self destruct: it's just what I do.

(not really good enough).

poem

In Hawaii, birds are hot.
Lava runs with feathers
And eruptions rain down eggs.
Some hatch mid-air
Some land on hot-tin rooves.
In Hawaii, birds are born
From mountains called volcanoes.

By Thomas McGrath



(this poem came from the randomly generated question and answer, "Why do birds suddenly appear? Volcanology.")

FYI

This Sunday 26th October will mark my 5 YEAR ANNIVERSARY of being at All Saints.

pretty crazy, huh?

remember little 18-year-old Natalie who snuck in the back with Jo Lowe? that was 5 years ago.

and of course, the next Sunday (2 November) marks the 5 year anniversary of the day I first met Miss Sarah Hughes. she drove me home.

i am not a writer

i am not a writer
i cannot write short stories
i cannot write good poems
and i cannot…make things rhyme.

my thinking is not deep and meaningful
my thinking is not bright and witty
so how can i write good words
without sounding like an idi (ot) ?

don't get me wrong
i like words
i like how they look
and how they talk to each other
and i like playing with them

it is the creating of them that i can't stand

i mean, where do people get these ideas?
they must have better heads than me:
heads that have ideas
heads that can clean up their ideas for other people to understand
heads that can find the words to write down what they mean.

when me and my head go to write things, it erupts onto the paper in a big splatter of vomit -
WORDSANDLETTERSANDDOTSALLOVERTHEPLACE.

it is easier to read, and enjoy what other people have created.
(i am not a writer.)