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Jul. 17th, 2008 @ 02:11 pm Underdone And Overdue
Tags:
Lover, Let's Meet In This Sinking Library

According to an urban myth, the architect who
designed the main library at Indiana University
forgot to factor in the weight of all the books,
and, consequently, the library is slowing sinking
into the ground.


Lover, I detected your existence indirectly,
like wind, by ripples you made in the flag
of my days. Here and there would be a book
out of place, the corner of it's spine tilted
outward: a salient, strange nipple. This library
is being retracted like a claw. And early on
we lost electricity. The sun was then an elevator
rising upward, and bang, one day, this library
was dark. The exits were the first things to go.
By candlelight, I read Moses and Hawking and Wallace
Stevens, each man having left behind his advice
like a handful of confetti inside a shipwrecked
time capsule. Lover, we have scattered our love notes
in every crotch that this library's got. Let's plan
a tryst, for when the candles burn out. I can't
wait to meet you, and I'm glad that we're both trapped
here. But while there's still light, I need to learn, to see
what kind of ballerina my mind is. But when there is no
light or food, then we won't need our books or our clothes,
or our anonymity. What we will lack in poetry we can
make up for with sex, and what the darkness takes
it gives back slowly. The future, lover, is a trusty
disease.




Nicholas Moore
About this Entry
The Poet Nicholas Moore
Jul. 3rd, 2008 @ 10:06 pm Hey Web Nanny, Suck My Genitals Situation!
The web overlords at my workplace finally went and blocked livejournal.com, and I have no computer at home. So I will be unable to check or update my e-doings here as often as I used to. I hope that all of you act so as to make me proud, even when you're not being supervised. Just ask yourselves, "What would Tom Sizemore do?" (Hint: it usually involves ingesting something that is not food.)

The death of George Carlin (announced on June 23rd) was an emotional event for the Poet Nick Moore. He had recently watched all 13 of the HBO specials in Carlin's box set, prompting him to have all seven of the Words That You Can't Say On Television tattooed on some pets that he found while housesitting. Long story short, all stand-up comedians everywhere and forever will consider George Carlin to be the insurmountable pinnacle of comedic analysis and of how brave a joke can be.

He will be deeply missed. But the great thing is, go to the comedy section of a music store and you'll see: he's still here.





George Carlin

(1937-2008)

The night of the day that George's death was announced Nick went to Bear's Place in Bloomington and did a stand-up set. He felt that he was maybe doing the ghost of the great man proud. That set wasn't taped. But, actually, the first set that Nick ever did in a comedy club (back in 2004) has recently surfaced on the Youtubes. Long live stand-up comedy! And thank God for George Carlin.

About this Entry
army hat
Jun. 14th, 2008 @ 06:53 pm Sherman, set the WABAC machine.
Tags:
Jesus


Having learned the language I decided
that it was time to meet Jesus. My time machine
was waiting in the garage.

It looked as if one square meter of landfill
had tried to stand and walk around. It looked
as though I had soldered together

all of the appliances in my kitchen. (Which,
of course, I had, but, mind you, according
to a theory
.)

My time machine ran out of juice right before
I made it to Jesus. But luckily I found a man who
claimed to have known him.

He had a beard, that he rummaged through,
as though it were an empty white purse. And the skin
on his face was a tan abandoned parachute.

"There's something about Jesus
that nobody every mentions."

"Go on."

My interviewee was a drunken sword fighter,
as he dragged his walking stick through the sand. And his eyes
were two wet pieces of ammunition.

"His announcing that he was the Son of God
wasn't the only thing about him that some people
didn't like."

"Oh? Go on."

"Well," he said, as ripples appeared
between his eyebrows, and his eyes surfed
onto a cloud,

"he was always laughing."




