I am definitely considering this as my serious monologue for the general auditions in February. It was penned by J. Michael Straczinski, creator of Babylon 5, which is one incredibly well-written show, for at least the first three seasons.

—

G’ Kar: The Universe speaks in many languages, but only one voice. It speaks in the language of hope, it speaks in the language of trust, it speaks in the language of strength and the language of compassion. It is the language of the heart and the language of the soul. But, always, it is the same voice. It is the voice of our ancestors, speaking through us, and the voice of our inheritors, waiting to be born. It is the small, still voice that says: We are one. No matter the blood. No matter the skin. No matter the world. Not matter the star. We are one. No matter the pain. No matter the darkness. No matter the loss. No matter the fear. We are one. Here, gathered together in common cause, we agree to recognise this singular truth and this singular rule: That we must be kind to one another. Because, each voice enriches us and ennobles us. And each voice lost diminishes us. We are the voice of the Universe, the soul of creation, the fire that will light the way to a better future. We are one. We are one.

Spenserian Sonnet for the Stepped-on

Where generosity and kindness fail
is only in the hearts of men maligned
whose best defenses seem of no avail
and leave them in a battered frame of mind

But strength can best be found in all mankind
Not in arms-length sorrow and travail
Instead from out your strife, yourself you find
And walk a far more noble, lenient trail

Still, this path remains concealed and jailed
perceived as simple weakness of the mind,
spirit and heart, while men as truly great
As Martin Luther King and Gandhi shined

With light unparalleled by those today
Who represent even the meek, they say

I hope to make a separate area for these, as I know at least 50% of the people who read this are not really interested in my poetry, but for now those people will just have to click away.

I wrote this poem backward, line-by-line, as a sort of experiment in creativity. End with a punch and write the story from there. It’s not terrific, but it’s one more step toward the ultimate goal of being able to sit down and write poems. I used to do that frequently.

—

We all walked in to find Mel in good cheer
The sure thing he had was really a fake
So, we ate his chips and drank his beer
But we all knew Mel made his last mistake

John banged up to Mel’s house with a look that meant war
His face was still wet from unloading freight
Mel’s wife was standing in front of the door
She hung on John’s clothing, like a seven-ton weight.

But the decision was made, long-since, regret-free.
When he came out, his face blanched, he looked rather faint
He walked out the door and looked back at me
“They can’t all be winners and most of them ain’t.”

This one feels a little unfinished, with some mixed metaphor; I may revisit this. I am going to avoid free verse next week and try a few different established forms.

—

oil smells
sliding across an empty parking lot
the night chilling
through clothes

singing means to comfort
and rebuild the toppled ramparts of pride
fly a new flag

but in this vast atom
a particle
a-buzz
forgettable in the din and shine of electrons
swarming

Envious of energy
Shrug shoulders into pockets
Kick pebbles and watch them collide

Between is only air
Between is the sky

I can not say whether these will be very good, but as this is my blog, I think I have the right to try. This is my poem-a-day blog, which will last until January. Feedback will keep me honest.

And if you hate my poetry (and you well might; don’t think that will stop me), I recommend you listen to the marvelous Jesca Hoop instead. I can all but guarantee you will enjoy her.

—

I want to tell you
you’re wrong
Because maybe you are
I certainly think so

Your shadow would not agree with me
even as it stands there
a negative of you
It still moves like you and knows things
like what it sounds like when you cry

Does the world need one more person
telling everyone else to think like them?
I would not agree with me
if I stood where your shadow stood

or maybe I would.

Make yourself aware of the facets of this piece (and I use that term in several senses): the substitution of “ur” for “your” seemingly to save typographical real estate, or to connect to the hip IM-blogosphere, or both; the arcane SUTD acronym that therefore arises; the creation of a vaguely Pixar-like cyclops with some sort of omniscience regarding your destiny; the choice of spooky Harry Potter Halloween-Orange font mixed with web 2.0 bubbles for the call to action; and lastly, the subtle “subscription required” disclaimer beneath the headline.

The question remains: What is the appeal of ads like these? Spiritual? Morbid curiosity? A love of clicking?

Who is it that will accept the mandatory subscription scenario in order to receive oracular tidings from a knock-off monster … on the internet? I imagine that this might appeal to pre-internet soothsayers, but in the information age, this loses its relevance, I am afraid.

A friend needed inspiration today, so I used her need as my own.

—

In the space of a breath, I saw her, that euphoric moment when your lungs are full
Making you high, just for that instant, before you have to let go
She was darting between puddles, keeping her shoes dry, her eyes low
An exhalation spoiled my buzz
And she was gone
Still there, like the painted ads that fade on the sides of buildings
But gone like a whisper
I wanted to hold her, I think, but who can really come to grips with all one’s thoughts
In the space of a breath.

Right now, my reputation is soiled. The reputation of a thousand years is determined in a single moment.

Right now, I am being judged for my faith in another person. Beware of how you take away hope from any human being.

Right now, people want more from me than I am able or willing to give. The Master can keep giving because there is no end to her wealth. She acts without expectation, succeeds without taking credit, and doesn’t think that she is better than anyone else.

Right now, there is nothing I can do but push forward. If you’re going through hell, keep going.

EDIT: This is not so dire as it might sound. It is more of a conversation between my two selves.

EDIT, part 2: The concern of my friends is very kind, but really I am fine. Sorry to alarm anyone.

“The best thing about writing fiction is that moment where the story catches fire and comes to life on the page, and suddenly it all makes sense and you know what it’s about and why you’re doing it and what these people are saying and doing, and you get to feel like both the creator and the audience. Everything is suddenly both obvious and surprising (“but of course that’s why he was doing that, and that means that…”) and it’s magic and wonderful and strange.

You don’t live there always when you write. Mostly it’s a long hard walk. Sometimes it’s a trudge through fog and you’re scared you’ve lost your way and can’t remember why you set out in the first place.

But sometimes you fly, and that pays for everything.”

(from Neil Gaiman’s blog, which I am too lazy to re-link here. It’s over there on the right somewhere.)

A couple of articles by people who like PCs more than Macs.

The last line of this article (with a somewhat inflammatory title) is fantastic.
The Worst Thing about Macs: Apple Rules, or Else.

Exponential talks about her experiences.