thepeopleseason: (Default)
You're joking, right? You've finally gone off the deep end and just started making shit up. I don't even know anyone in that hotness range, much less have the stones to ask her out. . . . Seriously, you're messing with me, aren't you?

--My friend on the latest object of my affection, The New Woman of My Dreams.
thepeopleseason: (Default)
You prefer the three-button blazer.
(black, not blue),
Pockets still sewn shut from the factory
Years ago.

You’ve taken to wearing it without a tie,
Just a pocket square matching your shirt
And a practiced, wide smile.

It’s become something of a rite,
You, dressed in your uniform
Shouting or laughing or listening
To murmurs and echoes of murmurs,
The hollow buzz of conversations
As the wet of condensation
Drips from your cocktail
Onto your jeans or your slacks
Or your shirttail.

Paying no heed to the shock
Of cold, moist discomfort,
You don your plastic, wide smile
To exorcise restraint and recluse.


Dec. 16th, 2010 12:15 am
thepeopleseason: (life isn't your own anymore)
Aristotle thought nothing of our attraction
(in that, he was correct),
I, merely Earth-bound breath,
a vast distance between us
(in that, he was correct).
Einstein painted a floor of spacetime,
the weight of your brilliance
pulling me into your thrall.

Wise men and fearful fools
have long drawn my dances with you,
the slow and silent concerto
which marionettes my body
towards your shine.

Perhaps one of them has found the truth
(perhaps none).

I know only of the pushpull of gravity
compelling me to face you,
as your heat and radiance strip away bits of myself,
the arms-length waltz,
beckoning and exorcising
along my elliptical orbit
until it consumes me.

Revised. I'm still not satisfied with the stiltedness of "a vast distance between us," and the brevity of the note about Einstein. I wanted to paint a better image of diminishing in the final sentence, but I'm at a loss to figure out where at the moment, because of work.
thepeopleseason: (Default)
You've been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with the ABC's of YOU. At the end, choose 26 people to be tagged. You have to tag me so really you just need 25 more people. If I tagged you, it's because I want to know more about you.

(To do this, go to “notes” under tabs on your profile page, paste these instructions in the body of the note, type your ABC's of Me, tag 26 people (in the right hand corner of the app) then click publish.)

Note: I'm not going to tag people. If you want to do this, you should. If you don't, then move on.
Read more... )
thepeopleseason: (Default)
This is my song for you.
For every stanza, I will sing my notes
to touch your ears
so that you will hear me.

This is my poem for you.
Each syllable a prayer.
Like a deep chanting of holy men
Will you listen?

This is my hymn to you.
I cast my words like stones across water
to stir your hands.
If only you could hear me.

This is my dirge for you.
Every lyric a lifetime.
Can you hear it?


May. 24th, 2010 06:12 pm
thepeopleseason: (Default)
I couldn't find our corpse today.
I recall when you gave it to me,
Bloodied and swollen,
Unadorned and unclothed
From a night shared within your bed.

I couldn't find our corpse today.
The cadaver filched from my arms,
From evenings clutched fast to the frozen flesh
For warmth and weary reveries,
An empty weight sinking dents into the mattress.

I couldn't find our corpse today.
Only slight wisps of the perfume
Of three summers gone,
Packed away in a dusty corner,
Holed and bloated and fetid and rotten.

I couldn't find our corpse today.
Amidst drunken days and troubled sleep
My long wake has ended.
Neither requiem nor blessing nor prayer for absolution fall
All hushed and silent,
Sins unpurged and unpardoned.
Time, both pallbearer and crematorium,
Has robbed me of my monument
And swept away the ash.


Apr. 29th, 2010 11:38 pm
thepeopleseason: (Default)
Some writers and physicists,
plying their trade in fiction and fantasy and quantum events,
craft their universes in stacks
or gardens of forking paths.
Each track an Earth of a different decision,
every way an infinite array of consequences.

On one of these Earths
(at least one),
our fingertips brush lightly against each other,
our breaths mix sweet and hot
amidst kisses and sighs
and know nothing of the vast spacetime that divides us here.
thepeopleseason: (Default)
...and name him "Kandar." From Neil Gaiman's The Graveyard Book:
In Krakow, on Wawel Hill, there are caves called the Dragon's Den, named after a long dead dragon. These are the caves that the tourists know about. There are caves beneath those caves that the tourists do not know and do not ever get to visit. They go down a long way, and they are inhabited.

Silas went first, followed by the grey hugeness of Miss Lupescu, padding quietly on four feet just behind him. Behind them was Kandar, a bandage-wrapped Assyrian mummy with powerful eagle-wings and eyes like rubies, who was carrying a small pig.