Nicholas Moore
About this Entry
The Poet Nicholas Moore
Jun. 10th, 2008 @ 08:29 pm That's "Orgy" With A Capital "OH!"
Hey,

The poet Nicholas Moore recently wrote and directed a short play entitled Somewhere A Party Is Happening, which was put on as the opening act for one of his brother's stand-up shows. His brother's stand-up is still being cleared by Homeland Security, but a tape of the play has surfaced on Youtube.

It's not a great recording, and the audience numbered in the lower primes. But enjoy it anyway, why don't you! Nick is the guy with brown hair. The Bloomington Playwrights Projects main stage was rented for the occasion.

CAST

JOE -------------------------- Rob Larson
LARRY ----------------------- Nick Moore
STACIE -----------------------Mandi Jacobs

Written & Directed by Nick Moore

PART 1

PART 2 )
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army hat
Jun. 9th, 2008 @ 03:29 pm The Switcheroo Taketh Away
twelve love words and two words of despair

(after Daphne Gottlieb
[after pablo neruda]
)


1.
I want to do with you
what Romeo and Juliet bravely did
to themselves.

2.
I love you every bit
as much as our lord Jesus Christ
loved haircuts.

3.
I want to give you something
that will cure your broken heart:
a bullet.




Nicholas Moore
About this Entry
The Poet Nicholas Moore
Jun. 3rd, 2008 @ 08:29 am Hey, [info]flightviolation!
Friends,

When I'm not filming my own reality or being interviewed by Actresses In Their Underwear Magazine, I'm sometimes a painter.

I was recently doing a medley of plays for the BPP on the patio of Bloomington's own Oliver Winery. Tensions ran high just before the show was to start, and, momentarily distracted, I managed to stroll out of the men's restroom sans pants and underwear. Now, this can happen to any actor, and the main room's assembled wine tasters reacted with a polite paroxysm. Knowing just what diplomacy required, I shouted, "Paul Giamatti was right!" scooped up a double armful of booty from the cheese cooler, and began sprinting down Highway 37.

Long story short, I've been issued a Public Defender named Tammy Hoosegow. Isn't she pretty? )
About this Entry
army hat
May. 27th, 2008 @ 09:18 am Because nobody wants to produce a play about a couple that moved back to Love Canal.


Sydney Pollack
(1934-2008)

Sydney Pollack died of cancer yesterday. A lot of movies he directed I haven't seen, but know to be iconic, such as They Shoot Horses, Don't They?, Three Days of the Condor, The Way We Were, and Out of Africa.

However, I will always remember him primarily as the director of one of my very favorite movies Tootsie, one of the rare comedies to be nominated for Best Picture. (Annie Hall being the only one I can think of that ever won.)

I often think of the montage at the beginning of Tootsie, when Michael Dorsey (Dustin Hoffman) is teaching an acting class, and going on ill-fated auditions, and we see that his little apartment is filled with such acting shibboleths as fake blood and spirit gum. Something about that opening captures for me what's exciting about acting, including its noble financial futility.

My other special memory about Sydney Pollack is his acting. Though known for directing, I remember his small parts in his films and other people's. I always relished those. He had this naturalness, the kind that tends not to be noticed, that I find so much more appealing than the more affected styles that tend to get noticed. I remember him as the agent in Tootsie, and in Eyes Wide Shut, Michael Clayton, and Woody Allen's Husbands And Wives. The naturalness was probably not an accident, considering that he studied acting under the legendary Sanford Meisner.

And I see on Wikipedia that he's from Indiana! Hey, there's hope for us all.
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army hat
May. 22nd, 2008 @ 11:03 am My house fell down. Now it's "post-structural".
I know that at least one of my e-friends is into Deconstructionism. But to my mind, Deconstructionism has always symbolized the quintessence of the proverbial philosopher who talks out of his or her butt about layers upon layers of total nonsense. But, hey, that's why God made the French.

