The Woodstock of Poetry!

Because I now believe in poetry and all of its possibilities and because I spent many years being oblivious to poetry, I’ve created a new website!  My ultimate, ultimate goal is for people far and wide to say, “Poetry is fun,” “poetry is relevant,” and “poetry is pop.”  Because even if all of it’s not, there’s plenty of it that is.  Like this (to give an extreme example).

If you’ve ever been saddened by having to dissect a dense, ancient poem in school, PoetryStock.com aims to make you happy again!

If you’ve ever wanted to write a series of haikus about the pH level of shampoo (or something), PoetryStock.com wants to hear them!

If you’re up to this challenge that Nietzsche poses — “A subject for a great poet would be God’s boredom after the seventh day of creation” — PoetryStock.com will smile.

And he will, too.

There are plenty of places to post your poems on the internet, but Poetry Stock is different because there will be an annual poetry celebration connected to it. Also, there will be a podcast that gives poets a chance to read a poem they’ve posted on the site and talk about it (or whatever they want) for a few minutes.

Anyway, that’s what I’ve been doing this month. Lately it’s always something other than this blog…but I love this blog. This blog was the first real outlet I ever had to express my thoughts and try to craft them into something people would enjoy. So I’ll always be grateful to this blog. And even if I don’t always put regular blog posts on it, I’ll at least let it know what I’m up to.

P.S. This child is smarter than I’ll ever be:

Don’t You Hate It When That Happens?

Something traumatic happened to me over the weekend.  Well, a few things: I watched one of the many shows about the logging industry currently on television; I flirted with an Irishman many years my senior; and I nearly joined a cult.

I know, I know.  That’s what I said!  I can’t believe Davey McGloughlin almost died from a diabetes-induced coma while operating the skidder in the back woods AND lost his house to a fire all in the same week.  That Discovery channel puts out good shit.

This is not from the Discovery channel's logging show, but it does illustrate the point--you see one show about logs you've seen 'em all.

On to the cult.  It all started a couple weeks ago when I saw a poster on the sidewalk promoting a free meditation workshop. It ended up being this two day event. The first day was six hours. The second day was four. And, silly, gullible me, I would have continued on to the advanced meditation meetings had a Google search not introduced me to the controversy surrounding the group and their late guru. And it’s not small controversy like…hiring only people who neglected to do their taxes, or accidentally flashing your vagina in public. It’s controversy like…claiming to be celibate and speak directly with God one minute and turning around and forcing female followers to fuck you the next. And it’s like…harassing Carlos Santana when he abandons you. And…pretending to be able to lift 7,000 pounds.

Oh well. Guess enlightenment will have to wait. I’m just thankful that I didn’t end up being that girl. You know, the type of girl who legally changes her name, starts dressing in white garbs, and loses every shred of her awesome personality after gradually being brainwashed.

Happy Ash Wednesday!

JESUS (motioning to the cross he lugs as he bleeds and sweats): "Carry?" KERRY (lost in thought about ketchup): "Yeah, that's me."

I completely forgot about the occasion.  Then something reminded me, then being reminded reminded me of a poem I wrote.  You may have read it in the 2008 edition of a college lit magazine.  If not:

If It Exists, Me and My Dirty Feet Are Going to Hell

My feet are so dirty from walking around the city all day in flip-flops.
A chunk of tar got jammed in the back of them and the heel of my
foot looks like Christians’ foreheads on Ash Wednesday.

Ash Wednesday was always my least favorite obligatory
church-going day.  “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust…”
I haven’t been to church in ages.  Mom used to ask me to
go with her again, but on Easter Sunday she didn’t.
“And back to dust you shall return.”

Probably because I told her how I don’t like
the Book of Genesis.  It’s so sexist.  I told her it
sucks that Eve’s supposed transgression tainted
all women for eternity.  I’m glad she ate that apple!
Girl power! Stupid serpent.  Stupid Adam.
I don’t see anyone blaming them.  Or how about God?
He created the tree.

The Bible is weird.  Religion is weird.
But people believe and I guess that’s good.
I don’t know when I stopped.  Maybe I never did
in the first place.

I should wash my feet.  That one time in the Bible
people washed Jesus’ feet.  Good for him.
I can do it myself.

Not To Get All Preachy, But…

The roommate and I decided to go to church today.  It seemed like a good idea–it will make the Mom happy, it’s a step towards better integrating into the community, and those hymns can be damn fun to sing along with. 

Those were the general thoughts, as opposed to ones like–I need to save my soul, or, I hear Father Kirkpatrick is a real fox in his ornate robe.

Anyway, it’s a beautiful church, but I don’t think I’ll go back.  Not for any one reason, but just because it didn’t feel right.  I felt like I was pretending, like whatever spiritual fulfillment I’m looking for would not be reached within those walls. 

The sermon was about an Air Force pilot that uses his talents to draw Jesus’ face out of exhaust smoke in the sky.  I had a little difficulty understanding the priest, but it was something along those lines.  So all I could think was, that’s great, but he better be doing it on his own time…  But not great!   Those Jesus faces are killing the planet, one greenhouse gaseous cheekbone, eyelid, nostril at a time. 

"Thou shalt not steal" photos from bizarre religious websites...

Before mass ended an announcement was made by a young girl, probably in her mid-teens.  She informed us that 45 million fetuses had been “murdered” since 1973 with Roe vs. Wade.  And to send a message to “the new administration,” parishioners were urged to sign up for an upcoming trip to DC on a free shuttle bus to a pro-life march. 

I want very much to march in DC, but not at a pro-life rally.  A free shuttle bus to a protest comes along and of course it’s for a cause I disagree with.  So much for a generous God.  But you know, here’s the silver lining–there is a new administration on its way in.  So scary zealous pilots (like John McCain) can keep scrawling their crap in the sky.  But I have faith that decisions for the greater good will be scrawled where it counts.

Big Burly Men and Stuff

Could I BE more excited for X-Men Origins: Wolverine?  No.  I really don’t think I could.  It comes out May 1, 2009, which is relatively soon, when you don’t think about it too much.  I’m so ecstatic that they’re making this movie because, first of all, X3 was a huge disappointment.  I went through this phase where I decided to purchase all of Hugh Jackman’s movies on DVD (I own Kate & Leopold, Swordfish, Someone Like You, X-Men, X2, and Oklahoma!), but I really have no urge to own that film.  It doesn’t do any justice to…anything.  Ellen Page is pretty cute in it, though.  Walking through walls and big, burly men and stuff.

Anyway, this trailer better not be more exciting than the final product:

Good job with the ending.  All trailers should end with someone threatening to cut off Liev Schreiber’s head. 

I also think it’s hilarious that IMDb lists Ryan Reynolds in the cast.  Not to get all six-degrees-of-Kevin-Bacon, but Hugh Jackman was in Woody Allen’s Scoop with Woody’s much-used Scarlett Johansson who just married Ryan Reynolds who used to be involved with Alanis Morissette who played God in Dogma.  That’s enough.  I just wanted to mention Alanis because it would be the best Christmas present ever if she started writing angry songs again that are good.  And this time they would be about Ryan Reynolds and Scarlett instead of Uncle Joey and whoever’s back he was scratching his nails down.

Of course he's an asshole--his last name is French. (Mine is, too.)