two words: tree funeral

i just went to a tree funeral. i'm still processing - not the loss of the tree, but the fact that i live in and love a place that held a funeral for a plant. (you can bet your ass that wasn't in michael renger's job description when they interviewed him: arranging tree funerals. he pulled through like a champ, though. and the poetry reading by dean green was beautiful. and the SLC president was in attendance, i shit you not.)

amy goodman just said, "i'd like to give a shout-out."

if you discover the secret of poetry, let me know. my scholars and scribes haven't found it. sometimes the egalitarian nature of workshop doesn't really reassure me - this art thing really is quite the crapshoot. man i need dean hubbard's class. restore my faith in art. please.

fallujah. *shudder* the blowback will be awe-inspiring. which reminds me, i should finish that book.

i miss having someone to obsess with/over. how sad is that? still, i'd rather have that figured out than be freaked out over an old, old ex and not knowing why i couldn't let them go.

still poor. still not feeling very smart or like i have any answers.

still feeling powerless. fuck the power. fight the power. i think i just stole that from a POSSE flyer.

fuck gender too. i should rant about that. i feel, i am, androgynous. most of the time. that sums it up. and i want to read kate bornstein. my christmas present to me.

need to e-mail sarah.

i'm not in boston seeing mana. pooh.

would like to find someone to fall in love with. to sum up: if you find my love or the secret of life (or maybe just art), please do tell.

in the meantime i'll be writing tree eulogies.