Haiku

Haiku, haiku, yeah.
Haiku, haiku, haiku, yeah.
haiku, haiku, yeah.

These things disintegrate
Before our eyes
And we, too,
Fall apart.
We, too, crumble.

An Open Letter to My Neighbors Whose Lawn Chairs are on Their Roof this Morning

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Dear Neighbors Whose Lawn Chairs are on Their Roof this Morning:

            I write you for a couple of reasons. The first is a congratulations on a party well done. Despite the fact that your roof slopes at a dangerous angle and the number of empty beer cans littering your property leads me to believe your coordination skills were subpar, watching the fireworks from atop your house was an ingenious idea. The thrill of being so high (perhaps in more ways than one) coupled with the colorful light show in the sky must have made for quite the experience.

            I can only imagine the fun of being chocolate wasted on a warm summer night on a rooftop with some of my closest friends. The alcohol consumption and the company would’ve been fun enough. The fireworks, a bonus. But bravo to the mastermind behind the rickety fold-up chairs on top of your half of the duplex. I know it was a slamming party, and I can only wish I’d have been a part of it.

Which brings me to my next reason for writing you: Why the heck didn’t you invite me? I’ve only been living here since you moved in, and as a young, cute college girl, I see no reason for being left out of the fun. I know we haven’t exactly become “friends” since you moved into the neighborhood, but frankly, I think this late-night fiesta would’ve been the perfect opportunity to do so. Especially because in your intoxication, your inhibitions would’ve been significantly lowered, and I would’ve seemed to be the perfect companion. One of you may have even tried to kiss me. Or challenge me to a dance-off. We can never know for sure.

            So congrats on the party. Glad you had a good time. But just so you know, next time I throw a big drunken fireworks-watching-on-my-house gala, you are not on the guest list. And for the record, all the old people in the neighborhood think you guys are idiots.

                                    - Britney

Glam Metal Band or Roller-Derby Nickname?

-       Wild Cherry

-       Iron Maiden

-       Iron Butterfly

-       Maiden Hell

-       Wrathchild

-       Acid Reign

-       Twisted Sister

-       Lizzy Borden

-       Eva Destruction

-       Britny Fox

-       Brix Hithouse

-       Wolf Blitzher

-       Faster Pussycat

-       Chrissy Steele

-       Zombie Stardust

-       Vixen

-       Ecko

-       Wuthering Frights

-       Madam X

-       Whistler Smother

-       Stryper

-       Roxy Blue

Back to the Future

I time warped the other night. I'm not sure how it happened, but it did. I didn't even have the flux capacitor, so I'm still trying to figure out just how this phenomenon occurred.

Here's what happened:

I was standing at The Auricle, waiting for the band, Paper Route, to go on. It had been a good night so far, and I was excited for Paper Route's set. My phone had been gradually dying throughout the night, so I'd turned it off. I decided to pull it out of my pocket to check the time though. So I turned it on, and much to my surprise, the screen read "8:02 pm, Sat., January 5th, 1980".

I stared at the screen for a moment in disbelief. How could this be? I didn't feel the time warp, and the scene didn't even seem to have changed. I realized before I did anything else I needed to document this. So I tried to take a clear picture of the screen of my phone. This is the closest I could come:

After a while, I looked at the screen again and the time and date had returned to normal. I'd time warped back. All I have figured out thus far is that my cell phone's battery dying must have caused something that resulted in my time travel. I have yet to figure out how this works, but I have begun my research.

In the meantime, I have some shopping to do. I think it's about time for me to cross "Buy a DeLorean" off of my bucket list.

Your Love is Water

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Your love is water; it clears us of this deed.

Your blood stains white and makes me clean.

The water is red, and rushes over me,

Letting me drown in You.

Though just a drop on my tongue

Can quench this unquenchable thirst

And erase this despicable sin.

Jean and Jeremiah cry, “What have I done?”

“Was habe ich gemacht?”

The harsh sound of reality becomes familiar,

Rushing in my ears,

But replaced by Your love.

As you breathe your fragrance on me,

The breath of life anew

Enters into my soul, fresh and blue,

My body no longer a vessel for sin,

Hell-bound and heavy,

Now buoyant in Your spring.

But the look in the glims is still dead;

I’m still sunk.

The eyes are still murky and they never will clear,

Not for thousands of tears

That you brush off my cheeks.

I will stand at the baggage claim gripping my guilt

With white knuckles

And never let go.

With my gun to my head,

Chicago lightning,

The blame is fired at me,

And You can’t put it out.

It’s much harder to forgive yourself.

The Britannica is sinking.

That girl, she is fragile.

It’s in you she should let herself drown.

Your love is water and it whispers to me,

If I breathe in, my lungs will be full

With the life-giving liquid

That will open my heart and my eyes to forgiveness,

To You.

To live underwater, forever,

A shipwreck accepted by He who is strong,

Gives me peace like a river

And grace like an ocean.

Your love washes over me, making me new.

My love, touch your chest.

Feel the rhythm inside

As your Juliet sings for you.

Though she’s far, mon cherie,

All her love beats within

As she prays that you dream of her too.

My love, close your eyes.

Hear her whisper so soft

As her lips brush against your ear.

Feel her breath, mi amor.

Juliet prays for this

Kind of peace every day you aren’t here.

My love, Romeo.

Do you hear the girl’s song?

Do you shiver with every sweet note?

Do you dream as she dreams?
Do you pray as she prays?
Do you share all your Juliet’s hopes?

My love, oh, my love.

Touch your chest, close your eyes.

Hear her whisper, and feel her soft breath.

My love, times are hard,

And your Juliet’s far,

But I pray that her love gives you rest.