From the files...
Sep. 29th, 2006 12:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hippybngstockngI thought you guys might enjoy reading a poem I wrote that actually got published. Granted, this was in "Tales from the Hypothalamus", a literary magazine almost solely produced by an ex-boyfriend of mine, so it's not like it's OMG you were published exciting, but after reading it, I decided that it was indeed good enough to be published work.. At least good enough to be published in an entirely silly literary magazine.. ;) It's even written under one of my sillier pen names!
Dagmar's Maximalist Poem
-or- "My mind is a cherry flavoured popsicle that melts in the moon light. I hate cherry flavoured popsicles*."
Earth, the final frontier, these are NOT the voyages of anything but my father's bright yellow pick-up truck and myself, and a small piece of rubber in the shape of a slug that I got in a small toy store right in the centre of a town called Amherst, but I like to call it hell.
It's a six year mission, to backfire and sputter at the fact that my father always refused to put oil and coolant into the damn thing so that when I was out in the back woods suddenly all the lights on the dash would go on at once and all the buzzers would go off and I'd be stranded and have to attack some poor unsuspecting farmer who was afraid of me because I was obviously some kind of hippie shit from the city and had no business being anywhere near his property, even if I did drive a bright yellow Datsun pick-up.
Once I was on the outside again, I took a good look around me so that I could remember to come back here and take pictures of the man's cows.
This was all back in the days when I didn't even own anything that was tie-dye, I drank Coke and I did my laundry with non-biodegradable soap and bought lots of things that meant nothing and then proceeded to throw them away.
So I cursed the sky, the dawn, my parents, and my birth and all those things that minimalist poets have a tendency to curse, "Look at you, you're so silly, I can't believe they let you out of the hospital with that brain."
So we sat down at the table at the restaurant beyond the edge of Amherst and I reached into my pocket looking for the keys to the giant cosmic banana, that truck that I was so fond of, with which I had been threatened by farmers with shoguns, and I screamed.
It was the slug. It was slimy and I had forgotten it was in there, so I pulled it out of my pocket and I held it out to my friends who were staring at me in fear and loathing and I said to them simply, "Slug, anyone?"
And then they died.
-By Dagmar Hedwig
Also, it's amusing to note that the jacket pocket from which the slug was pulled is the very same "David Byrne big shoulder jacket" that I am wearing in the icon..
*This is actually wildly untrue, I love cherry flavoured popsicles, so this just proves that writers lie.
Dagmar's Maximalist Poem
-or- "My mind is a cherry flavoured popsicle that melts in the moon light. I hate cherry flavoured popsicles*."
Earth, the final frontier, these are NOT the voyages of anything but my father's bright yellow pick-up truck and myself, and a small piece of rubber in the shape of a slug that I got in a small toy store right in the centre of a town called Amherst, but I like to call it hell.
It's a six year mission, to backfire and sputter at the fact that my father always refused to put oil and coolant into the damn thing so that when I was out in the back woods suddenly all the lights on the dash would go on at once and all the buzzers would go off and I'd be stranded and have to attack some poor unsuspecting farmer who was afraid of me because I was obviously some kind of hippie shit from the city and had no business being anywhere near his property, even if I did drive a bright yellow Datsun pick-up.
Once I was on the outside again, I took a good look around me so that I could remember to come back here and take pictures of the man's cows.
This was all back in the days when I didn't even own anything that was tie-dye, I drank Coke and I did my laundry with non-biodegradable soap and bought lots of things that meant nothing and then proceeded to throw them away.
So I cursed the sky, the dawn, my parents, and my birth and all those things that minimalist poets have a tendency to curse, "Look at you, you're so silly, I can't believe they let you out of the hospital with that brain."
So we sat down at the table at the restaurant beyond the edge of Amherst and I reached into my pocket looking for the keys to the giant cosmic banana, that truck that I was so fond of, with which I had been threatened by farmers with shoguns, and I screamed.
It was the slug. It was slimy and I had forgotten it was in there, so I pulled it out of my pocket and I held it out to my friends who were staring at me in fear and loathing and I said to them simply, "Slug, anyone?"
And then they died.
-By Dagmar Hedwig
Also, it's amusing to note that the jacket pocket from which the slug was pulled is the very same "David Byrne big shoulder jacket" that I am wearing in the icon..
*This is actually wildly untrue, I love cherry flavoured popsicles, so this just proves that writers lie.
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*APPLAUSE*
Date: 2006-09-29 04:21 pm (UTC)Cheers,
DavE
Re: *APPLAUSE*
Date: 2006-09-29 04:23 pm (UTC)Re: *APPLAUSE*
Date: 2006-09-29 09:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-29 04:25 pm (UTC)That sounds awfully familiar. I, on the other hand, do hate cherry flavored popsicles.
no subject
Date: 2006-09-29 04:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-29 04:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-29 04:42 pm (UTC)Speaking of which- I just found an old plastic Ilford cannister in my stuff, complete with a nice red lid! :)
no subject
Date: 2006-09-29 04:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-01 01:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-01 01:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-01 01:19 pm (UTC)Wait - I beat yr man to the punch?
Speaking as one of The Married, I gotta say, he'd bes' have sumfin' up his sleeve. He make it to the shitlist yet?
no subject
Date: 2006-10-01 01:33 pm (UTC)You did get in before his sleepiness wore off though, so you were still the first voice of the actual day itself. I'm all about the technicalities, baby.. ;)