Patior

Stumbling upon an archive of my middle school poetry, I was fascinated by how much better I understood the writing now. At the time, every line was born of anxiety and countless revision. So much so that I often lost track of the work as a whole, a fact which I covered up with grandiosity and a thick synonym-acon. Now that the situations addressed in the poems are farther behind me, I'm quite astonished that the words make any sense whatsoever. Keep in mind, the writing is ingenuously angsty and bloated with puerility, reading like Billy Corgan's kitchen magnet prose. But these confessionals were all that I had and, at the time, I was nervous that such literary attempts to create order out of my life actually indicated some sort of schizophrenia. "Acid literation" as Mike Love would've (somewhat inappropriately) called it.

Finished reading The Worst Hard Time which read like a passion play for the Dust Bowl and it's inhabitants (minus the passion).

Rhonda and I (mostly Rhonda) just finished the Spirit Photos from our Victorian Pageant. I'm absolutely astounded at how well they turned out!

Oh, I was asked by Asthmatic Kitty to contribute an article celebrating Houston, TX (to coincide with our October 20th performance at their Unusual Animals party) and came up with a little writ of absurdity entitled "The Houston Parachronist: Top Stories of the Year 1905". It felt good to write for an audience again as I haven't for some time now.