“Add New”, the most terrifying of all internet buttons. The bed poeming wasn’t working out for me, because, you know, sleep. So tonight I’m here, up in my hubby’s freezing little closet office, trying to stay awake. Complaint about sleep #23423432. This has been a heck of a week, though. Something about the cold. I’ve been at work all the times I haven’t been poeming or sleeping, work is crazy right now, there was a fire downtown across from my lil’ bro’s cafe, and my favorite town, Missoula MT, went all deep freeze today, with something about armed robbers downtown and a rapist on the loose, so the whole UM campus was on lockdown. Scary! I swear the cold makes crazy people crazier. I’m grateful that things are quiet there now. Love you, Zootown.
And the deep freeze makes normal people way more fun. For example, I am wearing two sweaters. My idea of a good time. Look at these fools: Cold Crazy People
I think extreme cold makes people want to take their clothes off outside, then come inside and climb in a petchka. That’s a big woodstove made of bricks or stone that has a bed above it, which is pretty much my idea of an afterlife:
Winter craves caresses, especially when the nights get all Siberia on us. I’ve noticed that the adolescents at work are rowdier when the weather’s gone deep. There’s a breathlessness, I think, that jives well with the general heave of teenland. Plus none of them wear coats. Or hats, or gloves. It’s a miracle they put on shoes.
I watched a little bit of Olympics tonight, which I thought was weird because the opening ceremonies aren’t until tomorrow. My Mae told me that she is going to be “the best skier in the whole always”. Word. It got me to thinking about what I would do if I were in charge of the Olympics. “If I Ruled The World” is a pretty good poetic trick though, so I’m going to try to write like I Rule.
If I were the big decider, every Olympian would compete dressed in historical costume, and after every event we would gather as nations and kick it in the hot tubs and saunas.
Toasting peace, we’d listen to the minstrels and poets, and no one would buy anything.
The banners and slogans would be replace with art installations, and of course there would be winners, that is what we do. But the gold would be made of an exchange program with the artists of needing nations.
I’d grant all unions, because who knows, maybe that’s why we’re here. And I’d give all the artists great big umbrellas, so none were ever wasted to dust.
Sicknesses of the heart would be given a pen. All the loss would be our profit.
But here we sit, in the deep freeze, imagining chopping wood in a land of dark tigers, the sound of the maul measuring days without light,
making fuel for the bed and the longest nap.
Yes, the longest nap is what I want. See you tomorrow, poemfolk. Happy Thursday!
Also, check this out: