I was looking for love when…

She reared back her ugly head
and said,
“Do you not desire a kiss
from my sour milk mouth?
Or perhaps you would like something
a little further south.”
When I figured of what she spoke,
I realized to her it was no joke.
Neither was I laughing,
and I almost threw up
when I thought of being her king.
Vile bile rose to my throat
as venom dripped from her teeth.
She held out scab crusted hand.
“Come, drink my rancid wine,
eat my spoiled meat.”
I took her hand,
put my lips to hers,
and in an obscene way made sure
that she would always be mine.
I looked into her horrid face,
placed my head upon her sagging breast.
Oh, such a strange place to find rest
from my quest of love.
I was looking for love when…

I met my luscious succubus.

christopher…. ‘88

For pretty much as long as I can remember I’ve wanted to journal on a regular basis. I read a lot. And in these books I’ve read they often extoll the virtues of being a diarist. It’s supposed to make you more creative, spur on ideas, make you wiser, give you a record of your life, and make your bones stronger, your teeth harder and give you a shinier coat (no, wait, that’s Alpo!).

I don’t get this.

When I first started my first site, I thought somehow I’d end up doing a tech site, or a media site, or some other thing that would catapult me to fame and fortune (I mostly kid), but then I realized there are a lot more geeky and nerdier people out there already doing these things. So I figured, fire up a site, and screw what people expect or thing, I’d just write about the minutia of my life. Yeah, I know, I should have looked, there were already people doing this living much more minute lives than mine.

So I thought about readers. Who would I want reading this? And honestly, I can up with no one, so I figured I’d write for myself and see who came along for the ride. This held me for quite some time, until I started worry about who was reading this. I mean, my nieces and nephew have internet connections, so do my coworkers, my girlfriend, my parents, the Vice President of the United States, and most of my prospective new employers, so I started censoring myself and had an online journal that bored even me.  I am positive “blogging” cost me at least one second date and probably at least one second interview.

So I stopped. Besides, all my fiends that were blogging stopped doing it too, and if all your friends jumped off a bridge would you? Yeah, because peer pressure is a bitch. Maybe “stopped” is too final. I took a long break. I rethought, revamped, redesigned.

So I am back, have been for a while, and I’ve been having fun. My original goal was a post a day. I’ve been failing at that. I’m fine with failure. I have other things I am working on that are making me just as happy. I still like having this site. It’s not going anywhere (unless one of the “Christopher Jorgensen” architects or lawyers out there decides he needs this domain more than me. And if you are interested, the nut starts at 100K).

I’m still uncertain why one should feel the need to journal for all to see. Guess it beats having them published after you are dead, but only because then you’re dead.

As some of you know I launched a website less than a month ago, but all the domain names I think best fit what I am doing are taken.

I posted asking for suggestions for a rename for the site over on metafilter.com, but since I included the current site URL, it was seen as through I was trying to promote the domain I want to get rid of, and the post appropriately deleted (if they indeed believed this, ignored my track record, and disregarded the stupidity of the idea of trying to suck people into a site I intend to re-fucking-name!). But I still have the problem, still hate the name.

The site consists of me sending questions, concerns, observations, or plain old ink soaked stupidity to companies, individuals, institutions, and luminaries of various sorts, then posting my original letter, the reply (and image of), and commentary on both.

This is not a new idea, nor am I pretending it is. I’m running with the premise from the Lazlo Toth books, the “Letters from an Idiot” books, with a bit of “Thanks for the Memos” and “The Yes Men” thrown in.

I would like help renaming the site. I prefer a .com site, but will consider others. The domain has to be available (obviously). Due to self-imposed constraints it can only be one of the following TLDs: .com, .net, .org, .info, .biz, or .us, since these are the only ones pairNIC.com handles. Ok, so they also do .cn and .ws, but since I am neither Chinese nor Western Samoan (that I know of) I think these would be kinda crappy.

