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Not returing to LiveJournal but

I figured some of you might want to know that I'm back to writing a poem a day here and I intend to stick to it for the rest of the year. I'm taking part in a larger locked blog where a lot of people are writing 365 poems in 365 days but so far only me and a guy named Steve Subrizi (which I may or may not have met) are posting ours in an open forum.

Also, it's nearly 3 years ago to the day that i quit LiveJournal to write a novel. I handed the manuscript of that novel to a publisher in Reykjavík last January 6th, which happened to be 3 years to the day since I started seriously writing it. I had given myself 3 years to write it, so that was very good timing.
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Dear Livejournal,

The time has come, we've had a long run, almost three years now, and it's been good. I don't regret a single moment, but alas, all good things must come to an indeterminate pause. I promise not to pull a Naveen Andrews and father a child while we are on a break. You see, the thing is, y'know, it's just... well... I have another love now, and that's my novel and while both of you share the letters L, O, V and E, novel has fewer extraneous vowels and consonants. I just feel that I need to strike out and explore this other option. I hope you don't think ill of me. I just don't have the time to juggle the two of you.

One day I might return, you won't have to take me back, you can whittle my friendslist down to zero, I understand, but if you can find it in your heart to keep the option open I would be ecstatic, like a little white pill with the Mitsubishi logo on it.

This is not a deletion, just a pause, a break. I love you still, but there is a greater love I must pursue.


P.S. As a parting gift, I give you this, the answer to a question that might have been turning itself in your mind, as it did in mine. Was it sheer coincidence that Durex set up shop in Knutsford or did the CEO have a puerile streak a mile wide? Turns out, it was just glorious, glorious coincidence.
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Dirge of the Rose

His be no seed that brack the stem
Wrap hands through grass that wafts
Catch full hands and strike at cort
Our are no wise to her that wilts
Rend and gash the bark of we
Fill with dreck the croft at lows
Bring a crown drench with bile
His be no rule that struck her down
Chinese Map

the muse only seduces me in the middle of the night

why inspiration seems only to strike in the middle of the night I can't quite account for

but it rends gashes and bleeding on my poor demented lack of sleep schedule

enough feeling sorry for myself

I rewrote two poems

which is good and awesome

I may finally getting the hang of this rewriting business

I did some changes to my recent Icelandic poem Ars Poetica for Dummies, deincomprehensibilizing its most incomprehensible line

klikkið á hlekkinn til að fara á öppdeitaða útgáfu, kommentum ávallt vel tekið

but I also finally rewrote Metaphors for Time, streamlining it, if not shortening it much

so yeah, here's the new version... comments always welcome, especially as I'm not used to writing poems of this length

[2:45 AM update - couldn't sleep, so rewrote Metaphors further, cutting a lot out]

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Take 2

I've written more sections into Metaphors for Time. I wanted to ground it further in memory. So I added some memory sections to it. I usually don't write "personal poetry", but I felt Metaphors for Time was too damn impersonal and abstract, even for me. I also felt that I couldn't talk about time without devoting more space to personal time. As you can probably guess from this extended preamble, I'm not sure whether this was a good idea or not. That's where you come in, good people, that's where you come in: How does it compare?

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