San Diego Poetry Guild

notes on guild, poetry, and San Diego


You Say You Want a New Emotion

I take issue with the claim that emotions are damnably fucked up things like sentiments tend to be. That theory is perfectly emotional is also a fucked up claim with which I take issue. The truth of emotion is compelling. The best part of intellect is forthcoming. I don't like the needling interests of happy people. I can't stand the front end of domestic wrangling. When is a sad song a missed opportunity? Where do the seasons go? I cry when the carry-on bags don't fit. I think all emotions should be criminalized and then sold on black markets. This argument makes me want to puke and then wallow in it. Oh, silly rabbit. I anxiously defer the real work of reporting because my home life is in the toilet. The non-seasonal-summer of San Diego is holding at 95 degrees. Gawd, that's good. It tastes like Chekhov. I laugh thinking about all the email I should be checking. Historicized poetry regimes are damnably funny, eh? Dems fightin woids. Oooooooooooooh, love to love you baby. When I listen to Negativland's Helter Stupid I say, "Now that smarts!" I think I'm having an emotion is a line I once used to start a poem. I feel anxious and somewhat depressed about those early poems. The desire to have it out with them once and for all inspired me the other morning to take them down from the attic for just one more look. Theoretically predisposed to tantrums, I have to watch my step with the little ones. I'm not the jealous type, but I secretly wish I were ______ _______ _______. The kids are ready to go to the gym. At first, this made me mad, but then I remembered it was I who said we were going to the gym. I will miss this paragraph. Love, Bill.


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