LEGO Brand Retail
Mar 302008

What is it with me and getting Star Trek stuff in the mail? Or is it just anything via mail order these days?

I just received my copy of Brent Spiners new CD Dreamland. Well actually I just received my second copy of this disc. My first one came to me a bit mangled and the plastic part that holds the CD was broken and the disk was scratched.

Since I paid extra to get a signed copy and being the big ole Star Trek collecting geek that I am I had to get another one since the first one was no where near mint.

I have not had time to listen to the CD yet. I am too busy listening to the Philip Pullman books in the His Dark Materials series. Already finished The Golden Compass and I am about half way through the second in the series, The Subtle Knife. Once I complete these I will through Brent Spiner’s Dreamland into the MP3 player and give her a listen. I have a feeling I will like it as I liked what I heard before I bought it.

While I am on the topic of Brent Spiner, I have been hearing rumors and questions from people wondering if he is gay. Quite honestly I would have to say no. The ole gaydar has been ringing for years with him but I think it is a false positive. Hey people seem to think Wil Wheaton is gay too, but he is married, I think. I never got that from him either. Most likely people are just reading their geekiness as homosexuality, but I could be wrong all around. Wouldn’t be the first time you know. As far as I know the only out gay member of any star trek cast is George Takei. Again, this does not mean there aren’t others.

Mar 292008

I lost my shit tonight

On the floor in the middle of the

Pleasantville Inn

I woke up in the hands of strangers

Worried and concerned

And they didn’t even know me.

Compassion transcends this awkward

Situation, I guess.

Me, regaining consciousness,

Cracking jokes flat on my back

Amber, terrified, whiter than

A bottle of elmer’s glue,

Standing to the side trying not

To see.

The message was clear:

My battalion of patient guardian

Angels gave me a taste

Of the end of the road

I’ve been traveling on,

While I still have time to

Turn around and choose again.

posted march 17,2008 on her myspace page only days before she died

Mar 292008

By any other name,

I’d still be a writer

It’s in my heart, my blood, my fingers

Nouns and adjectives, metaphors

And similes pound through my veins.

The way some kids get math,

I get writing

The way some cats can pick up a guitar

And just know what to do,

I can wield a pen and do

Some fabulous damage.

It’s an extension of my being,

An outlet for my soul

Hell, I was writing on the walls

Of the womb.

Bedtime stories

And a love of words

Calvin and Hobbes at an early age

Fostered a talent I have been quick

To acknowledge, but slow to embrace

And it occurred to me the other

Day, the randomest of days,

That squandering this gift,

Not utilizing the talent

To its full blossom

Would be like spitting in the face

of a generous friend.

posted march 18,2008 on her myspace page only days before she died

Mar 292008

You never learn to be a good person

You either are or you aren’t

Always born with an old soul,

Recycled and wise,

Able to detect the same in others,

We are a rare breed

Prone to mental, emotional strife

Prone to feeling too deeply,

Drowning in it

You can’t let it overwhelm you,

This gift

It’s meant to be internalized

then passed right on.

It’s a gift meant to be recycled,

A knowledge not to be kept

From the timid minds of the masses

It’s a burden and a blessing

To see visions in the sun,

All the while burning retinas.

posted march 18,2008 on her myspace page only days before she died

Mar 292008

In the thick of it,

It’s too dense to make

Out the mistakes before

You commit to them

But there’s always an out,

A loophole you can slip

Through when shit

Gets rough.

In the thick of it,

The blur that is It happening

Can be indistinguishable

From the general static and

Hum of the world.

Travel lightly, and step the same

Give respect, and no one suspects

That under your cloak

There’s a fiercely passionate soul

Planning its attack

Planning to usurp the regime,

To upset the status quo

And make things right in the world.

posted march 18,2008 on her myspace page only days before she died

Mar 292008

My father and i

are close at arm’s length

He tells me I embarrass him

Because I wobbled off the

Straight and narrow,

Refused to bleat with the

Rest of the white sheep,

And became black.

My mother and I have

Always been too close

Too close encouraging a bond

That if broken, could kill

She cleaned my bloody wrists

When I tried to let go of life

The first time

The second time made her weary

And it made the nurses cry.

My brother and i

Share a creatively tortured soul

Self-deprecating and wise

But we’ve never been close;

 I don’t think he would

Offer a kidney

Or a loan

Or a hand to hold

If I needed it.

posted march 17,2008 on her myspace page only days before she died

Mar 292008

This rabbit beating heart

pupils so dilated they absorb

the world around them

so accurately, so acutely

so much it hurts.

My heart is so swollen

with a passionate taste

For love

A thirst for companionship

and lust

and sex

and philosophical, spiritual, emotional


This rabbit beating heart

is strong like hawaiian waves

comes in swells and crashes

Comes hard like a lioness

challenging her prey

Comes hard like the climax

to sex with someone who

understands your soul.

 posted march 6, 2008 on her myspace page

Mar 292008

 “May love always find you

on your feet

and when you walk alone

may I always be a pesky

moth batting around in the

cage of your skull

hurling myself at your light.”

 posted may 29, 2007 on her myspace page

Mar 292008

This is not what my mother

had dreamed for me

9 to 5 in retail

still living at home

my fiance in jail

but i’m happy

and i think i’m


in fact i know i am

i am my mother’s


as big dutch once drew

a tattoo for mom

“mother’s worry;”

what i am.

posted may 10, 2007 on her myspace page

Mar 292008

He spins poetry

short fiction

like a DJ spinning mixes

Sampling from his memory

single-note bassline

looped in a continuous drone like

a recurring theme

In every cracked-spine novel

tattered beat poem

is a new blood drum thumping

fingers clicking the alphabet keys

deftly scratching

the worn-out 33

Spinning lyrical melodies

in run-ons

and fragments

Choosing words from his stock

like songs from old LPs

Drum splice

transformed into meter, beat

The bass kicks in

a pulsing undertone

of emotional sequence

The DJ, making people move

rhthym thumping heartbeat

The writer, moving people

character plot narration

Take a well-known harmony

lay down a new setting


this is creative writing

DJ, spin it

Writer, scribble.

 posted april 23, 2007 on her myspace page

Mar 262008
More Star Trek Handheld Games

After coming across the Coleco Star Trek game on the Handheld Games Museum I decided to poke around and see what other Star Trek games they had listed and which ones I did not know about. Here is what I found…          Milton Bradley Microvison Star Trek Phaser Strike Collins Wrath of Khan […]