Have you ever written so much your just tired of it? That's how I'm feeling as I write this. Why, then, you may well ask, am I writing at all? Because I want to update you guys on my day which has involved writing non-stop for about 15 hours. I'm soon going to have a snack, watch a bit of a movie, and be off to bed.

Comment! (1) | Recommend!

We had a blizzard. I wrote, and wrote, and wrote. I posted 100 entries on my other site. I want to make $3 by the end of February on this site. That means I'll have to earn just under a 1.50 (or about 5 cents a day; that's a lot and it means I'll be spending much more time here; a big yay for my Nutang readers I'm sure).

Comment! (2) | Recommend! | Categories: nutang [t], money [t]

I slept a lot today. I didn't go to Scrabble, although I have that all arranged for next week. Demi will come in at 4pm next Monday. I posted a little bit, but not much. Two PCA's have issues and won't be in all week. I'm sorry that they are having all this trouble, but feeling lucky that someone can fill in.

Comment! (1) | Recommend! | Categories: sleepy [t], not much done [t]

Dear nutang,
I have been gone all weekend at a music fest in greenfield. I won a poetry contest today. I am watching this stupid movie while I type this. I just wanted you all to know that I didn't die. This is my longest absence from Nutang since I joined. I will write more tomorrow when I am more awake.

Comment! (0) | Recommend!

is is a poem I'm going to use in a poetry Slam this Sunday, if I can get accommodated properly due to my speech impairment. It'll be my first official Slam ever. I'm not expecting to win, although it's nice to dream about that, I just want to do it to prove I can. To prove that just because you don't talk exactly normally doesn't mean you have to give up anything you really like. Please comment. I'm still open to editing suggestions.
*****

It makes sense,
given my God decreed verbal difficulties
and organizer�s soul
that I should love the written word,
especially the politically motivated written word.



Words like those
spoken by Woodrow Wilson
and burned, by women wanting suffrage,
from jail cell garbage bins.

And I do love the written word;
composing paper-based communiqu�s
has been my primary partner
contributing more bacon to bank account
than any of my other endeavors.

We�ve been wedded for more years
than I�ve been alive and, I,
for the most part, was singularly
and faithfully devoted to her.


My infidelity with and to slam
(my primary�s oft bastard sister)
began the first time I encountered her;
diva of verbally based gymnastics.

She was- I understood
destined to become this wordsmith�s
longstanding mistress.


How was I, word goddess wannabe
whose tongue sometimes twists
over non-performance syllables
despite my best effort,
to modify, accommodate, transform
slam into art form I could conquer.



Introducing the echoer, often, of late,
a New York Jew woman poet
whose perfect diction rivals
any Southern preacher I�ve heard
or my college musician roommate
who has sung my words previous,
or, infrequently, unsuspecting assistant
suddenly drafted into role
of speaking words on whichever tongue
I choose to barrow that still renders them
always, always mine.

The latest in a life
made possible by adjustments,
both self and colleague created
that grant girl poet the freedom
to have the existence she elects.


I hope my dual loves,
both daughters of Brighid
goddess of our pagan Gaelic past,
whom I discovered thanks to Google
find my proposed polyamorous
arrangement acceptable.

.

Comment! (0) | Recommend! | Categories: poetry [t], slam [t]

On the Eve of inauguration celebratory poetry reading
hosted by childhood idol and present poet laureate
of the town I hope to move to,
I can�t help but picture myself
shaky, impediment based voice made worse
at idea of reading in front of so many strangers.

But then I remember our new President�s words;
�I didn�t get here by myself.�

He met the Oval Office;
I mean this stage,

But one is no less true
than the other.

Each of us relies on the spirits of ancestors;
related, unrelated, some we�ve never even
encountered in body
to be (and become) our best selves.

Comment! (0) | Recommend! | Categories: nauguration [t], poetry [t]