Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch
I'm sorry to say tumbleweeds are scattering across the fiber optic streets of Numb Benign in much the same way dust bunnies settle under lonely beds.
I'm not saying I excepted Simon & Schuster to contact me a day or two after that poetry blog (or "plog," as I like to call it) went public — but, I mean, would it have really killed them to call?
But I digress.
There are actually a few darn good poems on the site — just be on the lookout for anything posted by anyone other than this chick who goes by the name "thirdworstpoetinthegalaxy." Turns out her name is anything but a misnomer. And don't forget, you're all invited to co-author the site as well. Just let me know you're interested.
Still not convinced? How about a little improv trick I learned by proxy.
So, whatever you do — for the love of God! — don't click here.
Labels:
poetry,
shameless self-promotion
5 comments:
I've thought about it several times. Does that count? I'm going to post some shitty haiku on there. I promise.
it isn't easy being the Third Worst Poet in the Galaxy is it?
all the empty space, jus sayin.
"Susan stopped. Of course someone would be that stupid. Some humans would do anything to see if it was possible to do it. If you put a large switch in some cave somewhere, with a sign on it saying 'End-of-the-World Switch. PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH', the paint wouldn't even have time to dry."
Terry Pratchett
Thief of Time
I would contribute but I don't do poetry. Just bad prose.
~BPP
or that disgruntled wannabe writing teacher can just kvetch a couple paragraphs and feel sorry for himself. that should get the dustbunnies and tumbleweeds a movin
BPP -
there is a mosque in Timbucktoo that has a small wooden door inside it. it's said that if anyone opens it, the world will end. I picked this up in a book called (as I recall) the cruelest journey. I can't remember the lady's name who wrote it. sound's like it's worth a trip.
ds
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