I am no man of god,
but of broken glass and past tragedies.
More truth than lies fall from these lips.
I would lie to you if I could.
I would tell you of love that is not,
and sins uncommitted, damnation kisses,
and whatever you needed to hear.
I would seduce you with bad poetry and good wine.
Because every woman loves the badboy,
every woman lives for the dangerous,
but I have always been…too good.

But no more! I have given up my belief in disbelief!
Atheist no longer.
I live for salvation…for a need of forgiveness.
This life is now but clay.
Make of it what you will.
Your god is mine!

And, now, your parents will never approve.

Truly a bastard I will deceive to get what I want.
And what I want is you,
you harlot of Gomorra,
you bitch of the night,
slut of my nightmares,
saint without morals.
My sinning angel!

I sell my soul to a god that does not exist
   to get you!
Atrocity begets atrocity and you drip
   from my fingers
   as does your wetness.
And blood will tell.

Blood always tells.

An untruth untouchable by divinity. I do love you.
From our first awkward word to our last half kiss.
I love you!

Because I….

I am a man of god!

christopher…. ‘06

My jackassletters.com site got a little write up over on the metafilter users’ blogs site.

I expect great things will happen now!

I spend a bit too much time on metafilter. $5 seems to keep out most of the jackasses (somehow I keep getting to stay though), and it’s a fun place to get questions answered, find cool things on the internet, and to figure out how dumb you are. There’s a lot of smart people on there (again, somehow I get to stay). It was nice getting the write up.

I really want to redesign the jackass site, get more letters out the door, and get more letters online. I’d really like to try to promote it (sky writing, ad buys, dancing girls) and see where it can go, but honestly, I kind of thought it would have been shut down by now. I can’t afford to fight a lawsuit, so am just lucky I haven’t gotten one yet. Who knows, maybe if this ever did happen the EFF would take my case, the ACLU would raise a stink, and Al Sharpton would organize marching in the streets. This could be the best promotion ever!

Anyway, it was a nice write-up and if you haven’t checked out metafilter or my jackassletters you really should. You’re life isn’t complete until you have (and we should all strive for a complete life)!

I still need to get the workflow of doing the whole thing online, but I have a title (above), a website (somedarkplace), and a start on my story for National Novel Writing Month.

I can still remember the first time god spoke to me, “That was stupid,” he said, “But you’ll live.” I don’t know how long I lay there after his first words, blood saturating the tawny clay dirt around my head, slaking the thirst of greedy dead earth, slowly expanding like used motor oil staining hot concrete. I don’t know how long I lay there after his first words, my ears ringing and leaking warm clear fluid, as I studied a singular cloud formation in an otherwise empty sky. “Cirrus or altostratus?” I asked god, but got no answer. Either way I decided it looked like a duck and lonely.

That there’d been an explosion I could remember quite well, as I’d been the one with the bright idea of setting off a pipe bomb. The confusion came when I tried to remember things like: how many bombs had I set off? had I been alone when I was doing it? what went wrong, how did I end up on my ass, and how long ago was that?

It was summer then, the sun was setting, and mom would be pissed.

It’s not a terrible beginning. Anyone want to offer me a book contract?

I’ve been wanting to try this for a while, so just signed up. My username is cjorgensen (unsurprisingly).

I also fired up a website somedarkplace.com where I intend to try to do the whole process online, but don’t hold me to that.

I haven’t figure out the best way yet, but the cms I use allows versioning of posts, so I think I will probably make each writing session be it’s own post, with all of the posts being assembled on a main page.

This way, if I go back to an early post, and make changes, it will automatically update on the main “body,” and I can track the changes in individual posts.

That’s the theory anyway. I’ll probably fail. November is already shaping up to be a busy month, so we’ll see.

If you’re interested, here’s the site: nanowrimo.org

She is poetry.
Her smile, her stride, her sideways glance,
a sestina in motion.
But how many lines written about her?
A question best unanswered.
To imagine this personal muse once another’s unthinkable.
Or worse, many others’, promiscuous instrument of inspiration,
whole volumes given over to her name.
How many men have penned her golden hair,
her small unpainted mouth, her eyes bright wide and quick?
How many attempts to capture her in sonnet or fast couplet
only to languish in cliché? A sad smirk, an upturned chin,
a blush to humble all men and some few women,
humor and sense, open arms and slender hips, saying,
“Welcome.”
And the poets of yore, were they better poets?
Does she still yearn for their concise quatrains,
their firm grasp of image and simile?
Or perhaps she still unwraps symbolism and elegant
phrasings well into the night.
As a poem about a far star cannot compare to its light,
how can mere words on a page hold even a part of her?
Too many questions to answer in clumsy rhyme
or pathetic penultimate line.
But impossible these the first, uncreative words laid at her fair
altar. She deserves better.

´06