A draft of things to come.

So I recently got it in my head to write a cycle of sonnets. I'll see about posting some of my meditations regarding concepts/themes/fun times later, but know they're gonna be called The Buttsex Sonnets. Yup. It's a thing.

In fact here's a draft of the first sonnet. More textual/author's notes after the verse for those interested.

There's a faggot in horizontal stripes.
See! Lolls his head; flaps about at the wrists;
And wags his hips, and--oh--so sweetly lisps.
By this and these we know these types.
I'm sure if he saw me, he'd think likewise
In stereotypes: we all have our nitch.
O, to be noticed by this little bitch
Or anyone--to feel as cute--would be nice.
Catch me a fairy, hark, hail me a sprite!
Tear off his wings, his weeds, his airs, and thrust
Deep and unbidden. I'll show you what lurks
Beneath assumptions, between soul and sight:
I have as much machismo, I trust,
As much I must, as you your flippant quirks.

Sooo, yeah, there's that. I've already made notes for revisions and restructurings (mostly regarding lines 4 - 7 and chunks of the sestet, which I consider somewhat useless and weak sections right now), but this is the original (complete) draft. We could even call it the first draft.

Kind of ridonculous.

I've taken on a lot of writing responsibilities this last week or two. I've also been somewhat crappy about managing them, I guess. We'll see.


I've had some great new ideas for the essay for Madz's literary journal. It's moved from simply an apology to the editor to an indirect method piece on how to fail as a writer. Because somehow "failing as a writer" seems somehow impossible and paradoxical to my mind. You can struggle as a writer, you can give up as a writer (I guess), you can even "betray" your own principles with what you end up writing for, but "fail"?

As far as I can tell, writing is less a lifestyle--something to choose to do or fail at doing--as it is some inborn part of one's mind and personality. I want to be a writer because I can't help it. I want to string words together, either verbally or literally (literally), constantly.

As such, I suppose the article will go all double-indirect-method-y and actually explore what it means to be a writer....? by failing at it....? Hm. I'll needa think on that.


As you can tell that article may not be entirely ready for the journal. As such, I offered my editor, by way of something concrete, some old(er) poetry of mine. I went through and found what was good and typed up what I hadn't; I emailed her links to anything I'd blogged with notes on what changes, if any, I felt were necessary; and otherwise got myself all warm-feeling and hopeful regarding my prospects as a poet.

I mean, I'd basically given up on myself. I never seemed to write any poetry anymore, and what I remembered writing all seemed so mediocre and unfinished and pointless. Turns out it's not as hard as I'd thought to churn out something decent--that is, something that needs only a little reworking or continuing here and there to get going on its way to useability and maybe even goodness.

It's weird, too: In looking over the various drafts and fragments of things I've poeticized, I think I've found some weird kind of self esteem or respect or something. It occurred to me that I may actually have some gift-ness at stringing together compelling, interesting, pretty words and phrases. Can you tell I'm not good at breaking modesty?

Well, even the crappier fragments had occasional bits of worth, and that was also heartening. Like, "Hey, I might actually have something to offer, some kinda usefulness, some kinda recognizable style-ness. Imagine that.".


I've been pretty shit about the short story at the moment. I'm sure y'all can understand why. I've never gotten this far with pretty much any of my writing ever, so it isn't easy. I don't really know how it's supposed to be done--revising and shit. Like, I imagine it's not good to pack on as many writing obligations at once as I have. If only for clarity of mind. Oh well.

It's a learning experience.

Why the hell not?

I feel today's gonna be pretty good for writing. Maybe the week, if nothing else.

I feel it--that want. I should cultivate it as best I can, temper it, learn to find & rely on it. It will oneday be my livelihood, afterall.

I'm thinking a mix of the article for Madeleine and some poetry is in order. Maybe even a review or two or several for the other blog.

There's also another fun project I might take up (yay, more projects...). Parker and I have joked about doing a comic together, about us of course. The joking has gotten more serious. I think it could actually have some potential. Obviously, I'd write it, he'd draw it. Honestly, our conversations are weird-funny enough even without being turned into a comic.

More on that later. Or on whatever I end up doing. Unfortunately I've got some more serious business to attend to and then work later on. We'll see how all that goes, eh?