Just now it occurred to me to wonder if Dictionary.com had a definition of Deconstructionism. It has to, right? And yet, didn't Derrida himself pronounce it to undefinable? So I looked it up on dictionary.com. I was not disappointed.

de·con·struc·tion (dē'ken-strŭk'shen)

n. A philosophical movement and theory of literary criticism that questions traditional assumptions about certainty, identity, and truth; asserts that words can only refer to other words; and attempts to demonstrate how statements about any text subvert their own meanings:

"In deconstruction, the critic claims there is no meaning to be found in the actual text, but only in the various, often mutually irreconcilable, 'virtual texts' constructed by readers in their search for meaning" (Rebecca Goldstein).


Wow. I think my head just ate itself.
About this Entry
army hat
May. 20th, 2008 @ 09:32 am What are you feeling? And what do you think? When I poem in your breakfast, and I poem in the sink?
Tags:
"A poem is an attempt to find the music in the words describing an intuition."

-P.J. KAVANAGH, BBC Radio 3, December 1990 (*)


What A Poem Is


A poem is a mannequin
you dress as a corpse

just to have someone
to say goodbye to

a poem is a confession
that you pass into the mirror

when the mirror is made
of silver water

sure it isn't always that
for example,

college is where
a poem goes to rust

but sometimes,
when we're lucky

a poem is several dozen words
holding hands and jumping

and just before their suicide's done
they look around and smile




Nicholas Moore (2008)
About this Entry
The Poet Nicholas Moore
May. 8th, 2008 @ 08:39 am Beauty Is A Form Of Violence
Tags:
A Kind Of Form Letter


I sat in the wild dimness of the bar
in the beatnik circus, to see the show.

Miniature spotlights wandered the stage
like a folk-rock prison break
for a thousand separate Tinkerbelles.

The songstress crooning was as thin as sex,
and she played guitar like changing trains
to jilt lovesick conductors.

She was pure, but a crooked pure
like Joan of Arc on heroine.

But the thing that struck me most about her
was that her beauty didn't sting.

Normally when I see a thing like that
I fold my poems into paper planes
and launch them at Venusian statues.

Eventually always my elbows give out.

But on this occasion it all just rolled through me.

I remember thinking that without a context
sexiness is a kind of form letter.

I guess that a drop-dead gorgeous stranger
just doesn't unlock me
like it used to.




Nicholas Moore (2006)
About this Entry
The Poet Nicholas Moore
May. 2nd, 2008 @ 03:07 pm May Day's Not For Lovers
Readers,

Yesterday was May Day, and we at the Size Matters Editorial Staff have noticed elsewhere on the blogosphere that many are calling for May Day to be rebranded as Victims Of Communism Day. We agree that this would be a good idea.

It has been said that a man who is not a socialist when he is 25 does not have a heart, but a man who is still a socialist when he is thirty does not have a brain. One of the things that the brainless man must ignore is history. It is widely calculated that communist governments, during the Cold War, killed 100 million of their own citizens. Stalin alone, in the gulags, killed 40 million. Pol Pot of the Khmer Rouge killed 2 million out of a 7 million population, in only 3 years.

The modern socialist will protest, No, that was communism. I'm a socialist. "Socialism" in this sense, is a vague idea, whereby the government has complete power to redistribute wealth, but, unlike it always has in realty, this government, due it's utter saintliness apparently, chooses not to take dictatorial political control of its people. (It's interesting to note that in America, before the horrors of Communism were known, this Communism versus Socialism distinction was not made.)

The reason why "socialism" as defined above is impossible should not be hard to see. Perhaps the most important distinction to make in political philosophy is the one between negative rights and positive rights. Negative rights are the "freedom from". Positive rights are the "freedom to". Another way to say the same thing is that negative rights are "Equality of opportunity" whereas positive rights are "Equality of result". Not only are these things different, but, as the bloody history of communism/socialism shows, they are mutually exclusive.

For the people to have freedom of opportunity, the government need only provide the people equally with "freedoms from", from murder, from theft, etc. To do this, as limited a government as possible is desirable. To give people equality of outcome, "freedoms to", to equal wealth, power, privilege, etc., requires that the government be given the power to redistribute the wealth. Thus, no one is to have "freedom from" government theft, so that others can have "from to" the fruits of that theft. Furthermore, the only way for a government to be able to decide what is produced and how much is consumed is to give them absolute power over society.

