top five reasons to have a list

1.) it gives you boundaries, so you can wrangle in your existence
2.) self-importance
3.) everybody should know how you feel and why you feel the way you feel because you're good enough, you're smart enough, and doggonit, people should like you
4.) easier to decipher than a graph or pie chart
5.) truth needs an outlet

top five things i can live without

political enthusiasts (attention whores)
ink pen caps that pull the off bottom tab so that you can't put the cap back on
the News (FOXnews, especially)
bread
bitches that be naggin'

top five things i cannot live without

air
shorts with pockets (why would you make anything without pockets!!! except shirts, that's tacky)
showers
johnny cash cds
rice

banter

I've decided I'm going to write a million songs in my last semester before i have to graduate and "get a job" as all those "responsible" people like to put it. I just pray it won't all be crap.

Any ideas for a job with a creative writing degree with no experience? "Welcome to LIlly's! Would you like vegan pizza sauce?"


check the myspace for a new song. if it's not up today it'll probably be up by tomorrow. i've been having some trouble. i get hits but i'm beginning to wonder if it's just me checking it every two seconds. it probably is.

http://www.myspace.com/dmxiong

hey somebody has to bolster my ego, even if it's myself.

I have deleted the songs that were on there because I talked and cleared my throat at the beginning of each recording and not only was that annoying, but I was also informed that clearing your throat is not a professional thing to do. It damages your vocal chords. Good thing to know.

But I like the new song. It's different from what I usually write. Which scares me, because I feel like eventually I'll run out of new things to try and do and talk about. It's called "The Bohemian Mama Blues."

Clay and I were talking about a nameless friend of ours who spent her whole summer roaming the beaches of Wilmington purely inspired by her affinity to the coast. Even when she had no shelter she bummed her way around just so she could stay at the beach. I can't remember if I said it or Clay did, but the line that became the title and inspiration for the song was about those on the road blues, bohemian blues, gypsy blues, where you feel like you just have to keep moving to feel alive. We all talk about it but nobody has got the cajones to do it anymore for practicality sake because we all gots to pay the bills. Anyway, the song became something completely different. Maybe a little too political? Eh, I just have a soft spot for the contemporary hippie who tries so hard because I know I could never have that kind of dedication. I want to eat at McDonald's and buy the cheapest pack of Wal-mart brand cola there is and mix it with Aristocrat Rum. And I'm okay with the war as long as gas is cheap, but now, I'm kind of peeved.

You think "hippie," is short for "hypocrite?" Makes sense... doesn't it? Well, then I fit the bill.

But "Them Golden Gate Freedom Blues," which will posted at some point in the near future, is another new song where the misplaced original motivation of "The Bohemian Mama Blues," may have manifested itself. It is also inspired by my courageous, rambling, good friend, Mr. Graham Misenheimer, who has weathered the worst earthquake in the history of the universe, spike lee's joint in brooklyn, strangers couches all across America, and now battles in San Francisco by his own golden gates.

now fucking update your shit muthafucka! NO EXCUSES!

musicking

so i have finally grown big enough cajones to record a song and lame enough to finally myspace it.

http://www.myspace.com/dmxiong



in two weeks, the 4901 sessions begin with the visit of the astute Clay Misenheimer.

i've been lazy.

more old things i can no longer reproduce

halloween

i remember holding hands and
hating it. my mother would
point to the next house, and my older
sister would slide the van door, and we would dart out
like some vast battalion, shedding our shield
hand at the helm of our swords, sometimes
literally, and we had already conquered our greatest
fears, the gauntlet had been vanquished, before our toes
bent the blades of evening dew, and our arms wide open
treasure bestowed upon the valiant, the courageous, the socially adept, and death
defying. and we were good, she would say
to her friends
later on the phone, opposed to the
advertised mischief. and we would pour out all our candy
on the table, she made us, and split it seven ways. even though it
always came out the same way it began, because
who holds prejudice towards seven kids in
homemade costumes and family dollar facepaint? and we'd count it afterwards,
and wonder, why was this
only
once a year, we
would murmur
through chocolate teeth or double
bubble bubbles, candy
corn fangs, caramel
smacks, stuck to the empty
caps, and the independent spaces
wisdom and age had yet to fill. it would never tire, we
decided those nights. candy for a king, candy for a queen. anyone could
live forever, like this. what
Gods
allowed only once
a year
for gluttony, should we
not enjoy everyday, bathe and baske
in
saccharine
glory. did you know
if you cook sugar for
long enough, it turns
gold? we'd sit
on the back porch, the moon was
always nearly full, and discuss
our trite superstitions, and
future predictions, i can't
recall now, and make fun of
each other, in that
circumventing sibling
fashion, that never failed, and never
tarnished
our hidden joys
of our household
company. and we'd be okay, we'd do well, if just
for a couple
of days. before it was back
to drawing
turkeys, and homework
and awaiting
the next
holiday
break. i remember once there were
so many
of us
walking up on to this tiny, concrete
front porch one
halloween, and my sister
julie was on the far left
side, she was one of the first to step up, and after the last
of us
squeezed in for a treat, i can't remember who now, she fell off
the side
into a bush, and we all laughed, but
she cried
a little, and i felt bad, and
so did the lady
who's house we were at
so she handed
julie another
handful and a half
of candy, and said it was the
last
she had, blew us
a kiss, and at the end
of the night
after we had
split
our bags
we each gave
julie back a bit of whatever she
wished to have. a candy
coated
apology, we knew, but
we were happy;
all of us.
and afterwards we
went to the back porch; because
when we were young
the falls
were warmer.

and i do
miss
being young.