There had originally been four of them, but they had lost Haroun in a cave far above, when the Ifrit, as naturally overconfident as are all of its race, had stepped into a space bounded by three polished bronze mirrors and had been swallowed up in a blaze of bronze light. In moments the Ifrit could only be seen in the mirrors, and no longer in reality. In the mirrors his fiery eyes were wide open, and his mouth was moving as if he was shouting at them to leave and beware, and then he faded and was lost to them.

Silas, who had no problems with mirrors, had covered one of them with his coat, rendering the trap useless.

"So," said Silas. "Now there are only three of us."

"And a pig," said Kandar.

"Why?" asked Miss Lupescu, with a wolf-tongue, through wolf teeth. "Why the pig?"

"It's lucky," said Kandar.

Miss Lupescu growled, unconvinced.

"Did Haroun have a pig?" asked Kandar, simply.
thepeopleseason: (Default)
My cellphone, the T-Mobile G1, runs Android, and I've been using Seesmic to read my Twitter reading list for the past few weeks. It's a nice piece of software, but coming from Twidroid, there's a few things I'd like to see enhanced:
  • Add a "Jump to Top" button
  • Allow me to sync my read tweets with my use of Seesmic Web.
  • Add a provision so that update notifications only notify the user when the Sync Email flag is on for the phone/device itself (Namely, I turn off email notifications (with the Toggle Settings app) at night so I don't get woken up, but Seesmic still buzzes my phone hourly).
  • integration (I suspect this is coming soon)
So, how about it, Seesmic?
thepeopleseason: (Default)
[ profile] thepeopleseason: There's now a Tautology Club on Facebook
[ profile] thepeopleseason: There should be a Tauntaulogy Club.
[ profile] batnandu: there should be a Tauntaun Orgy Club
[ profile] batnandu: wait, what?
[ profile] thepeopleseason: ew.
thepeopleseason: (Default)
[ profile] batnandu: btw
[ profile] batnandu: every now and then
[ profile] batnandu: spencer1 says, "Hsiao-jojo2 says, 'hey'"
[ profile] thepeopleseason: That's the best thing I've heard all year.

1 [ profile] batnandu's almost 2-year-old son.
2 "Uncle Hsiao" in Mandarin.
thepeopleseason: (Default)
[ profile] batnandu: dammit, dammit, dammit. why did i never realize that william hootkins played eckhart in batman? or that he played eaton in raiders?
thepeopleseason: (Default)
[ profile] thepeopleseason: This is awesome:
[ profile] thepeopleseason: that deadly predator is awfully cute.
[ profile] batnandu: so are polar bears. but, oh, how they kill you.
thepeopleseason: (Default)
When trying to test Google Voice's voicemail forwarding for his phone, I left [ profile] batnandu a nonsense message hoping for an interesting transcription. No such luck, but I ended up with the following IM conversation:
[ profile] batnandu: baba booie
[ profile] thepeopleseason: it's spelled bababooey.
[ profile] batnandu: your face is spelled bababooey
thepeopleseason: (burrito)
Can you fill this out without lying? You've been tagged, so now you need to answer all the questions HONESTLY. At the end, choose at least 8 people to be tagged. Don't forget to tag me!

To do this, copy this entire message, create a new note, paste these instructions in the body of the note, delete my answers, and type yours. Easy peasy!

Next, tag 8 people (in the right hand corner of the app). Click publish (at the bottom). Have fun! :)

What was the last thing you put in your mouth... )
thepeopleseason: (Default)
When, after a horrible gastrointestinal pain wakes you up in the middle of the night, you go to the bathroom and sit on the toilet hoping to expel whatever it is that's making you feel bad, but you wake to discover that you've somehow passed out onto the tile floor, breaking your glasses, driving plastic bits into your face, forcing you to super-glue the pieces together at 3:30am as your cheek bleeds and puffs up.

Oh, no, wait. That sucks.
thepeopleseason: (Default)
When, as you're waiting for the elevator, you decide to munch on one of the fries that you got with your burger, but you lose control of the bag and the fries all spill out of the bag onto the floor, leaving nothing save a single fry in the fry bag and forcing you to clean up the hot greasy fries with your bare hand.

Oh, no, wait. That sucks.
thepeopleseason: (Default)
When, as you're checking your work voicemail the message indicates that you need to delete some messages, so you go to the beginning to hear the love messages that your ex left for you years ago.

Oh, no, wait. That sucks.


Aug. 5th, 2009 05:02 pm
thepeopleseason: (Default)
If you decide to send your female co-worker the message "Shut your pie hole," translated into French via Google Translate, make sure you pass along the translation link, before she translates the phrase back with Babelfish and promptly sues you for sexual harassment.
thepeopleseason: (Default)
From my high school English teacher via Facebook:

Don’t take too long to think about it. Fifteen books you’ve read that will always stick with you. First fifteen you can recall in no more than 15 minutes.

The list... )


thepeopleseason: (Default)

February 2011

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