Pandora Scooter: Blog

Ok...it's fewer not less and it's more than not over.MORE THAN 50 people said that they loved my show.FEWER THAN 6 people showed up for my writing workshop.If it were OVER 50 people, then something would have to actually be jumping OVER those 50 people while saying "I love you show, Pandora!"And if it were LESS than 6 people who showed up to my show than those people who showed up -- would be lesser in quality in some way -- perhaps they would be six people who were 2/3rds as tall as a group of 'regularly heighted' people. Or maybe they were Burger King-eating, La Leche League members... (oh, my prejudices do come out when my ire is raised over language!).I don't have much else to say about this. It's been coming up a lot so I figured I'd say something about it. Go ahead, keep saying over and less, I'll keep saying more than and fewer. I'm sure we'll all get along no matter what, in the end.:-) Love,Pandora

if i start this poem
with no idea what it will say
if i keep writing with no theme in mind
with no message of any kind
with nothing but the compulsion to write
to type
something that may, eventually, mean something
to me
to you
to maybe every-you
could that be enough?
 
if i start this poem
with no goal in sight
with nothing but the sunlight
to illuminate the page
and the ink that flows out of the tip
and stain the paper
as I sip tea and ponder wonder think
should i drink water instead?
could that be enough?
 
if i continue writing this poem
into its third stanza
still unclear as to its meaning
but aware that i am moving forward
into the unknown
quietly, but intently
because i know that i am now somewhere i wasn’t when i was at the start
and my heart is warming up…
could that be enough?
 
and what if this is a warm-up poem?
what if this is the process i go through to prepare for the “real” poems
the ones with themes and metaphors and similes and jokes [...]

SO...SOMEONE really pissed me off today. And this person - had he been in my grill, would have inspired such contempt in me that I believeI believe, mind youthat I would have spit in his face.How 19th Century, right? At least that's how it seems to me. When the greatest insult a woman could exact upon a man would be to spit in his face. And then I started thinking, "Why is spitting in someone's face such an insult?" Or spitting on someone's grave or "spitting on the memory of your grandmother!" I mean, ok, it's messy. And the mouth is, actually, the most bacteria infested part of the body (I just wrote that - is it true? I'm too pissed off to even look it up right now) -- so, in essence, spitting on someone's face is the grimiest thing one could do besides pooping and smearing the feces on the person's face - which requires a gigantic amount of pre-planning and then quick access -- and I dunno -- by then the window of opportunity for comeback has passed...What bothers me about this insulting [...]

She went searching for her selfIn all the corners of her lifeAnd she didn't know it was hiddenUnder the bookshelf with no light.So it sat there growing moldAnd it festered and it bruisedAnd it waited for her to wake upAnd stop being so confused.But dizzy is as dizzy doesAnd girlie girl couldn't know what she couldn't knowSo the story of her life wasAbsent of her ego.She walked through hallways and down sidewalksLike any other sister or brotherBut she was unlike any otherBut she couldn't even botherTo notice her sheen in the screen'Cause she absofuckinglutely knewShe wasUnseen.And ghosts don't have livesAnd shadows don't breatheSo why would she need air?There was no one to believeIn.Out.In.Out.In.Out she came one day from underneath her bookshelfShe had scrapes and broken bones and bloody gashes on herselfBut she pulled her body down the hallPassed the soon-to-be past at a crawlShe worked her way to the doorAnd she whispered under her breath "no more."She reached up for the door knobShe [...]

I just started reconciling with a friend.  We had a major falling out that, not surprisingly, I thought was his fault and he thought was mine.  It turns out, again not surprisingly, that it was both of our faults. If I forget the path we've shared To get here Would you remind me Would you turn me around and show me the organic kale trail That we've left behind us as we walked together Together To this point Because, I forget And then I get I get Angry and I forget That we climbed over mountains together And that you helped me over that ravine And we balanced each other over the rocks through the river And I'll do the same for you Turn you around to see the trail of carrot tops We've left behind us on our way to the top of this Precipice that, at first and second and third and fifth glance Looks so precarious But is actually just another challenge For us And I don't blame you for leading us here And please don't blame me for leading us here We left the map at home Well, not actually [...]