |atrocity exhibition]

Time to start treating necessity like a myth.

Any physical addiction I ever had started with the mistaken idea that I "needed" said Substance to be social, to write, to sleep, and so on. I was fat because I thought I was too out-of-shape to exercise. I go crazy after relationships end (or change) because I convinced myself that I needed said person to be happy. Bollocks. I just liked the person, the stagnancy, the Substance an awful lot. Parties are more fun when you're drunk, that's just the truth. But nobody ever died of boredom or unadulterated disgust.

I want to perform poems like Ian Curtis sang: gradually losing composure.

Link2 neptunian blues|the superego's waking

bridget jones warning. [Aug. 23rd, 2010|12:32 am]
jen does not rhyme with penis
[audio |adam's crazy sitar music]

I just looked at a few pictures of David and I from when we were in Arizona, and some of me at IWPS. I never realized quite how closely I resembled Velma from Scooby-Doo, or exactly how many chins I had.

I guess this is just to say that I've lost 45 pounds since my first Nationals, mostly just by not drinking myself to death quite so often and learning to love getting my ass kicked. Here's to 45 more, and to mastering the spinning elbow strike and the left hook takedown.
Linkthe superego's waking

(no subject) [Aug. 12th, 2010|08:34 pm]
jen does not rhyme with penis
I am a fair-weather friend of Bill W. The sky's been clear lately.
Link4 neptunian blues|the superego's waking

analyses. [Jul. 13th, 2010|06:17 pm]
jen does not rhyme with penis
[audio |the wishmaster]

For this journal:
I write like
Vladimir Nabokov

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

For "The Sorrows of the Tin Woodman":
I write like
Stephen King

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

For an unidentified four-man Santa Cruz team piece, and also "An Evening At Home With the Creator of Girls Gone Wild":
I write like
James Joyce

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

Link2 neptunian blues|the superego's waking

(no subject) [Jun. 5th, 2010|02:26 am]
jen does not rhyme with penis
Today I am grateful for really, really shitty romantic comedies. I want to slap Jennifer Aniston in the face.
Linkthe superego's waking

(no subject) [Jun. 1st, 2010|08:49 pm]
jen does not rhyme with penis
[audio |"dance til we're high" - the fireman]

Today I am grateful for Batman.
Linkthe superego's waking

(no subject) [May. 31st, 2010|03:32 pm]
jen does not rhyme with penis
[audio |jesus doesn't want me for a sunbeam]

Today I am grateful that Nirvana chose to cover the Meat Puppets' songs "Plateau" and "Lake of Fire," and that I've got the ears to hear them.

Also for the one percent of the time when mainstream, overproduced, bitches-and-Benjamins-type hip-hop somehow sounds like something transcendent (and here, yes, I acknowledge my identity as a white girl who listens to Nirvana and has no real understanding of bitches or Benjamins), and for groups of small, excitable Asian children in tiny khakis and polo shirts.
Linkthe superego's waking

doused in mud, soaked in bleach. [May. 31st, 2010|01:26 am]
jen does not rhyme with penis
[audio |nirvana]

I haven't been writing here because I've been busy forgetting the words to my own opera. I am in here. I am in here. I swear. I am just frustrated by communication in general, maybe.

Sometimes I act like a jerk and I don't know why.

I think I'm going to tour the East Coast, or maybe just New England, by myself, in the winter. When there's snow. I'd like to see you.

From now on I am going to post something I am grateful for every day. Today I am grateful for not having been born a rich and horse-faced widow, or a character in a Sam Raimi film. And for having the foresight not to screw over sketchy old ladies with heavy accents and strange eyes.
Link2 neptunian blues|the superego's waking

SURRENDER DOROTHY [May. 22nd, 2010|01:20 pm]
jen does not rhyme with penis
[humour |cheerfulcheerful]
[audio |coffee shop funky jamzzz]

Here are some things I like about Oklahoma:

It is so flat I can almost see Kansas.

The coffee shop across the street from ratpackslim's pad is decidedly and entirely My Kind Of Place. It's like Perg, but with better sandwiches, better coffee and much less douchebaggery. And cleaner.

The hippie-ass "social space" the Encyclopedia Show was in also reminded me of everything I like about Santa Cruz.

