Model Broad with a Hollywood Smile

I have a friend who writes. I mean, I write. I do, but it's stupid. It's not like the way she writes. Her words are serious with emotion and it's an emotional-provoking joy ride. You get that? Do you get what I'm saying?

My high school english teacher reiterated that poetry is supposed to evoke emotion. She said that at least 2 times a day during the poetry lesson. She did. And it never got old. It still doesn't. When I read poetry, I think, "Does this make me feel?" If no, then screw you - your poem is only a half-breed. (Wait - Can you believe I just said "half-breed"? Cause I did).

But Brett's poems? Her poems are magic. The pages are heavy (heavy!) with feeling. Sincere with the thought of, "Yeah, I totally get it". Read this:

"Alright, fine, I will get up
and do the dishes
if you think up a contraption
or way for me to do them
here from the floor"

Get it? Yes, because every damned person on this planet gets that from time to time. She's a writer. A real, legit, beautiful dew-drop-touching writer. Most days, especially when I write, I want to be like her. Seriously. Every April she and I write a poem a day every day and she, really, no lie - is my mentor.

Read this book. Buy this book. Know that she is a sincere word-smith - every word she pieces together breathes humanity in a way that breaks your heart into a brillion pieces.

Anyway - buy this chapbook, love this chapbook and know that this woman, this writer, is insanely talented. Her words are gold compared to mostly dirt from other assholes.

Chemist On Campus

I don't know, really. Somedays, it's just like, I can reach my little hands right up to space and grab any random object (like, an asteroid or a little piece of ice cold metal), pop it in my mouth, eat it up and be awesomely strong and unstoppable. Get Usher on my iPod, give me a stretch of road, let me run... nay, let me conquer. Go ahead.

I dare you.

I come up with good jokes on days like this. I can't get over my atoms being forged in the sun on days like this. I can't stop making love to life on days like this. I can't stop thinking about dinosaurs and fossils and kittens and Extraterrestrial Life Forms and dream-catchers and dolphins and bridges and tiny babies sharing my air and also the air of a drunk Moses.

I don't know. Just, put your hands up, right? I need to dance.

And it's a shame this day has to end.

Spaceboy, I miss you

I once had a friend, who travels around like a maniac, say to me, "It just sucks because I miss people where ever I am." And, I guess, that's a terrible way to feel all your life, but also, it's kind of a sweet thing, too, right?

Loving people is never bad. And people loving you is good, too. It's probably just a design of grown-up life. That's just what it looks like. Which, I guess, can be stupid. The thing is: what's it like when the reunion occurs? You know, that's the important part.

My weekend was full of good reunion, good beer and good food. And for that, I'm grateful.