A government with this much power is many times more dangerous to overall welfare than the natural disparities that arise from a fair competition among people with unequal amounts of talent. In fact, in a free market a transaction will not occur unless it benefits both parties. So, despite whatever relative disparities, in a free market overall welfare will always be rising. But socialism, since it requires an all-powerful government, will always result in brutal dictatorship. Looking at the history of the 20th century, we find that this is exactly what has always happened. Not only were tens of millions killed by the government directly, but tens of millions more were killed in the worst famines the world has known, due to the inability of central planning to work economically.

We at the Size Matters Editorial Staff were all the proverbial socialists-when-we-were-25. But now, as we approach 30, we've come to understand the truth, that though the girl with the hairy armpits at the Free Mumia rally is appealing, the social structure that she probably supports has been shown repeatedly by history to lead irretrievably to mass death.

Happy May Day.



--The Size Matters Editorial Staff
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Congressman Paul
Apr. 18th, 2008 @ 02:38 pm Life Is A Stage. Eventually You'll Grow Out Of It.
Tom Cats,

To paraphrase Paul Erdős, Nick Moore is a machine for turning coffee into plays. And now his machine, along with that of his stand-up comedian brother Ben, is on The Scene.

Since Nick Moore quit drinking, he tells me that he no longer needs reading glasses, he understands quantum mechanics, and he can break a condom just by putting it on. I've been inspired by his example to start seperating my PCP use and my lysergic acid use into alternating days of the week. Another inspiration for this came late last night, around 5:30 am, when the ground started shaking, I heard a loud popping noise in my head, and then I started tasting colors in black-and-white.

So come to the Bloomington Playwrights Project tonight at 10 PM! It's free! And there will be graphic descriptions of adult situations!




--Tom

ADDENDUM: I assume that everyone has been keeping up with Ben & Nick In The Aisle! People who read it in print might have notice that the February issue never came out. But, it's online, so if it's still snowing in your heart, then it's not too late to revisit your Oscar Fever.
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army hat
Apr. 16th, 2008 @ 08:59 am Various Poems.
Tags:
Happy Poetry Month, Fuckers! )
About this Entry
The Poet Nicholas Moore
Apr. 10th, 2008 @ 09:04 am Philosophy is the art of thinking about mistakes.
Tags:
Philosophy Major's Love Song


It's so Socratic
how you bungle my brain.

My thoughts are gold bullets.

Your body's their bang.

It's, oh, so Socratic
how you bungle my brain.

Wittgenstein said that the world
is all that is the case.

But he wasn't on your case, babe.

Even he couldn't parse your grammar.

It's so Socratic
how you bungle my brain.

Plato spoke of men in caves
chained-up and only seeing shadows.

But they didn't see your silhouette.

It would have been worse than the sun.

It's, oh, so Socratic
how you bungle my brain.

Decartes had a demon who played some tricks
made him doubt that he even existed.

But his demon wouldn't have scared you,
baby.

You're as solid as religion.

It's so Socratic, oh, it oh
so Socratic.

You could have convinced Christ to kill;
you could have pilfered Sartre's free will.

And one last thing:

it was Aristole
who spoke of an Unmoved Mover.

He spoke of an Unmoved Mover,
baby.

He had you down to a T.

It's so Socratic
how your bungle my brain.

My brain's in a vat.

You're in it, like fangs.

It's, oh, so Socratic
how you bungle my brain.




Nicholas Moore
About this Entry
The Poet Nicholas Moore
Apr. 3rd, 2008 @ 11:27 am The Debate Continues!
Fans,

Surely you remember a couple posts ago, when a plucky Socialist known as [info]mujeresliebres engaged the proudly Libertarian Size Matters Editorial Staff in a lively debate on various topics. We thought we had all but vanquished her, but then she came back swinging with this post in her own journal. In the interest of ending this debate sometime before Jesus comes back, we'll try to respond to each point as briefly as possible.