Tweaking the noses of entities with a bit of power or fame is nothing new. There’s a long tradition of this, but invoking the “Yes Men,” “Michael Moore,” or “Lazlo Toth” might make it seem like I am pretending I play in their league. I’m not. I don’t. All the same, I invite you to check out jackassletters.com.

I would like to say the URL says it all, but since I don’t really believe it does, and I intend to change it soon, not giving a better description would be a jackass’s game. There’s work to be done, but I think it’s good enough to show.

Currently I am running a contest to rename the site. I want to get this done as quickly as possible, since I would like to rename it before it becomes the #1 destination on the internet for young and old! Or, well, before the Cease and Desist letters start to arrive. If you have an idea for a name, that you don’t mind me registering, drop me an email (click my name pretty near anywhere on this site), or visit the jackassletters.com and use one of my feedback forms.

I fired up a contest there, but since it’s a new site, it really doesn’t have that much traffic yet, so have had no response from that. I tried to do a better job of explaining why I want rid of the name on the contests page.

I still have a bit of work to do before I am ready to promote the site.

And for the record, there are no ads on the site, there is no membership fee, or any other money making scam that will suck you in just by visiting. This of course will change some day, and with the proper domain name I will take over the internet and you will work for me!

I’ve made a life of nonsense,
internal bleeding, flesh fungi, and hypochondria;
all as grave as the comfort of my own poetry.
Words are my terminal condition.

I’m sick with lines without meaning,
afflicted with gibberish,
a stutterer speaking in tongues without religion.
There is little substance to this life.
Etiology without beginning,
belief without basis,
and faith in need of proof.

Physics says a bumblebee cannot fly.

And cancer eats the best of us.
HPV, microwaves, plastic, free radicals,
preservatives, nicotine,
and each breath we take.
To live invites death!

A bullet will kill you faster than writing,
but either bears death all the same.
One word after another,
one word until shame becomes sorrow,
one word until some feel they understand.

This is no cry for help,
nor plea for consideration,
but, rather, an explanation,
sentences saying,
“I would rather be invisible.”

My illness is absolute,
a disease incurable and miracle-proof.
Only a world without ink can stop me,
and then, only if there is no way to open a vein
and write.

christopher…. ‘07

Ingredients:

1 biography
½ of 1 fifth of whiskey (substitute 750 ml of red wine if preferred or if you work the next day)
1 woman stuck inside your head
2 obscure references
1 baby done me wrong line
1 premature ejaculation joke or 1 self-deprecatory comment on penis size
Enough extract of misogyny to pass for honesty and to insure you go home alone
1 dash of irony and angst (flavor to taste)

Directions:

1. Write a sentence, any sentence, don’t worry, this will be deleted later. Drink half of the first drink. Sit back, ponder the woman you can’t shake, and consider what’s written.
2. Delete everything. Start over.
3. Write a sentence, any sentence, don’t worry, this will be deleted later. Drink the rest of the drink. Sit back, ponder the women you can’t shake, and consider what’s written.
4. Delete! And come up with a title. Consider this a good start!
5. It is best if alcohol is added throughout the writing process, pre-consumption often prevents anything intelligible from being written (though moderation inhibits completion as well). Sprinkle the first stanza with confusion and cleverness, incidental rhyme and deliberate alliteration. Drink as required.
6. Mix in your first obscure reference: Oh, and Charles, I do know what it’s like to slide up next to Betty’s warm ass. References like this, only understood by the poet, and devotees of Bukowski are essential. (Don’t worry, people always pretend they understand, nodding sagely or granting the nervous laugh).
7. Decide if you are going to go with ejaculation joke or penis size comment, having people think you are both sad and small will invoke only cocktail wiener imagery. And “Snocrates, the wise Snausages mascot, knows your dog will absolutely love the big meaty taste and cute sausage shape of Snausages.” The second obscure reference for those keeping track!
8. Honesty is the best ingredient, but few can afford honesty, or do it well, so resort to lighthearted misogyny —if pressed.
9. Mix well, include stark imagery if needed, and call this poetry.

This recipe feeds many, but never the one intended.

Snausages.

christopher… ‘06