|04/11/2017 - One of these two clowns is finally working on the 100Words website update. Facelift back in motion. Really. Thanks for not giving up on us.||
April 21st, 2002
And as thoughts of her once again entered my mind, I thought to myself "why can't you just let go of me." realization of my error immediately crept up on me. "No... why can't I just let go of you? You've let go of me long ago. This is my problem." I'm trying to move on. I want to move on. The problem is, nothing is happening. I've staled out at 10000 feet, and I'm in a flat spin to nowhere. Falling endlessly in no particular direction. There is no sky above to fly, and no ground below to crash.
April 12th, 2008
Em’ly Dickinson wrote some stuff—
Its appeal lost on me—
Its style and diction odd—enough—
To earn a big fat D—
For English teacher’s what—I am—
And Em’ly’s poems are weird—
She’s stranger far than Walt Whitman—
And with a smaller—beard—
If sitting in your room’s—required—
To write a nifty—poem—
I should’ve as a child aspired—
For rarely I left—home—
And Dickinson’s bizarre punc—
Tuation-- she should’ve run Spellcheck—
Her wording was quite odd—as well—
Her topics odd as--heck—
My poem’s quite done—though it’s absurd—
And here is--the hundredth—word
May 21st, 2007
I've the house nearly all to myself. It's nice, really, but I can't say I don't miss everyone else. There's something about being young and having no responsibilities that really gets to you. Maybe you feel free, or unbridled. Perhaps some merely enjoy being alone and away from all the distractions others create. And you can’t rule out the possibility of running through the house stark naked.
Well, maybe not the last one.
But that’s besides the point. All I know is that I don’t have junk to deal with and I’m taking it easy this week.
Party on Thursday.