I know its crap but it come from my heart love ya babe xxxx, found my lewis @ muslim dating.

You treat me with such love,
like im an Angel from above.
I really dont deserve somone as great as you,
so sweet, loving, sexy and a great laugh too.
Our love for eachother is far to much to measure,
every moment I have with you I treasure.
I love you with all of my heart,
No one will every be able to tare us apart.
Lewis my baby I love you,
I hope you love me too.

 Secret Rocket 13: less random, more literary! Hi! I'm Mickie and I'll be your pilot on the craptacular "Secret Rocket 13!" We will be in geosynchronous orbit for the dinner show, which will feature the end of the universe as we know it. Drinks will be served shortly afterward. Audio Sensors: Ramones Visual Scanning: Anger Management Text Scanning: July 1955 Amazing Stories About Archive Secretions Secretions Blog Weblogs Working Drafts Highindustrial Doghead WockerJabby William Gibson Bluish Orange Crushing Krisis Dr. Mabuse books.film.tv Bruce Campbell Cinema Insomnia FALnet Star Wars View Askew Space Junk Craig's List Onion, The Web Monkey Star Wars Toys! Launched by Blogger Thursday, May 08, 2003 From the Throwing The Baby Out With The Ba'athwater Dept. : Thanks to a link on William Gibson's weblog, I found a really interesting weblog that tells about life in occupied Iraq. It gives you a really good idea of what it is like in the thick of things over there. It's called Where Is Raed? and I think it will be my breakfast reading for the next few weeks. It's totally fascinating. In other news, you all may have noticed that I don't really post here very often anymore. This is because I am all hyped about my Livejournal page. It is way simpler to use than Blogger, and it doesn't crap out as often (Sorry Ev!), plus it's something new, and having a short attention span, I've just moved on to other things. I am going to use this space for posting more literary type pieces, and maybe an occasional piece of newsworthy stuff that I think everyone should check out. If you wanna know what's going on in my everyday life, just go here. Oh, and my apologies to Tom for borrowing his tagline format! carbonite-frozen by Mickie Rat at 9:44 PM Thursday, March 27, 2003 Okay, I'm not bummed out anymore. I got to go to the protest in San Francisco on Saturday March 22nd, and it was quite an adventure! I don't have time to write about it now, but I am preparing a piece on it to post here soon. I will also be writing a piece on our Redding show, which was way too punk rock for real life. For other updates on my life, go to my Livejournal (yes I finally got one! Thanks Ted!) for more timely pieces of my mind. I will be posting there moer frequently, and maybe saving this one for larger, more involved pieces of writing. Now go! carbonite-frozen by Mickie Rat at 10:58 AM Thursday, March 20, 2003 So its here now, Gulf War 2: the long dreaded sequel to the number one feel-bad motion picture of 1991. I was at 924 Gilman last week seeing Rocknroll Adventure Kids and Fleshies when an interesting flyer caught my eye. It was a full color, 3'' by 4'' card. This is what it said:EMERGENCY MASS NONVIOLENT DIRECT ACTION & PROTESTIF WAR STARTS: MORNING OF THE NEXT BUSINESS DAY @ 7:00 AMMEET: MARKET & MAIN EMBARCADERO BART, S.F.TRANSFORM OUR CITY DON"T GO TO WORK OR SCHOOLWWW.ACTAGAINSTWAR.ORG415-820-9649It sounded great, but somehow I knew I was going to miss out on all the fun. I have been out of work for a month, due to the crappy economy whittling my hours down at my two jobs to 5 measly hours per week at minimum wage. Oddly enough, suddenly this week my hours jumped to 20, ten hours at each job. I wanted to protest, but the temptation of being able to pay my rent without borrowing money from someone was irresistible. All I could do was pray that the war would not start until Friday, when I could go to SF and participate in all the fun. No dice. I guess I'm just not that idealistic, and it disappoints me somehow. All day I've been feeling sick to my stomach, because I am almost certain that the agenda for this war is totally different than what everyone wants to believe. Part of me wants to watch the news and keep up with what is going on, but my smarter side tells me that the coverage will be superficial and untruthful. This really sucks Cock. carbonite-frozen by Mickie Rat at 2:42 PM Wednesday, March 19, 2003 I can't believe I haven't written about this yet! It's one of the more exciting bits in my life lately and I'm just letting it slip by, undocumented. I got a new tattoo! I used part of my tax return (what else is it good for?) and went to Bonehead Tattoo on the K Street mall here in Downtown Sacramento. I had my friend Jesse Mitchell draw it up for me. I wish I had a picture of it, but I don't, at least not yet anyway, because I'm semi-illiterate when it comes to figuring how to put pictures on this thing. I'll try and get Tom to do it for me, because I'm just lazy like that. I have wanted a chaos symbol tattooed on me somewhere for the longest time. My life seems to resemble Chaos in so many ways, I can't really list them here. I thought it would be most appropriate as a tattoo, especially right now, because my life is more chaotic than ever right now. I got it done right below my Secretions 'Til Death tattoo. Jesse is an awesome artist, so I had him spice it up for me a bit, so it wouldn't be just your regular old boring crazy arrow cluster. He made it look like it was made of stone, while at the same time spinning out of control. It has bits breaking off of it, as if the centrifugal force of the spinning is breaking it apart. It starts with orange in the center, then fades to yellow at the edges. It has a sort of 3-D look to it, and the sides are red. It is definitely my most colorful tattoo so far. It's quite a dynamic design, something that I am not used to. Every day I'm really surprised at how much I like it. To add to this joy, I happened to find another artist named Nick who works at the same place, who just happens to be a hardcore Star Wars fan like myself. People who know me well know that I am obsessed with the Millennium Falcon and have wanted it as a tattoo for the longest time. I am very picky about who I let do my tattoos though, and I was hoping to find someone who was a Star Wars fan as well as a tattoo artist, and one that would do an accurate rendition of my favorite pirate ship. Nick drew up an example of it for me today, and it's perfect. Unfortunately, my tax return is now gone, so I gotta raise some cash, quick! Anybody got a buck I could borrow?