(1) (blah, blah, blah, slaves)

Okay. Regardless of the details. Nothing you've said disproves the fact that slavery was eventually abolished in the entire Western Hemisphere, and only in the US and Haiti did it involve military action. Furthermore, this whole discussion ignores the fact that Lincoln was a white supremacist that openly said that he would free all the slaves or none, whatever it took to preserve the Union (i.e. the supremacy of his centralized authority).

and for the final time wouldn't the government buying off the slaves be an example of government interference into the economy - something Ron Paul would want to avoid?

Stopping burglary and economic fraud are also "interferences in the economy", but, since these interferences protect property rights, they are justified from a Libertarian perspective. Since everyone's body is also his or her property, ending slavery is also a justified interference.

(2) ...Furthermore increased mechanization clearly causes unemployment. What do the assembly line workers do when they are replaced by a machine?

This is a very important fallacy. We'll let Milton Friedman explain:

"In fact, all of the progress that the US has made over the last couple of centuries has come from unemployment. It has come from figuring out how to produce more goods with fewer workers, thereby releasing labor to be more productive in other areas. It has never come about through permanent unemployment, but temporary unemployment, in the process of shifting people from one area to another.

When the United States was formed in 1776, it took 19 people on the farm to produce enough food for 20 people. So most of the people had to spend their time and efforts on growing food. Today, it's down to 1% or 2% to produce that food. Now just consider the vast amount of supposed unemployment that was produced by that. But there wasn't really any unemployment produced. What happened was that people who had formerly been tied up working in agriculture were freed by technological developments and improvements to do something else. That enabled us to have a better standard of living and a more extensive range of products." (source)

...New Jersey and Michigan both pay $7.15 but NJ has a 4.5% rate and Michigan is at 7.1%. ... (etc.)

These comparisons are completely meaningless. Minimum wage laws cause unemployment to occur for anyone who's labor is worth less than the minimum wage. Since the number of people that happen to be worth $7.15, and how many employers they are worth that to, almost surely differs from place to place, the disparities you mention prove nothing except that different places have nonidentical economies. We promise you that in a given area, if you raise the minimum wage, you will raise unemployment over what it would have been otherwise. Can you deny that raising the minimum wage to a hundred dollars an hour would cause unemployment?

(3) ...Men as a group do benefit from patriarchy. ...A man walking down the street doesn't typically fear being raped...

Men are more likely to be rapists than women are, because men, biologically, tend to be bigger, stronger, and more aggressive. This is not society's fault. Claiming it is implies that all men are programmed by society to be potential rapists, in order to collectively control women. Some people have no problem with this doctrine, but those people are being sexist.

(4) If people think abortion is murder, then they will never accept scientific data, they believe that the fetus has a soul and that's the end of it.

We think that there are rational arguments to be made against abortion. If Pro-choice people ignore this fact, then they are being just as religious as the worst Pro-Lifers.

The question is of course agency, a full grown woman has the ability to make choices and her personal autonomy trumps that of the fetus.

We would say that there is a certain level of self awareness that is required for a being to be considered a holder of rights. However, what of the fact that a fetus, unlike other nonaware things, has the potential to develop into such a being?

Currently, our favorite discussion of abortion is Walter Block's (PDF version). He comes to essentially a pro-choice position, while simultaneously maintaining that fetuses do have some rights.

* * *

Well, we weren't as brief as we had hoped to be. But we're confident that this debate will still end before Jesus comes back, as we at the Size Matters Editorial Staff are all devout atheists.


-- The Size Matters Editorial Staff


EDIT: [info]mujeresliebres responds here (plus Closing Statements).
About this Entry
Congressman Paul
Mar. 30th, 2008 @ 08:22 pm Drugs, I would say, are booster rockets.
Tags:
Ex-girlfriends


The last cigarette I had
happened five years ago.
It exited my lungs

like a Chinese word balloon
in a strip club
in Fort Wayne, Indiana.