Every Saturday at noon they test a tornado alarm. The sound of it is somehow both urgent and kind of pleasant. The fact of it gives the whole place an edge-of-the-apocalypse kind of feel.

They serve their (good) beer in mugs the size of frickin' buckets.

It's been muggy, but not humid enough to be scraping-off-my-skin unpleasant. It's the kind of mugginess that would be perfect and amazing if there were fireflies.

The possibility of seeing a real live tornado!

I like every single person I have met or hung out with here.

OH YEAH, and the aforementioned buckets o'beer were consumed at a bar with a jukebox that contained my Number One jam and also my other Number One jam.

I want to visit every red state in the whole god damned nation. I want to see exactly what it is people in Santa Cruz look down their noses at, cause this place has been nothing but kind to me. I think one of these days I'm going to get one of those Greyhound "discovery passes" and do a bit of a poetry tour/excuse to go everywhere nobody takes vacations and see everything nobody writes articles about. Just me this time, with two suitcases, a shitty webcam, and a bottle of bad whiskey concealed in a bag that has three Xs on it.

Holler if I can come and visit you. I promise to share my liquor.
Link3 neptunian blues|the superego's waking

everybody's baby but mine's coming home [May. 12th, 2010|01:59 am]
jen does not rhyme with penis
[audio |ting tings]

There is something that warms the cockles of my heart about the fact that Johnny Cash was not a particularly handsome man.

But he sure was attractive.

Linkthe superego's waking

if you live through this with me I swear that I will die for you [May. 10th, 2010|05:26 pm]
jen does not rhyme with penis
[audio |janis joplin]

My new career goal is to be a writer for a semi-shitty television series. Something like Glee, where there's no crazy hardcore mythology and there's room left for art.

Sobriety ain't so bad, and neither am I.
Linkthe superego's waking

(no subject) [May. 7th, 2010|01:02 pm]
jen does not rhyme with penis
I am trying to break your heart.
Link2 neptunian blues|the superego's waking

I live in the Twentieth Century [Mar. 20th, 2010|01:48 pm]
jen does not rhyme with penis
[Current Location |blue rock shoot]
[audio |"wild" - poe]

I live in the Twentieth Century
and you lie here beside me. You
were unhappy when you fell asleep.
There was nothing I could do about
it. I felt hopeless. Your face
is so beautiful that I cannot stop
to describe it, and there's nothing
I can do to make you happy while
you sleep.

- Richard Brautigan
Linkthe superego's waking

an update on my life. [Feb. 14th, 2010|03:03 pm]
jen does not rhyme with penis
[humour |hungryhungry]

I've been feeling alternately happy and loved, and desperate and tearful.

Right now, I'm at the good end of the swing. I spent the last couple hours jamming on harmonica to loud pop music, and now I'm going to go purchase a burrito and a cup of coffee with ten dollars I found in the bottom of my purse (!).

Call me sometime. Let's hang out. I probably like you a lot more than you think I do.
Linkthe superego's waking

(no subject) [Jan. 30th, 2010|01:15 am]
jen does not rhyme with penis
Gabrielle must have been a hell of a lady. Godspeed.
Linkthe superego's waking

still alive [Nov. 2nd, 2009|09:20 am]
jen does not rhyme with penis
1. I had the worst nightmare in the world last night and have never been so grateful to wake up in New Mexico next to the most beautiful boy in the world.

2. I've gained weight and I feel fat and icky. Fuckin' delicious bacon, whiskey, pancakes, jambalaya, salami, EVERYTHING.

3. In Albuquerque. Having a wonderful time. Had a wonderful birthday, marked by lemon cake and two people I love very very much. Go friend the Pincushion Orchestra on Facebook if you want real updates.

4. Going back to sleep to find different dreams. Will update more substantially soon.
Linkthe superego's waking

(no subject) [Oct. 20th, 2009|01:19 pm]
jen does not rhyme with penis
[humour |excitedexcited]

For those of you who don't know, David and I are leaving on tour October 27th, a week from today. We're spending a couple days in Las Vegas before rolling into Albuquerque on the 29th, and from there to Mesa on November 5th.

1. I'm going to have a small birthday/going away celebration on Friday or Saturday evening, location TBA. I'm thinking WPLJ's, which is this delightful fake-fifties cougar-infested bar right behind the Walnut Creek BART station. Can you come? I would like to see as many of you as possible before I go.

