ritas kleine welt

this poetry community makes me do things that usually lay away hidden safely for matters of public safety. but since i have no more reputation to lose among the participants in the poetry seminar, i may as well start going on the rampege here. so follow along to some craziness that better be handed a straightjacket before the semester is out.

my first attempt at concrete poetry -- and i have fallen into one stereotypical girly subject. i have written/'drawn' a ballett dancer. amrs, legs, body and everything. and with the help of the default paint-programme on my computer, i have even given here some sort of cut-out and paste imaginary body. enter the stereotypical colour of the girly dancer: bubblegum pink!

after all: one strives to really carry this over the top.

i need more coffee.

this poetry community thingamabob is creepy. it makes me write. though i wouldn't say, it classifies for poetry. it's more like odd prose that doesn't manage to fill

a complete line

but is broken up by the

random

pressing of the enter-key. well. at least it's good time passing myoffice hour because nobody shows up and now i can say, i actually did something for university. (for which reason, i will have to spam the LJ community lateron again. le sigh!)

quite some time ago, i hit upon this nifty little web-toy callded wordle. it so happens that with all the silliness that has been coursing through my mind lately and with the literal output of doubtful value, i remembered this helpful application. it is quite interesting to see how one's thoughts, although applied to the same subject, shift towards different aspects. in that respect, wordle is quite a great tool to help one see one's own meandering thoughts more clearly.

::shan't spam LJ, but must make use of own blog properly and rightly ... thus::

genesis: on the six day, some time around breakfast, God invented humour; he had just created man. around noon, he invented black humour as he took a spare bit of clay, rolled it into the shape of a floppy sausage and stuck it between man's legs. at teatime, God invented comedy, for there is no laughing when there are no audience. thus, woman stood before man, she recognized him, pointed her finger towards his loins -- and laughed. thus, God smiled, for he saw it was good.

edit (a week later): sabine kindly provided the following link. click.

and we have another round of pimping artists. not because i am friends with them, but because they are damn good at what they do. so, this round goes to Ivan Reneos and her ever growing blog of poetry. and because i took the "publicity shots" last weekend, you may have a first look at the pictures right here.

so, after you've seen the photos, make sure to head over to Reneos' blog and enjoy the read and the ride. (but don't forgot to check back over the next days and weeks, because there's massive constuction going on there at the moment!)

spent the evening with the incomparable sabine chatting about the futility of lifestyle, art and creativity -- and what utter bastards men can be sometimes. goethe was an emo-kid, but so were byron and lucius malfoy. in any case: emo-kids are satan's weapon. we contemplated conquering the academic world, but maybe we should settle for such mundane prospects of just conquering the universe, whilst helge is da man. all shall love us and despair. that shall be our credo.

and roger willemsen is not gay!

i wrote this little short story some time last year for the creative writing contest. the topic was "dreams". didn't win a flower pot, but i thought i could share it nevertheless. it would be nice, if you could leave me a note, whether you liked it or not. i'm just curious.

ps. quite a bit of the imagery was inspired by watching countless episodes of MASH during that time. those of you familiar with the show might even have a hunch who the unnamed story-teller is.