Beard-Off? Isn't that a contradiction?

Me: So can I take a picture of you every day while you are growing this December beard?
The Boy: I guess. Although that seems like a weird way to take advantage of my beard-off.
Me: But it is going to be awesome, I'll have my own Santa Claus in the house.
The Boy: Santa Claus has a white beard.
Me: He wasn't always old ya know. He had to be young once.
The Boy: Bah, you saw the cartoon, his hair and beard were red.
Me: Your beard has some red in it.
The Boy: Nope has to be all red.
Me: Red or nothing?
The Boy: Nope, red or you're a pirate.
Me: No in-between.
The Boy: None.

Just a Thought

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
---John McCrae/In Flanders Fields

Interesting for a Second

I've started reading an incredibly cool book, Weird Sex and Snowshoes. It is about Canadian film, yes, Canadian film. So far, ultra awesome if a little self-referential.

Also, this week marks the beginning of the Denver Film Festival on Thursday. I shall be gorging on strange films, lovely films, and oddly films that I've already seen at other festivals. Should be awesome. Mostly it is also going to be a delight to see my little friend that works the festival, he and I haven't seen each other since last festival. Yay!

I just finished writing a poem for my advanced poetry class and I'm not happy with the stupid thing. In fact I haven't been happy with any of the poems I've written for this class, except for one, and that one was the least popular in class, so go figure. Poetry is such a fickle little bitch.

Lovely to read, hard as fuck to write.

Just a Thought

If you don't like your ideas, stop having them.
---Katherine Isabelle/Ginger Snaps

Choke You to Death

He: How many times have you read that fucking book?
Me: More than once.
He: Why are you reading it again?
Me: Because it is romantic and sweet and full of poetry.
He: Wonderful shit to make you feel better about being alone and freaking out about your poetry classes.
Me: Probably not, but I do love the book, it is very soothing to read.
He: Soothing?
Me: I don’t know there are a lot of things that I really like about it, the way it includes the poetry and letters into the love story, and yet how it is just so terribly human at the base.
He: Sounds boring as shit.
Me: Maybe, but I love it. I gave it to my ex to read, I’m not sure he liked it either, but he read it and that meant a lot to me.
He: Don’t romanticize anything from that train wreck of a relationship, don’t you fucking do it.
Me: I’m not romanticizing, I’m remembering fondly.
He: Yeah well only remember for a minute or two. Spend too long with all that moronic nostalgia and it will choke you to death.

Just a Thought

Pedal on
Pedal on, pedal on, pedal on for miles
Pedal on

You see whenever I'm alone
I tend to brood
But when I'm out on my bike
It's a different mood
I leave my brain at home
Get up on the saddle
No hanging around
I don't diddle-daddle

I work my legs
I pump my thighs
Take in the scenery passing me by
The Kerry mountains or the Wicklow hills
The antidote to my emotional ills
A motion built upon human toil
Nuclear free needs no oil
But it makes me hot, makes me hard
I never thought I could have come this far
Through miles of mountains, valleys, streams
This is the right stuff filling my dreams
So come on, get up on your bike
Ah go on, get up on your bike

Pedal on
Pedal on, pedal on, pedal on for miles
Pedal on
---Luka Bloom/The Acoustic Motorbike

Clean Clear Cool

Many mornings I wake up and think to myself 'Today, today will not suck.'

Sometimes it even works.

Just a Thought

--They're pissing me off, they're trying to kill me.
--Cigarettes don't have souls, Jack. They don't mean you any harm.
---Mark Ruffalo
---Peter Krause/We Don't Live Here Anymore

Pixy Stix

Me: Hey What are you up to?
He: Waiting to catch a train to the boat to go home and do homework. What are you doing?
Me Sitting in my car in front of a tattoo shop eating pixy stix and resisting the urge to get my nose pierced and dye my hair pink.
He: What are you freaking sixteen?
Me: No, just out of control. Trying to control something.
He: Well while you are out making bad decisions on your pixy stix sugar high get a tattoo and crash your car or break something. That should help.
Me: Hey I know this isn't helping, you just asked what I was doing.

Just a Thought

Hear me say, devoid of trickery:
Daughter, laughter and Terpsichore,

Typhoid, measles, topsails, aisles.
Exiles, similes, reviles.
---G. Nolst Trenité/The Chaos