2. Tell me about all the corny, touristy, cheap-to-free shit we should do in Vegas. Nickel slots and Elvis impersonators are DEFINITELY on the agenda, as well as all the horrible buffet food we can stomach.

3. I am almost finished with my CD, but an opinion poll: if you were to purchase such a thing, which poems would you want to hear on it?

4. Second CD-related opinion poll: give me ideas for titles. My favorite option right now is "Exile on Elm St."

5. Are you in Arizona, San Francisco, the Pacific Northwest, Vancouver, Salt Lake City, Boise, or anywhere in between? Would you like us to come visit and/or perform at your venue (if we aren't already planning on it, of course)? Why, we'd love to! Do backchannel us at info @ thepincushionorchestra dot com.
Linkthe superego's waking

ugh [Sep. 15th, 2009|12:28 pm]
jen does not rhyme with penis
[audio |meerkat manor]

Okay, so I'm no fan of Tila Tequila. What I've seen of her show is stupid, exploitative, and offensive to all my sensibilities. I also don't think anything's beyond humor, if you do it properly. If it's actually funny, if if if a hundred other things.

But hey, Bill Maher: this is not okay at all. I can't even get angry. It just makes me sad.

Link3 neptunian blues|the superego's waking

and also apparently patrick swayze died?! [Sep. 15th, 2009|01:23 am]
jen does not rhyme with penis
[audio |"chop shop" - the amazing crowns]

So I am the San Jose IWPS representative.

I beat a bunch of people that have kicked my ass on many an occasion -- I beat Lucky 7 by a tenth of a point and I did it entirely with blood and guts and corn syrup and sex and rock&roll and poems I'm okay with being hated for.

And now I am in Walnut Creek, drinking a celebratory Death in the Afternoon while my brother sleeps and my big fat orange cat stuffs his face and I'm still kind of shocked by this whole thing but it's the good kind of shock, you know?

I almost really can't believe that Kevin (my best friend from college, the person who got me into slam in the first place, and this year's Berkeley rep) and I are in it together! Fuck, life rules right now. Let's go swing dance to "Single Ladies" somewhere. I'd like to thank my fantastic team, Johnny Horton, the Amazing Crowns and that shitty sports bar down the street from MACLA. And whoisthespirit!
Link1 landscape|the superego's waking

why I occasionally love my life to pieces [Sep. 11th, 2009|11:52 pm]
jen does not rhyme with penis
[humour |gigglygiggly]
[audio |lakemerrittmusik]

Tonight I spent the evening dressing up in lingerie and saying filthy, filthy things on camera. It was a grand ol' time, and the resulting No-Penis Production will be screened at Tourettes Down and Dirty, and probably also on Youtube.

It will make most men intensely uncomfortable (like MANswers with the genders reversed and to the nth degree), and will be god damned amazing. Most of the dudes that volunteered to act in it backed out when they found out what exactly it was about (and the one that stayed is ridiculously drunk). Oh my god, it's so good.
Link3 neptunian blues|the superego's waking

laughing at the sunrise like i've been up all night [Sep. 3rd, 2009|04:09 pm]
jen does not rhyme with penis
[audio |"eye of the tiger" - survivor]

Today I have layers of old hairspray on my hair, a scraped-up chin, a sink of dirty dishes, a ghost on the tip of my tongue, and a really good feeling in my ribs. Blame it on sunshine + coffee.

Tonight I am dressing up pretty and competing in the indi finals at Tourettes Without Regrets (which has a prom theme this month -- auspicious, yes? maybe). You should come: 8:30pm, Oakland Metro -- 630 3rd Street in Oakland, $10 door. Some entertaining shenanigans will probably go down.

This video is cute as hell.

Wouldn't it be a lovely headline: "Life is Beautiful" on the New York Times.
Linkthe superego's waking

(no subject) [Aug. 16th, 2009|07:41 pm]
jen does not rhyme with penis
[humour |calmcalm]

My laptop is dead. R.I.P. Sylvia.
Linkthe superego's waking

the pitcher puts religion first and rests on holidays [Aug. 15th, 2009|03:20 am]
jen does not rhyme with penis
[humour |lethargiclethargic]
[audio |belle and sebastian]

1. I can't sleep.

2. My house is creepy even when there are people in it with me.

3. I love my new job so frickin' much. It is absolutely perfect.

4. Am I alone in thinking that Craigslist personals still have the potential to be romantic? I'm not ashamed to say I've posted ads designed to find someone as ridiculous as I am. Are the people I'm looking for just technophobic? Is this just another reason to leave California?

