Month: November 2010

I just found out tonight I don’t have it anymore,
I Don’t Have It All Figured Out.
The Democrats don’t have it
I don’t have it either.
I don’t have it in my memory
I don’t have it. Does this mean he was cheating or am I just lucky?
I don’t have it. I don’t know where it is
I don’t have it figured out.
I don’t understand it, but I have to do it
Cute and Creepy pack says I don’t have it anymore.
Do you have it? I don’t have it.
Well, I don’t have it yet, but I will when I’m born.
If I don’t have it, I’ll find it.
“If I don’t have it in, I feel naked. It has become part of my uniform.”
Okay, I don’t have it that bad
I don’t have it as bad as some people
confirm that I don’t have it but am asymptomatic
I “don’t have it installed”
I don’t have it written down anywhere now,
It’s missing but I don’t have it
Glad I Don’t Have It.
I don’t have it in me to be witty right now.
No, I don’t have it.
I don’t have it now but I can get it (git it)
If I don’t have it on by nightfall (honk) I’m going to lay on this horn.
I don’t have it. In fact i dont have anything

Too Undone
(after John Keats’ “To Autumn”)

Season of trysts and hellish faithlessness
Unbosomy friend of the immature son
Conspiring with him how to cheat and blast
With lies the vines that round a couple run
To blend their asses in the moist cottage cheese
And fill their drool with lava at the core
To swell his little gourd, and plump his lazy balls
With a slime kernel, to make breathing snore
And still more, latex flowers of disease
Until they think hump days will never cease,
For Bummer has rimjobbed their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen hot asses ‘round the store?
Sometimes whoever seeks a broad may find
Her leaning careless on a subway door
Her hair entangled in a wheezing wind
Or in a half-assed marriage, sound asleep
Drows’d with the fume of pussy, while my look
Betrays new wrath and all its twined sourness
And sometimes like a weiner thou dost keep
Randy thy leaden head across this book
Or by her little dress I saw on facebook.
Thou wasted with thy oozings what was ours.

Where are the dongs and things? Ay, where are they?
Don’t think of me – I had a muse, too –
These barcodes ruin the nuptial hay
And touch your stubbly palms with pickle stew
While in a wailful choir a small gnat mourns
Behind a crying river on Zoloft
And stinking like a light brown liver guy
A full-grown man loud bleats from hilly bourne.
Hedgehogs also do sing, and now with triple action
Her red breast whistles at a garden hose
And gathering sorrows teeter in my eyes.

Hey, this was the word of the day just a few days ago!

“When other birds are still, the screech owls take up the strain, like mourning women their ancient u-lu-lu.” When Henry David Thoreau used “u-lu-lu” to imitate the cry of screech owls and mourning women in that particular passage from his book Walden, he was re-enacting the etymology of “ululate” (a word he likely knew). “Ululate” descends from the Latin verb “ululare.” That Latin root carried the same meaning as our modern English word, and it likely originated in the echoes of the rhythmic wailing sound associated with it. Even today, “ululate” often refers to ritualistic or expressive wailing performed at times of mourning or celebration or used to show approval.

brilliant and topical video by Donna Kuhn:

OK, so I know there’s been a lot of misandry (misandrousness?) on this blog lately.  I know that just because I’m angry at one man, or two, or a half dozen or so, doesn’t make the whole lot of them lousy.  I’ve been sending interested parties from Nerve.com over to this blog so that they can find out too much about me, and it really won’t do for them to only see this recent streak of hostility.  So let me remind you, to parrot Eartha Kitt, I Love Men, and here I am declaiming that fact to an audience of hundreds (btw I made this dress, and I’m skinnier now):

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and is now available at Small Press Distribution!