| An Interview With God |
[Nov. 16th, 2006|01:08 am] |
I had this idea earlier cuz I had an interview which was more than anything a formality, which is good, cuz during that interview I decided I am the worst interviewee ever. Still, you have to admit it'd throw you for a loop if you were asked "Tell me a secret" in an interview. (And the last 3 questions: 1)What is your name? 2)What is your quest? 3)What is your favoite color?--See, I'd know how to answer the swallow one!) Anyhow, I thought it'd be funny to imagine what God would ask in an interview, and if I would have to pass an interview portion to get into heaven. This is all I've got so far. Suggestions for additional questions requested, and, of course, criticism greatly appreciated.
An Interview With God
He said to me: What will you bring to this organization?
And I thought, fumbled for words because "sarcasm" was not a good answer.
He said to me: Why do you want this position?
And I couldn't think of an answer beyond "It's better than the alternative."
He asked me: What are your strengths and weaknesses? (As if he didn't know!)
And I knew that, no matter how true, being a perfectionist is a cliche, and that "cute and charming" does not constitute a strength.
He asked me: What is your reason for leaving your previous job?
Old age? Too much excitement? A passing fancy--or bus? Maybe I just got bored.
And at the end of it all we shook hands and He said He would call and let me know. |
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| Satisfaction in Persona |
[Nov. 1st, 2006|12:30 am] |
Here it is! Me in print! Isn't it neat?
Sorry the image is so small. It's not the best version of that poem anyway.
This is:
Satisfaction
I want to lick 60’s rock and roll off your chest:
Morrison from your collarbone,
Hendrix from your navel,
Jagger lingering down your hipbone.
Murky echoes of chords buzz through my nervous system,
Their vibrations still in my toes, my legs.
They are heavy and dark, sweet and delicious
Bricks of ambrosia, burying me.
They permeate the air, Echoing, Sticky.
Molasses-thick smoke condensing,
Pooling in the hollows of your flesh.
Each note a shot of ecstatic gin
That rests thick on my tongue,
Burns my throat all the way down.
Sweet spectre of sound, vinyl-slick
Body swirling in my head.
Your body, sticky sweet
Will linger beyond the record’s end. |
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| Summer |
[Sep. 5th, 2006|09:38 am] |
Made with fridge magnets:
Summer
Lick up beauty
Drive out frat men
Drink through exams |
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