The last drink I had
happened four days ago.
It felt like Satan's

scuba gear.
If cigarettes and alcohol
are my ex-girlfriends

then I would say
that the sex was great
but we were always fighting.

I'm sorry God
for all the poems
I've made about booze.

And I forgive you God
for all the booze
you've made about poems.




Nicholas Moore (March 30, 2008)
About this Entry
The Poet Nicholas Moore
Mar. 25th, 2008 @ 02:20 pm Ziggy says that there's an 50% chance that you're immortal.
Readers,

If you're like us here at the Size Matters Editorial Staff, then the knowledge of the inevitability of your own death can be downright boner poison. But, while philosophically speaking there is still absolutely no good reason to believe in "the God bullshit"*, there is however a somewhat convincing case to be made that you, gentle reader, are mildly immortal.

If you like reading about metaphysics as much as we do, then you ought to check out Allan Randall's homepage. It's named "Elea", after the hometown of 5th-Century-BC Greek Philosopher Parmenides of Elea. We've still got a lot of reading to do, but the general idea seems to be, according to Randall, that Quantum Mechanics shows us that there are multiple universes, and that Parmenides predicted this way back in ancient Greece.

How many multiple universes are there? A lot. In fact, everything that can imaginably happen does happen, in one or another of these ever-branching parallel universes. (There was a Star Trek The Next Generation episode about this. No, not the one where Data gets laid. A different one.)

Anyway, the theory of Quantum Immortality says that it is a matter of probability which universe you end up in at any given moment. There is a universe for example wherein the Stay Puffed Marshmallow Man is about to appear in front of you and start kicking ass. But the number of universes where that happens is so much smaller than the number of universes where it doesn't that you surely won't end up in one where it does. (But a perfect copy of you will.)

But here is the kicker: no matter what universe you end up in, in the next moment, it always has to be one in which you are alive. The ones that you're dead in are inaccessible to you. (So goes the theory.) So, literally, if you were to hold a gun to your head right now and pull the trigger, (according to this theory mind you) you would have to survive. There would be a misfire or something, but you would necessarily end up in one of the universes where something intervened to save you. However, in a great many universes, your friends would still experience you as having successfully committed suicide. Each of us, in this theory, is only immortal from his or her own point of view.

Randall speculates that Quantum Immortality doesn't actually make us entirely immortal. In his view, it protects us from dying in accidents. But once you get old enough, it would take such a big miracle to save you that it's far more probable that you'll just quantum leap into a version of the universe where only your brain exists, and then you'll just have incoherent dreams for the rest of eternity. If we're reading him right, the reason for this is that, due to probability, it is always the least unlikely miracle that saves you. And once you get old enough it would take a constant repetitious violation of the laws of thermodynamics to save you, and quantum leaping you to a universe where only your brain exists becomes the cheapest miracle at that point.

However, if it's at all possible that death will be cured by medical means within your lifetime, then Quantum Immortality will insure that you end up in a universe where that happens. At least, that's the idea.

In any case, we at the Size Matters Editorial Staff would like to take this opportunity to publicly apologize to you, Dear Reader, for not being able to make it to the reality in which you're immortal.


--The Size Matters Editorial Staff







* If you haven't see the movie Network, then, frankly, that makes us "as mad as hell, and we're not going to take it anymore!"
About this Entry
Congressman Paul
Mar. 24th, 2008 @ 03:00 pm A hot Easter.
Tags:
Mirages All Day


Today it is hot and sunny,
as my car and I are pressing
toward water that puddles the way,
always up ahead,
always evanescing.
There’ve been mirages all day.

At the station I slide the nozzle
inside my Honda’s rump,
in a very sexy way.
I dream of faraway fuel.
I forgot to turn on the pump.
There’ve been mirages all day.

A blond drinking coffee waives
at me from a passing street.
I taste the Chardonnay
she will drink on her honeymoon nights.
She wasn’t waiving at me.
There’ve been mirages all day.

They tell me tomorrow is Easter,
when saccharine behavior,
and children taught to pray,
will raise the rotting keister
of our smiling savior.
There’ve been mirages all day.




Nicholas Moore
About this Entry
The Poet Nicholas Moore
Mar. 18th, 2008 @ 11:23 pm Rain, rain, stay, stay, stay. Wet and alive, we'll die someday.
Tags:
Some Dialogue, Then Fade To Black


I write these lines as raindrops smear
across my eyeballs as I peer
into the crystal strings of sea
and find a movie house marquee.

(The blood bank’s where I sell my heart,
but theaters make a church of art.)

My father’s ghost was seated there.
The theater’s seats were all but bare.

His briefcase and umbrella stored,
he looked with boyish beaming toward
the flicker and the dance of light
plucked by a silver screen from flight.

He held his old fedora’s beige,
as if in honor of an age.

His discount cigarettes were crinkled,
as were his oculary wrinkles.

We sat in darkness watching as
the movie proffered life’s pizzazz.
In movies love is a righteous fight.

The film displayed a brilliant night,
an inky story-high arena,
sprinkled with those bright subpoenas
that poets tend to try to reach.

My heart careened; I touched Dad’s sleeve.

“Father,” I said, “I need to write
a poem so full of teary might,
it blows apart asylum doors,
and frees all prisoners of war,
and gives my lover back her sight.”

The movie showed, in black-and-white,
our hero kiss the gal he held.

The orchestration sang and swelled.

My father, dewy-eyed and still,
said, “Son, the answer, if you will,
is that we’re in your poem right now.
It’s all a demonstration how
life is played on fading screens.
And so, my boy, enjoy your scenes.
For if we got to keep out years,
then poets wouldn’t need their tears.”
Then standing, suitcase full of meds,
umbrella opened overhead,
he started to dissolve like snow,
just like a movie’s last tableau.

I didn’t want for him to go.

Embracing him, I cried out, “Where
am I to go?” He wasn’t there.

I was alone with tinsel lies.
But then I heard his voice advise,

“Just stage a picturesque campaign.
And try to never choke on rain.”




Nicholas Moore
About this Entry
The Poet Nicholas Moore
Mar. 5th, 2008 @ 10:32 am My Swimmers Use The Chubby System
Apparently an outfit called Rooftop Comedy was holding a stand-up competition at the FancyPanties Room of the Student Union last night. There was no entry fee, but one had to be a student, so really the entry fee was eighty-thousand dollars. So, while I was ineligible, they let me do a few epiphenomenal minutes at the top and the bottom of the show. My act was really honed on a much drunker version of this demographic, so I probably shouldn't have closed with a 10-minutes version of The Aristocrats. However, I got a free t-shirt, and at least one journalist commented that my cologne smelled liked bourbon. I couldn't help but feel a small sense of pride when I saw the winning contestants amassed together on stage at the end, poised to take on Butler University's stand-up team in an upcoming round. May our enemies know us by the trail of our dick jokes.

In other news, I heard that the Local Planned Parenthood was giving out free morning-after pills in honor of Spring Break. Now, like your average smolderingly eligible bachelor, I have on the rare and highly memorable occasion "opened my umbrella indoors". So I thought it would be a handy thing to have around. However, upon strolling in there after work yesterday, I was informed that they were "all out". I can only assume this was a lie, in accordance with Planned Parenthood's policy of not giving emergency contraception to anyone wearing a t-shirt that says "Free Scott Peterson". Next year I plan to use their prejudices against them, by showing up to free contraception day disguised as Mrs. Doubtfire. Until then I guess I'll just have to hold in the ol' Sizemore sauce. Luckily, for society, I've got a washboard taint.




--Tom
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army hat