Here. Try this. It’ll hurt a little, but god, it’ll taste like something you almost remember.
Busking from the Busted Poetry Machine Bunker —”Over It” Edition: Cold, Whatever
Now Playing:
“Let’s Tattoo the Moon” – from the unreleased Post-Apocalyptic Seance Mixtape by DJ Word Raccoon
Even if he lands, we’ll just bleed together/ maybe we can sit in silence while we do / But you’ve gotta get the blood/ Before you can see the tattoo
REALLY PLAYING: THE CARPENTERS GOLD – GREATEST HITS
Welcome to my complicated, glitter-soaked sermon. Hand in your expectations at the door.
CLEAR BAG POLICY IN EFFECT
Guests may only bring bags that are clear plastic, vinyl, or PVC.
All bags (including brains) are subject to inspection. No exceptions.
Written Sunday:
Danger, Glitter, and the Absence of Tinder
I was in the mood
to do something dangerous,
until I realized—
I am the danger.
If you grind your pain to glitter,
you don’t need Tinder—
just a spotlight and a decent pen.
You don’t need messages from the void.
Heavens to Murgatroyd,
you don’t need
permission.
You don’t need submission
You don’t need an audience
just a megaphone
and a scream
to rub the thing raw.
Post Apocalyptic Seance Mixtape
So apparently I’m writing an album. I mean, writing an album sounds on-brand, and I think it’s a way to give me a break from poetry while still being poetry, if you see what I mean. I think it’s an exercise, just for fun, though actually, I have the first song complete with guitar chords.
*whispers* And I think I’m gonna pull my guitar out from under the bed.
Real talk: I’m thinking of overhauling the song, the lyrics, the tone. It’s trembling between innocence and experience. It could be all tattoo the moon with our love or with cigars and burn marks. (Metaphorically, obv.) Don’t stand behind me while I figure out which to choose.
The song has nice ankles and a handsome wrinkle or two. So much longing in it. Almost as if I’m a writer.
I must be feeling better because although nothing tastes good yet, I’m craving barbeque chicken and beer. I’d settle for crab rangoon.
Wanna see the track list so far? Maybe we can bust out the lyrics for one of the songs, too. Feel free to chime in. Raccoons aren’t afraid to share. BUT FYI, trademark notice on them all. (Winky face.)
POST-APOCALYPTIC SÉANCE MIXTAPE
(Limited release. Only available through haunted jukeboxes.)
Side A: Bunker Ballads (Song selection still in progress.)
- Jim Jones Bartends at the End of the World After Party
- You’re Only Alive When I’m Dead to the World
Side B:
- Grocery Cart Gospel
- Let’s Tattoo the Moon
Now for something really special (or not) from the bunker. (Actually, I am live reporting from a coffeehouse today. Bottoms up!)
Listen Up, Kid:
You can bleed beside someone in the garden or
you can bleed for yourself and write it down.
One of those might give you a song.
The other might just
take all the ones you haven’t written
yet.
Pause and say Selah!
(Prove me wrong. I’m waiting. I’ve got a hankering for a Waffle House omelet, M-Fer.)
Oh yes,
I was going to tell you about my Poetry on the Road writing session from Sunday.
It was rainy and gloomy, and I did the thing but I wasn’t feeling it. Bonus points for AIS time, am I right?
Turns out, I rescued two half-drowned poems and a song from the primordial stew. (See the first poem above. If you don’t remember it’s dangerous to conflate the author and her work, that’s on you. And I can’t make that disclaimer every time, so I ask you to please write it where you keep your passwords, please and thank you.)
I was writing the song and didn’t realize an undergrad was around the corner at a table. Oops. Should’ve asked him what he thought of it.
Today, I am revising my poems, weeding through random lines and asking if there’s something buried there, if I’m being repetitive now. If it’s time to go back to my novel.
If it isn’t too much to admit, I think I have a second collection. (I write short poems that press their luck and your pants at the same time, so…)
What I see at risk with this speed is I’m getting very world weary and am telling truth with a knife, not something most people would see as my brand.
It’s typically not. But also, I’m just really good usually at throwing glitter and leading a dance under the disco ball. Or is that a moon?
I think sometimes the dance is kinder. For all. And tons more fun. Sometimes.
Neither, however, is a lie.
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