5. In a related story, I am jealous of the entire state of Massachusetts.
Link6 neptunian blues|the superego's waking

after Meads [Jul. 31st, 2009|01:55 am]
jen does not rhyme with penis
[humour |hornyhorny]

Confidential: the film Match Point made me want to crush small creatures. I saw a bottle of Wild Turkey giving me the stinkeye the other day, and I just walked away. And as for what turns me on,

tonight I saw a film called Thirst, a vampire movie by the director of Oldboy. I actually liked it more than Oldboy, but that may just be my vagina speaking. The main character is a Catholic priest. The film is amazingly erotic. So much tension. And blood. Gory but not in a chainsaw-massacre kind of way. The vampires fly but it doesn't look stupid. I'm not even normally that into vampires (excepting Lestat, who is sexy in an edge-of-the-knife kind of way).

I am cursing the absence of a lover right now, even more than yesterday. As they say, I'll be in my bunk.
Link1 landscape|the superego's waking

wanderlust [Jul. 7th, 2009|09:26 pm]
jen does not rhyme with penis
[audio |kiss me like you mean it]

Tonight, someone called me "the Roger Corman of slam poetry." I feel like I should plaster that all over the tour website, or at least the back of my chapbook.

SEVEN DAYS LEFT OF MY STUPID JOB, hurray for America. Oh my god, I want to hit the road yesterday.
Link7 neptunian blues|the superego's waking

shameless solicitation [Jul. 5th, 2009|03:42 pm]
jen does not rhyme with penis
[audio |and the rest is silence.]

Today, instead of using my Livejournal to get some emo shit off my chest, I'd like to implore you (those of you who are culturally-minded and/or jingly-pocketed) to help the San Jose slam team get to Nationals!

(This is, by the way, the only time I'm ever going to post this here, so don't get too mad.)

You can do one or many of the following things:

1. Come to the San Jose slam on July 13th! Some of us (possibly including myself, their coach) will be there saying some poems. There will also be a lot of very, very good beer (bottomless cups are only 6 dollars). MACLA, 501 S. 1st Street in San Jose.

2. Come to the San Jose Battle of the Bay on July 21st! We will be competing against Berkeley, Oakland, and San Francisco, and once again, there will be a shitload of beer. Also at MACLA.

3. Click on this big yellow button and give us some money out of the goodness of your heart. This should really be illustrated with a picture of the entire team looking doe-eyed into the camera, but we haven't taken one. But I promise, we're all really pretty, and we'll send you a thank-you card or something. If I already love you, I might even make you some cookies.

Linkthe superego's waking

the hunger. [Jun. 17th, 2009|02:35 pm]
jen does not rhyme with penis
[humour |draineddrained]
[audio |birdsong and meows]

At my work, we serve a club sandwich made with nasty-looking, too-bright pink ham that comes thinly sliced in a package the approximate shape and size of a brick. It smells like chemicals and sweat, and falls apart when you peel it off the brick.

I've never been any kind of vegetarian, except out of necessity or convenience; I generally don't buy or cook meat because it's expensive and I tend to fuck it up. Perfectly red cuts of meat in a glass case, roast turkeys, pigs rotating on a spit, racks of ribs slathered in barbeque sauce: yes, we are carnivores. It shows in our teeth. Make the animal into something beautiful, like giving it a proper burial. It was alive at some point, after all.

I'm beginning to think it isn't fair to eat animals you didn't or couldn't personally kill. We have these teeth for a reason. I could catch a chicken or a cow. I don't think I could catch a pig: I didn't eat them for a long time because of that. Do you know they sometimes use live dogs to catch sharks for eating purposes? It seems like cheating. You shouldn't get to eat a shark unless you catch it fairly.

