Here I am sitting at Raymond's place again, using an ancient laptop to update my diary. It seems that he still doesn't believe he can update using this thing, but I know better. Thus, tonight we shall prove him wrong, to steal from the injured Chris Beniot. Sorry, Jen, if that last poem seemed nasty and/or directed at you. It wasn't. At least not you in particular, I'm just tired of the things people, in general, seem to expect from my poetry. Not really from on this diary, either, but mainly from from the people at the weekly readings, but my biggest critisism seems to come from people who don't even have half the guts or brains to get up there every week and read what we often miscall poetry, so I suppose I shouldn't let it get to me. It does anyway. Also in the poem I was trying to say thst I'm going to be taking my future pieces in a different direction, at least that's the goal.
Right now I'm playing a video game while updating my diary, playing until I feel I have something to say.
Well, here is what I hope to be the first in a long line of different poem for me.
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My first memory
I waking up on the ugliest couch
On god's earth
On a temperate California winter day
A blonde-haired monstrosity
Said "happy birthday"
And I had no idea
What this creature was talking about
Those two words together
Didn't seem to make much sense
I suppose that explains a lot
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That's all I'm of this poem I'm going to work on right now, there's more to it in my head, but I have a few other things I need to do.
~MattMagus
