Jupiter One

Do yourself a favor and listen.

Tortilla Tale

It was a den of cutthroats and theives, killers and gangs, and liars and bullies. A dog eat dog world, or in this case, burrito eat burrito world. Yes, you know the site of which I speak: Costa Vida. The very name runs chills down your spine and raises the hair on your back. You've been told not to walk alone in places like this. Our story starts when one very foolish burrito did just that. We'll call her J. Zabriskie; no that's too obvious. We'll call her Jody Z.

Jody Z. was a tough customer. She walked into the joint smothered and saucy, looking for trouble and thinking she could handle the trouble she'd get. She stepped into the burning alleyway to melt her cheese when she saw a poor, defenseless, lovely, perfect, sweet, sweet-pork burrito named Kam Tallred.* She rolled down the lane and beat up Kam Tallred with her right and left hooks. Alas, Jody Z. was so entranced with her pounding that she didn't notice the evil mastermind burrito Jar-red sneaking up behind. You see, Jody Z. had fallen perfectly into his trap. Kam Tallred was really not a victim at all: she was bait. So Jar-red sidled up to Jody Z. to give her a solid thrashing, and Kam Tallred joined in the fray, giving Jody Z. a taste of her own left and right hooks. Wham! Bam! Wham! Bam! Jody Z. was pushed closer and closer to the alley's edge until....

Splat!
She fell!

Right
on
the
floor.

*Name has been changed for protection.

You know you're in Logan when...

You can go from sleeping in your underwear to sleeping in warm pajamas with fuzzy socks and slippers and a robe with double the blankets- all in one month.

Another poem... yes I am lazy.

Drain




Each fountain I pass calls me
to feed.
I’m pulled to push the bar
and release the captive rain.

I stoop to cool my thirst.
The water shoots to my dry,
gasping tongue.
I feast and still
need more.

I press my lips to the spiraling grate
and suck
as much as I can
before it gurgles and spats

down the drain.

"Bright are the stars that shine. Dark is the sky."

Right now, I want to run away to this painting.

Up Tight

Listen to this. Do it.

Recycling Creativity

So, in my poetry writing class, I've been recycling old poems because I'm too lazy to write new ones. I figured that I would continue the trend by recycling the new stuff I write for that class on here for the same reason. So, here is something.



I call my creek mine because I leave some of myself behind each time we part. It sang to me ever since my first inkling of its existence. Our meeting was simple. The exchange of names was unnecessary for we recognized our own. I saw my hair in its glinting water, my feet in its stony bed, and my laugh in its babble. My creek saw the same in me. It bid me to step into its chill beneath the shading trees. And we became ours.