I imagine that this ham was made by dropping live, squealing pigs into a giant blender, squeezing the mush through some sort of strainer to get the bones out, pressing that into bricks, and boiling the bricks in sewage and the tears of hoboes. That, in addition to the literally hundreds of chickens that die every day for this company's continued operation (seriously, just about everything we serve contains fucking chicken), makes me seriously consider giving up civilization for a life of hunting and gathering. I like meat. I just wish eating it didn't make me feel like a scumbag.
Link4 neptunian blues|the superego's waking

little green men taught me how to do the bop [May. 29th, 2009|02:10 pm]
jen does not rhyme with penis
[audio |"flying saucer rock and roll" - robert gordon]

A favorite former professor of mine (who taught Experimental Film and Video, and also my seminar on the post-media age) just randomly mailed me some Popeye action figures with a note that said "I hope you can find something to do with these." Oh my god, I am stoked. Who's helping me make a Superstar-esque stop action film with them?

My biggest reason not to quit this job right now is that a tiny little bit of money is better than no money, and the bad of it are neutral (spending a lot of time in my car) rather than actively horrible (abusive boss). Fuck, I hope the San Jose job comes through.

I bought a High School Musical-themed folder to keep my team's poems in, and the picture on it cracks me up every time I look at it.

Rereading the manuscript I'm about to send someone, it's odd that my most honest-feeling poem is made up almost entirely of film references and annotations.

This is a really dull entry. I'm exhausted and I haven't really exercised in a while, but damn. Hope keeps on coming through.

The Pincushion Orchestra (formerly Kill Switch) is going to have a website soon and it is going to be amazing. AMAZING. Speaking of the Orchestra, anyone know slam folks between the Bay and (our one gig so far, in November) Vancouver who could use some sexy violent poetic fabulousness between September and December?
Link2 neptunian blues|the superego's waking

sleeping is giving in. [May. 24th, 2009|01:50 pm]
jen does not rhyme with penis
[humour |optimisticoptimistic]

Sparrow said you must have hit your Saturn return and I think she's right
Link1 landscape|the superego's waking

Five Good Things About My Shitty, Commission-Based, Driving-Intensive, Badly-Paid Catering Job. [May. 21st, 2009|02:22 pm]
jen does not rhyme with penis
[Current Location |peet's]
[audio |classical muzak + espressomusik]

1. En route to the kitchens at 5:30 in the morning, the low-flying cargo planes, the electrical plants, and the (operational! but still appropriately run-down) drive-in movie theater look almost perfectly like the Americana fairy tale I've been looking for. Hollywood spends millions trying to reproduce this light; who knew the armpit of the Bay could be so gorgeous?

2. It's decent food and I feel okay about selling it.

3. The place is owned by a married couple. Not a corporation, no double-speak, little bullshit. The husband is creepy (although not molester-creepy -- he kind of looks like Aldo Kelrast, but the wife is okay.

4. After six hours of driving around, washing dishes, interacting with horrible things such as ranch dressing and hard-boiled eggs, and generally feeling sweaty and scuzzy, there is no better feeling than putting on a short skirt and some heels, even if I'm not going anywhere special. Especially if I'm not going anywhere special.

5. Every minute, I'm more compelled to get my shit together. Every time I enter an office building to wheedle seven dollars out of someone whose job I'm more than qualified to have, I count the days til Nationals, til the tour, til the next movie and I draw maps out of this muck. This experience is probably supposed to humble me -- fuck humility. It's making me calculating, it's making me cocky, it's making me bust out all that willpower I brag about so often. At this point, I can choose between working this job like I deserve it, and working it like a fuckin' artist.

I now wholeheartedly believe that the universe will give me what I need, even if it's not necessarily what I want. I worked so hard to be on a slam team, and I'm fucking honored to be coaching one. I think it will be better for me, this year. My inarticulate, obfuscating ass is sometimes offput by a new friend who cheerfully says what she means and asks occasionally-uncomfortable questions and considers relationships in a way that I have often villified in this journal (and I left this public for you, creeperface!), and I've learned and grown an awful lot from hanging out with her (more'n I've told you, I think). I said I'd never move back to Santa Cruz, and I think it and the edges of its cliffs have become my place of power.

