נכון

אז נכון שבכלל אין לך כוח,
והבוס מעצבן כמו תמיד,
ונכון שמחזור מתקרב לו,
וזה חרא, אין מה להגיד.

ונכון שהגשם הפתיע,
וששוב נרטבה הכביסה,
וכמעט לא הספקת שוב לנוח,
ואת שוב מרגישה הרוסה.

גם נכון שאחיך לא שם זין,
אחותך כבר מזמן שכחה,
שהבטיחה לבוא, אבל נו, ממתי
כבר אפשר לסמוך על הבטחה?

ונכון שענן דיכאון אפרפר
כנראה לא ילך לעולם
אך בפנים, הדימיון מרפרף כמו פרפר
ועושה את הכל למושלם.

הם אומרים שלא טוב לחיות באשליות,
שיגידו, אכפת לי. אז מה.
בלי אותן אשליות זה כל מה שנותר:
עייפות,
ובדידות,
ודממה.

Take Me, Drummer Boy

Last night I dreamt that Ben Gillies, Silverchair's fine drummer, had sex with me. Damn, he was good. At least in my dream, that is. It makes me feel a bit kinky, in more ways than one:

- First of all, when I'm awake, at least, I'm more attracted to their frontman, Daniel Johns (AKA "Mr. Imbruglia").

- Secondly, I rarely go for buffed-up, muscular guys; I'm helplessley drawn to the scrawny, lanky, androgynous types.

- Last but certainly not least - Ben and I share the same birth-date... we were both born on October 24th. He's practically my birthday-brother :( Now that's scarey...

Unless, of course, I can see it as a sort of symbolic union between the Goddess and the God - who are also brother and sister - in a way that isn't actually incest but rather a sacred marriage of the spirits... Like Isis and Osiris, Diana and Apollo...

Or maybe it just really turns me on to picture him holding my with those muscular arms and fucking me like there's no tomorrow. Damn, those days before a period sure make me horny.

Happy Birthday, Nephew!

Today my first nephew is 2 years old... Happy birthday, little one! You don't know it yet, but on your birthday party this friday, your auntie will bring you a toy train - that works on batteries, with real cars and an engine and track and everything! Because she knows how much you love trains!


Be well, child.
Be safe.
Be adventurous.
Be curious.
Be careful.
Be happy.
Be kind and generous.
Be wise.
But most importantly, be loving - and be loved.

And... Paws for Poems 5

Manners

He cares not much to win his lady's heart,
If ever he did see that it beats still,
He cares not much if she be well or ill,
If she be whole, at peace, or torn apart;
He sees not much the lingering of past wrongs,
The years that took more life than was their due,
The wrath that may or may not rise anew,
And claim its feast with flame and sharpened prongs.

Paws for Poems 4

Dedicated to my brother, upon his coming birthday and his exquisite success in forgetting my last two.


Am I still dead


When I was fifteen you said I had no life,
Now we're all grown up, you've a son and a wife,
And you wear ties and jackets, and paint the world red,
Tell me brother, what about me, am I still dead?

We were raised as equals, but you were always worth more
You're the one that they worshipped, I was just a big bore
I was told you're the greatest, and believed what they said
What do you think now, brother, when did I become dead?

Every day of my childhood you'd bring me to tears,
Your scorn slew my confidence and nurtured my fears,
But my grief was transparent to all but my bed,
Could it be that's the reason that I became dead?

Nowadays we don't talk, and you don't seem to care
All I've won, all I've lost - you were just never there
And this curse of yours still circles over my head
Will I ever start living, or always be dead?