Cerebral Contents:

Update for 05.13.08:

Male Model by Phil Doran

Set to Replay by Willie Smith

Backsliding by Cynthia Ruth Lewis

Tree by G. David Schwartz

05.05.08:

Disintegration by Don Hucks

Five Feet and Building by Joel Van Noord

Grocery Aisle by Richard Lighthouse

Cross the Road by Ashok Niyogi

04.29.08:

Lookalikes by Phil Doran

Dinner by Brandi Wells

The Modern Covenant by Daniel E. Wilcox

Death by Onions by Michael Frissore

04.21.08:

Future's Children by Kimberly Raiser

Identity Theft by George Anderson

The Datists by Adam Engel

A Great Deal of Money by Justin Hyde

04.14.08:

Mr. Papaya and Dale by Eric Suhem

California by Caroline Imreibe

Aftermath of Vehement Argument #1,068 by Cynthia Ruth Lewis

Trip-Hammer Vitality by Lisa Nickerson

04.07.08:

The Florence of Basel, or Why Readers of Nietzsche Need to Read Burckhardt by Jeff Crouch

Slideshow by Miles J. Bell

Friends of the Poet by Sean C. Bowen

Picture Perfect by Leah Baldwin

03.24.08:

The Streak by Jeremy Hendrix

Grab Your Butts by Emme Hor

Far Away by Ashok Niyogi

Staring Down a White-Tailed Doe by Aleathia Drehmer

03.17.08:

The Hairbrush by Vernard Kennedy

Dog Days of Winter by Niall Berkeley

Poem From My Grave by Michael Lee Johnson

Mashed Potatoes and Hamburgers by Matt Finney

03.10.08:

Hard Work by Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

Jetty Cake Pigs by J.D. Nelson

I'm Quiet in Bed by Moctezuma Johnson

Tequila Shakes by Richard Lighthouse

Interlopers
(Despair in the Information Age)

by Kristin Blank

As you need to eat, I need to smoke.

Motivation and expectation shine
down like a hot white
interrogation light.
The brain is a violent thing:
backed into a corner,
trying to fight its way out.

It was Solzhenitsyn
that said:
"How can you expect a man who's warm
to understand a man who's cold?"

And it was Neil Young that said,
"Every day I ask myself
what the hell I'm talking about."

The world lives now
with the blinds pulled up
so that everyone has a
plain clear view
of the others' windows.

Salinger and I
just want to be recluses
so could you people
please leave us alone?

There is some place
where solace stands
but the problem is
that it's so
good at hiding.

Please let me die
of something romantic
(like consumption)
and not this suffocating
existentialism.

______________________________________
Kristin Blank is a Renaissance woman. She is the vocalist for Sing the Evens, Play the Odds. She writes the underground comic Hate Your Friends. In her spare time, she likes to curb stomp triflin' fools.

posted 03.20.06.

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