The 11th Doctor / The Hipster Doctor

The Hipster Doctor
Fun facts:
*His skinny jeans are indeed bigger inside
*His Sonic Screwdriver runs on nickel cadmium batteries, because retro
*His TARDIS can travel to any Gastro Food Truck anywhere in the galaxy, at any point in time, instantly
*He left the Time Lords, not because of an endless civil war involving the Dalek, but because he was just OVER them already
*He traveled back in time to settle a group of monkeys at the North Pole, because puns

So I posted this to Facebook, and it will be swallowed up in the progressing feed, like tears in rain. ;P
And yes, the 11th Doctor is the only person in the entire Dr. Who universe I’d want to have sex with. No, Torchwood didn’t impress me much.

With all my complaining and pondering about which color to write next, I didn’t realize how far behind I am on material so obvious, so… Well, here; here’s a link; here are some quotes:

[…]I dreamed you were a poem,
I say, a poem I wanted to show someone . . .
and I laugh and fall dreaming again
of the desire to show you to everyone I love,
to move openly together
in the pull of gravity[…]

Since we’re not young, weeks have to do time
for years of missing each other. Yet only this odd warp
in time tells me we’re not young.
[…]
you move towards me with the same tempo.
Your eyes are everlasting, the green spark
of the blue-eyed grass of early summer
the green-blue wild cress washed by the spring

that voices of the psyche drive through the flesh
further than the dense brain could have foretold

[…]the small, jewel-like flower
unfamiliar to us, nameless till we rename her,
that clings to the slowly altering rock—
that detail outside ourselves that brings us to ourselves,
was here before us, knew we would come, and sees beyond us.

Sleeping, turning in turn like planets
rotating in their midnight meadow:

Whatever happens with us, your body
will haunt mine—tender, delicate

No one’s fated or doomed to love anyone.
The accidents happen, we’re not heroines,
they happen in our lives like car crashes[…]

I choose to be the figure in that light,
half-blotted by darkness, something moving
across that space[…]

OMG I’m Actually Following Through On An Idea

So I want(ed) to start writing a group of poems based around color-coding from the color spectrum. It has a lot to do with physics, because there are a lot of useful metaphors for me.

Diablo Rojo
Cobalt Blue
Midnight Blue
(and soon)
High Violet

…I think I need another red, maybe a green. I’m not covering ROYGBIV here. I dunno. The blue/violet poems will be bundled into “Blue Spectra” and submitted as a single poem/poem cycle to an annual anthology. Maybe. Probably.

FINALLY Finished Cobalt Blue!

Well, it started with a poem that entered my head this last February. It was about a guy; my feels were pretty complex, and I kind of tried to forget the poem.

Then things with him ended more or less totally 🙁  And I hated myself for forgetting it. And then I (self-)published SQL. Now, I like that poem, actually, but some of my fellow poets here in San Diego don’t; they don’t dislike it, I guess, so much as they feel it’s not as good as my other work. As time progresses, I see more and more what they mean.

Happily, something in me finally melted, or snapped, or eased, or simply allowed itself to be swallowed by the tides of timespace, because I was able to let go of a lot of feels and internal drama and remember the cold-happy poem I wrote months ago—most of it, at least.

Adrian really likes it, but wants to know why the blue is cobalt blue, especially as the rest of the poem uses tightly-coupled metaphors about Einsteinian physics that I tried rather hard to keep accurate, even as they described my stalled infatuation with a certain Millennial twink-cub—I mean it’s blue, because it’s blue shift. It’s cobalt blue, though, because that’s his favorite color. Actually, I tinkered with the poem a bit because of this issue. I think it works, though; I have until mid-October to decide.

I’m Sorry, Tony—It Was All My Fault

I used to not mind—to even go along with—when people would try to separate out, or argue priority over the other, one kind of liberation versus another; I’ve got my needs, other things are secondary. Then I met this one cuddly hunk. I kind of broke his heart, in a rare(ish) reversal. I’m still not sure how I feel about what happened, but what I AM sure of: that hunky dude has a right to awkward sexual encounters with over-privileged white Liberal Arts majors every bit as much as his heterosexual peers in the African American community. Implying that gay rights are a function of white privilege is, in fact, racist.

That is all.