I'm back, MOTHERFUCKERS!

I'm going to post a ton of shit in the next few days.

I have three days off of work, which is, how should I put it? Oh. Fucking sweet.

I'm a writer again. Hopefully, I will never again be "not a writer."

Also, not that it matters, but I've been drankin' again.

If I do it for long enough, theoretically, I *have* to get good at it. Writing, not drinking. I'm already an accomplished drinker.

I've been writing poetry lately. I hate almost all poetry. An example of one exception would be "The Emperor of Ice Cream," by Wallace Stevens. Fuck, I'll just paste it.

Call the roller of big cigars,
The muscular one, and bid him whip
In kitchen cups concupiscent curds.
Let the wenches dawdle in such dress
As they are used to wear, and let the boys
Bring flowers in last month's newspapers.
Let be finale of seem.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.

Take from the dresser of deal,
Lacking the three glass knobs, that sheet
On which she embroidered fantails once
And spread it so as to cover her face.
If her horny feet protrude, they come
To show how cold she is, and dumb.
Let the lamp affix its beam.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.

That is a beautiful use of language. My poetry is not. It sucks. I write stories, and am only bothering to learn this obtuse way for telling stories (writing) to get my stories across more effectively. Poetry for me, I guess, is sort of like stretching my writing muscle. It's not very large yet, but it's voracious. What I'm saying could best be expressed in the words of a timeless song, "This dick don't hit the bottom, but I fuck the sides up." (Bloodhound Gang, Hefty Fine.

Regardless of how shitty my poetry is, I'm going to post some of it, cuz it's been written, and what the fuck else am I going to do with it? I certainly didn't write it because I enjoy reading it.