Sam was the first guy who made me feel like I needed to really have someone there to lean on. Being with him was a rush of so many emotions. From hanging out on his hammock and missing the bus just so I would have a reason to walk home with him, to long and pointless letters; there was something so incredibly special about him.

I know what you must be thinking. "Silly teenage infatuation," right? That's what I thought at the time too. He was my best friend, but those changed every day at that age. Fads went in and out, people moved from place to place, but he was the only constant element in my life.

When my family finally moved away, Sam and I kept in touch. I have to admit it was hard and we got more and more lazy. We both agreed this "distance thing" was too hard. But the beauty was that we remained such close friends. He came to visit a few times and it felt like he'd never been gone.

On October 17th of that year, I was chatting with a friend when I heard my call-waiting beep. I told her to hold on and went to pick up. What I heard broke my heart ... Sam had died in a car accident early that evening.

It's been three years and, still, writing that word -- died -- is the hardest thing for me to do.

Those things that I lacked in life ... I realize now that he helped to fill in the gaps. He never complained about having to pick up the pieces of my life for me so I could feel complete. And maybe I've never made this clear, but the little things he used to do meant the world to me.

I remember this one time, early in our relationship, when we'd had this really stupid fight about something I can't even recall. It was pouring rain and I was waiting outside getting soaked. He walked over to me, brushed my hair out of my eyes, said, "I'm still mad at you. But you're getting wet," handed me his umbrella, and walked home in the rain.

He was sick for a week after that and I felt awful. But part of me was delighted. Not that he was sick, of course, but that he still cared no matter how much I'd upset him. That was the one thing about Sam that completely did it for me: he made me feel like I was special, that I was loved.

Now, after many failed attempts at finding love, I'm thinking perhaps I've found it again. The new guy I've found is so incredibly wonderful. Everything about him is just the right combination to make my heart skip a few beats. Yet ... I still find myself thinking back to Sam sometimes.

Sam used to ask me why I loved him and I always used to blush and answer that I didn't know. I'm not sure why I said that because there must be countless reasons.

But I suppose if I don't even know why I loved him, how can I ever stop?

Burt Notes 2: Lyrical Goals
There's gotta be some answers to question of why poets and critics dis lyric/narrative/personal/feelings poetry as opposed to (p. 20) "adaptations" of Language poetry into "traditional lyric goals (expressing a self and its feelings)". Is that really the traditional goal of the lyric anyway? Paging Plato! [Insert Phaedra quote here, or even Eliot.] This straw man of the reference of a "self" as being somehow outmoded, debunked, compared with the "not easily paraphrased" poetry (ug) just mystifies me.

Possible explanations:

-- It's easier to criticize, it's lazy way: It's easier to pick on a self than a poetic;
-- The non-self-lyrical poets aren't very interesting as selves, and so have to look elsewhere for inspiration (i.e., non-narrative);
-- They--the non-self poets--have the luxury (education, comfort, support) to move beyond the self, and by so doing conclude that this is a higher-minded pursuit;
--The old seduced-by-technique quandary that's afflicted poets since time indefinite;
--A peculiar self-imposed poverty of the self, following up on the view that an American/decadent/capitalist/middle class self cannot adequately express the capital I Ideas that the poem "needs" to get across; and by so doing
--A fetishization/minstrelization of non-English-speaking poets who **do** express the self (from Rilke to Salamun), admiration of these in a guilt-free manner (rather than American practitioners of same, anyone from Sharon Olds to Mark Halliday), and when this influence is then colandered through non-self/very new/elliptical/old buy Ivy and almost-Ivy American poetics, politics, it results in curious and often embarrassing poems and ideas about poems

+++++++

The aligning of "Very New Poetry"/"Elliptical" with alternative rock of post-Nirvana rock, while interesting, is completely, utterly ill-advised. Not unlike a stoner friend in a dorm who says all band's first albums are their best. My friend's response to this assinine assertion: "You mean, like, The Beatles?"

Poetry of the People. Is that what I'm arguing/yammering for? I don't think so. There's some great exegeses from Hannah and Anthony about this, and Tony has held forth about this very ably. I am sympathetic to poetry that addresses everyday things, that talks about experiences outside, say, the shrill .

And I don't think I'm arguing with Burt vis a vis his essay. I want Burt to succed; I think he's one of the best poet-critics going. For me, Michael Scharf and Jordan Davis come to mind as poet-critics who get their points across more ably. They let their freak flag fly high in favor of an experimental poetic that they define and suss out great examples in their essays and reviews.

What's interesting to me about Burt's work is that, one some level, he is trying to build a consensus with academic poetry and what he perceives to be experimental or new. I just don't think there's any alliance or consensus or school to be created out of the poets he's lumping. together.

It's been fascinating to me how this has all played out on class lines -- the land of gentility, the land of really-working. I am an amateur when it comes to this -- I mean, I've read my Pierre Bourdieu and all. What is so American to me is there is no acknowledgment of there being a difference in the aesthetics described.