November 21, 2004

Kimmi Hearts Goats!

So. Kimmi stories... (You remember my OLD internet alter-ego, Kimmi, right?) Kimmi found a BBS called DARKEST POETRY!

Oh! My! Goodness! Their web address was actually: www. Yes, we take ourselves waywayway too seriously around here. You may THINK you take yourself too seriously? But you are a RANK amateur. WE are going to the Olympics for it, k? .com

Basically, BBS surfers would come and post LONG poetry about how their busty deamon lovers would pull their broken hearts from their weep-wracked bodies and bite into the still beating organs as if they were delicious fruits EXCEPT that would have been a SIMILE, so, no, NOT like fruits, just, like hearts. Because there was NO FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE on dark-poetry. Just, you know, despair and hearts and brokenness and blood and dark deamon lovers and woe and angst. And torture. And outfits.

So, Kimmi wrote a poem and posted it. I still have a copy of this poem, and I am going to share the gift of her poetry with you here today. Brace yerself, Bridget.

By Kimmi!

I like Goats.
Goats are nice.
They eat Grass.
Sometimes, they eat tin cans.
It doesn’t upset their stomachs.
But if I ate a tin can,
It would upset my stomach!

Then I sat back and waited to be KILLED by the inevitable soulless howling fanged critics.

Here is the weird thing. IT DID NOT HAPPEN. All these terrible Terrible TERRIBLE poets turned out to be dear, sugar-hearted RABBITS with gentle paws. They must have gathered together and discussed how to handle Kimmi. Had they been capable of committing simile, they might have said, “Let’s pat her on the head as if she were Cindy Loo Who and we were a soul-sucking Undead Grinch-slash-incubus dressed in a really sexy black leather outfit. And a CAPE! With BLOOD ON IT! Oh wait, we are digressing, but, anyway, let’s get her a drink of perfectly innocuous unpoisoned lime Kool-Aid in a NICE PAPER CUP, no chalices or god-forbid human skulls, because she has wandered in here all INNOCENT and DUMB AS ROCKS and placed her poetry at our feet, and, like, it’s POETRY, man. It’s her inner core. So we have to be … KIND."

Do I need to tell you I felt about THREE INCHES TALL? When you go trolling for buttheads and come up with DUMPLINGS… oh MAN did I feel bad. I am sure all those dark poets will be one of the five people I meet in heaven etc etc, and indeed, I have taken some VERY valuable lessons from the incident that are MOSTLY STILL TRUE TODAY!

1) Sometimes there is nothing to be done but say gracious and sincere thank-yous for the mercy of strangers and less-than-sincere but KIND interest in your poetry, and creep away feeling ashamed of yourself as you gently close the door on the way out and never try to mess with that group again.
2) On the other hand? Guys who write poetry like that will almost ALWAYS be kind to a girl with a C-cup name.
3) THEREFORE! I needed a better venue and a less CUTE sounding alter-ego if I wanted to REALL Y troll up some buttheads.

Thus was born THE MIGHTY PRONG. Ill tell you about him next time…

By the way, I have been VERY GREAT this weekend. A nice, low mental illness number and relatively calm good cheer abounded. This is probably do to the healthy dose of living opium I had the good sense to marry. He HEADLOCKED ME on Friday and marched me to the phone and made me call my editor BEFORE she could have reasonably gotten the book placed in her hands.

Her: I am not reading the book this weekend, and if I do not have time to read it next week I will call you and assure you I am STILL not reading it.
Her: I did not become an editor yesterday.
Me: (Babbles incoherently and with almost no segue about racial profiling in the South. I have no clear memory of my exact speech but I MAY have used the word “Gerrymander.” Incorrectly.) *
Her: (backing slowly away from the phone) Okay! That’s, um fascinating! And apropos of, um, well… Nothing! Nice talking to you and all, but I need to go!
Her: That’s exactly what I mean. I need to go and NOT read it. Pinky swear.

Which strikes me as SUPREMELY ironic. I think of all the years I spent trying to get NYC editors to read my work, and yet NOW I am having a lovely weekend EXACTLY BECAUSE I know for a fact that one is NOT reading my work—it’s an anomaly. It’s crazy. And truthfully, yes, okay, I want her to read the book. I am excited to have her read the book. Just not right NOW…. I was SO enjoying the preening.

* This is a reminder to me to after Thanksgiving to tell you about GERRYMANDER the way we use it in this house, and also how we say COLANDER, and why I can’t stop saying “VERY GREAT.” This is all the same story. SERIOUSLY, remind me. I will forget as I sink into a food-coma over Thanksgiving.

Posted by joshilyn at November 21, 2004 7:42 PM

Can I steal your alter ego for my own pesky amusement?

Posted by: Heather at November 21, 2004 9:43 PM

Uh-huh. So what you're saying is that an outer casing, headlock for example, of living opium is able to constructively redirect the boundless energy present in, say, a human-sized glob of Flubber? Hmm. *raises eyebrows and nods appreciatively* Gerrymanderes the world over are relieved, I'm sure. ;-)

P.S. Cute poem. :-)

Posted by: David at November 22, 2004 8:38 AM

I think maybe I ate a tin can yesterday.

Posted by: Mir at November 22, 2004 12:52 PM

Just curious? Do you editor and/or your agent read your blog? Laffs and goes back to the very difficult corner I have backed someone into.

Posted by: Gabi at November 23, 2004 2:27 PM

Heather, oh lord, what have I loosed upon the earth?

David, if you call girls a "human sized ball of flubber" it is a pretty good bet that you, like my husband, have never yet won the "do these pants make me look fat" game.

Mir---did it upset your stomach?

And Gabi! No, my agent doesn't read my blog. He doesn't read any blogs, really. Not his thing. My editor once told me she had found it and was reading it and I said LETS PRETEND YOU DO NOT READ IT, OKAY?
SO we pretend she doesn't so I can talk about book stuff here without feeling self conscious. *grin*

Posted by: Joshilyn at November 23, 2004 3:09 PM

Is it too early to seriously remind you about the Gerrymander, Colander, Very Great story? :-)

Posted by: Brooks at November 23, 2004 4:10 PM

Why Joshilyn, I was only referring to Flubber in the strictest movie-like context of bouncing-off-the-floor-walls-and-ceiling energy. No, really. Cross my heart an' hope to die. *Scout's honor saluting* I also try really hard to avoid that game you mentioned. It seems to be closely related to the "Do you think she's pretty?" game. Another one I'm no good at. *snerk*

Posted by: David at November 23, 2004 7:11 PM

My wife sometimes asks me the "Do these pants make my butt look big?" question fully knowing my answer is going to be "No. Your butt makes those pants look big." We never get all they way through the exchange before laughing.

Posted by: Brooks at November 24, 2004 11:41 PM