It's true that I am as easy to hate as 12-year Scotch. I believe the boy who tells me I'm a taste worth acquiring, because he didn't say it while staring at my tits. I could never tell you that I am extrordinary (nobody loves a fuckin' diva) but these days, I cannot afford not to believe that I am.
Link6 neptunian blues|the superego's waking

it's got a nice ring. [May. 20th, 2009|01:25 pm]
jen does not rhyme with penis
[humour |surprisedsurprised]
[audio |jeff mangum]

So I'm not interested in writing any more blow-by-blow installments of How Jen G Failed To Make A Slam Team (how I saw signs and still failed, how all the judges were named Becky, how we all got drunk afterwards and I feel and so on and so forth).

However, I will be coaching the San Jose slam team this year! I know. I'm as surprised as you are! But it's happening and I have a plan and I still get to go to Nationals. Fuck yes.

Now I have to get my shit together. Anyone know of any jobs and/or inexpensive sublets in the San Jose area?
Link1 landscape|the superego's waking

don't lose your grip on the dreams of the past. [May. 15th, 2009|04:11 pm]
jen does not rhyme with penis
[audio |"eye of the tiger" - survivor]

Things I have spent my unexpectedly large tax return on so far: new front tires (and holy bajeezus, there's a huge difference in the way my car feels to drive), a real haircut (so I no longer have to disguise my mullet -- or the horrible thing that is likely to emerge should I personally cut off the mullet -- behind colorful scarves and lots of pomade), a new Divacup (oh my god, this is the best thing, I hate tampons SO MUCH), two new notebooks of my favorite variety, and a few cups of coffee. Notice the absence of "large amounts of booze." I'm so proud of myself.

Places I am not going this weekend: Boise, Idaho. My regrets, ladies. It would cause me to miss San Jose's team finals.

Places I am going this weekend: A drag show in Oakland. The beach. Santa Cruz.

Have: The guts.

To get: The glory.
Linkthe superego's waking

(no subject) [May. 4th, 2009|02:47 pm]
jen does not rhyme with penis
[Current Location |verve]
[humour |sickish.]
[audio |some sorta crappy elevator funk.]

Okay, I put out the call on Twitter and Facebook, so apologies to those of you who see me there, too: but hey! Poet types! Please link me to awesome two-person team pieces in audio, video, and/or text form! I will love you forever for it!

For your trouble, here is a video about cats swimming:
Link5 neptunian blues|the superego's waking

(no subject) [Apr. 30th, 2009|04:53 am]
jen does not rhyme with penis
[humour |coldfrozen.]

So I didn't make Berkeley finals,

but my brother brought a posse from Santa Cruz, and a couple randos I invited showed up to hit on me, and a lot of my friends came, and someone didn't show up so Kevin got to slam too (we ended up within .1 of each other), and Natasia made a fuckin' sign, and I didn't drop my poems, and afterwards lots of people told me I was awesome, and then I drank whiskey and watched a REALLY awesome film that involved zombies fucking each other in the guts (and pretentious Maya Deren references!), and right now there's a beautiful and warm non-rando sleeping in my bed (which is triple good, because the zombie-gut-fucking movie was fairly creepy and my house is fuckin' freezing).

It's been a pretty good night.
Link10 neptunian blues|the superego's waking

i've seen better days, but I don't care! [Apr. 26th, 2009|02:44 pm]
jen does not rhyme with penis
[audio |"honey honey" - abba]

I've decided not to write the angsty poem or the whiny diary entry. Instead, here are some shameless plugs:

Tonight I am reading at an event entitled "Sexy Sundays" at the Silk Road restaurant in Oakland (at the corner of Broadway and Embarcadero). It starts at 6pm, and the guy who runs it pitched it to me by telling me there'd be a "mature, over 30 audience" and a battle-of-the-sexes type debate. I'm going to read the absolute foulest sex poetry I've ever written. You should come.

On Wednesday (the 29th) I am competing in the Berkeley slam semifinals. That starts at 8:30pm, 10 dollar cover, and I'd really appreciate it if you'd come and support. If you don't normally come to slams, this would be a pretty good one to start with. Pretty much everyone in it is awesome.

For your trouble, here is a picture of the Jonas Brothers:

Link1 landscape|the superego's waking

it's very difficult to keep the line between the past and the present. [Apr. 26th, 2009|01:29 am]
jen does not rhyme with penis
[humour |headache.]

Tonight Joyce and I watched the fictionalized, made-for-teevee version of Grey Gardens, starring Drew Barrymore and Jessica Lange as Little and Big Edies, respectively. Have you seen this shit? I actually found it much more upsetting than the original documentary.

It would be a waste of space and time to talk about the minutae of Drew Barrymore's performance (no one could ever be Edie, really -- and those who come close have to go way over the top) and how there weren't enough cats in the house. Just -- damn. I can't believe they made this film, but I'm glad they did: for the incredible costumes, if nothing else, and for the weight that seeing Little Edie (even a false Little Edie) young and beautiful lends to her later decay.

Linkthe superego's waking

i'm afraid of the dark without you next to me. [Apr. 25th, 2009|02:55 am]
jen does not rhyme with penis
[humour |creeped out.]

I am up late again, and I am no longer drunk, and I can't sleep because I keep thinking about a campfire story (of sorts) I've heard a hundred variations on and all the versions are invariably creepy.

The common thread is that a bunch of people are playing a game (of sorts) at a party, the game where the players sit in a pitch-dark room and someone tells a grisly story (usually about a murder) and the "evidence" (peeled grape eyeballs, Jell-O guts, &c) is passed around in boxes and Tupperwares for the players to feel. Does anyone actually play this game at Halloween parties? I don't think I've ever played it. I imagine it's pretty lame when done properly, but in the stories it always turns out that the guts, the eyeballs, the severed fingers and toes and cocks are real. There was a variation where the storyteller (murderer) actually shot herself at the end of the story, and the last piece of evidence was her suicide note.

The best version is Ray Bradbury's "The October Game". It's worth reading, and fucking scary even though I already told you the ending, to the point where I won't reread it at 3 in the morning if I ever expect to get to sleep.

When I was a kid, I used to refuse to go to library storytime at school around Halloween, because I was afraid of fucking everything. Shel Silverstein was a problem. The word "hearse" was a problem. Alvin Schwartz was an enormous problem (I bet that fucker had a kiddie version of "The October Game" in one of his books). "Little Orphan Annie" (the poem, not the comics and certainly not the musical) was a problem. Certain fairy tales were a problem (I've got a vivid memory of some Native American folktale in which birds peck out a kid's eyes scaring the shit out of me -- to say nothing of "The Red Shoes" and "Great Claus and Little Claus").

Strange how important this seems now. Strange how campfire stories are no longer scary when there's an actual campfire present. I told David all the stories that used to scare me, listening out of the corner of my ear for the sound of a chainsaw, a cackle, a giant fishhook fucking up the car -- and somehow, I still felt safe.
Link4 neptunian blues|the superego's waking

finding the root of all good. [Apr. 20th, 2009|02:21 pm]
jen does not rhyme with penis
[audio |horrorpops.]

First, I'm suddenly randomly competing in Oakland's semifinals. Awesome! Come through: tomorrow (Tuesday) night at 8pm at the Grand Lake Coffeehouse at 440 Grand in Oakland. Hooray!

Second, I was surprised and thrilled to find out that this film was on Youtube. It rules, and it stars Fred Savage. Fred Savage makes anything about six times better.

Third, it is too hot to wear clothes. I feel sorry for my cats in their fur coats.
Link3 neptunian blues|the superego's waking

when your circumstance is movie-size. [Apr. 16th, 2009|08:45 pm]
jen does not rhyme with penis
Do you ever feel like you can't take anything completely seriously unless it's fictional, somehow? I don't know why I don't write poems for real murder victims instead of Laura Palmer, but I probably never will.

The American Republican Party, which I never really gave two shits about before, is becoming fictionalized. First there was Sarah Palin (that Saturday Night Live sketch made flesh), and now there's this tea bag business. Cute. Is this some sort of political Judy Blume novel? I feel like this is something the Saved By the Bell gang would have done to protest, I don't know, funding being taken away from the campus newspaper without a schoolwide poll. They would have learned about the Boston Tea Party, then Jessie would've been all LET'S MAIL TEA BAGS TO MR. BELDING, THAT'LL SHOW HIM and everyone learns a valuable lesson.

Also, I am freaking out about debt and money and not having a job. Do you have one? Can I have it? Please?
Link6 neptunian blues|the superego's waking

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