Wi-Fi, the Barbican, and Part I

OK, time for an update.

Wi-Fi:
Until today, we had no Wi-Fi. Now we do. I can blog more, and edit more. Yay!

The Barbican:
If you were at the Barbican Theatre on Wednesday 23 October, you may have a bunch of costumed kids humming creeplily, and talking creepily. I may have had something to do with that... no hard feelings, right?

Part I:
For four months, I have been editing Part I. It's been fun, but do I really want to keep reading that stuff? No. I've read it a dozen times or so. I've rewritten it almost from scratch. Time to move on. Of course, I will do a spellcheck, but until then, on to Part II.

So that's me. Poetry book is kind of progressing. If you have ideas, leave them in the comments below. I have to moderate and approve every single comment according to Google, so I'll see every suggestion.

You lot must hate me

Yes, here it is, another bloomin' poem. This WILL be the last. More on that later. Here is a poem:

Questions For Monsters:

What lives in shadow?
What hides at night?
What creeps in darkness?
Out of sight.

Why live there?
Why hide there?
Why creep there?
Please tell me why.

Then why come out?
To haunt and taunt,
To freak and scare,
Why be a nightmare?

Like it? Well, there's more. There's an ode to expletives, and a few other things. You won't see any of those for ages. Why? I'm horrible. Correction. I like to scrape a living off you guys.

I'm going to do a thus-far unnamed book of odd poems. There should be around 20 or so. I won't charge too much. Twenty of my poems, maybe £2.50, £2.00 if I'm kind. All poems already on the blog will be there, just by the way.

In other news, I'm closing on the end of Part I in Welcome to DROL editing.

A Poem of Sorts

I am many things. I can (just about) sing, i can (just about) act, I can (just barely) play a keyboard one-handed. I can (just about) do a lot of things. I can (apparently) write poetry. This is the topic of this post.

This morning, I wrote a poem. I made it up as I went along. It was strange, progressing from merest innocence, to a morbid end. It was quite the feeling, as the tables were turning. Here is how it went:

Just standing, standing,
Standing by the door,
Standing, Standing,
Is it worth it anymore?

I'm walking, walking,
Don't know where,
Walking, Walking,
Don't even care.

Then running, running,
Here they come again,
Running, Running,
Don't trip.

Suddenly jumping, jumping,
Here's hoping,
Jumping, Jumping,
Don't land head-first.

Now dying, dying,
Where'd I go wrong?
Dying, Dying,
'Doncha just love crash landings?

To defend my sanity, I will now announce that in Welcome to DROL, no main goodies die. Some other characters die, a lot of baddies die, but none of the goodies. That's in Book Two...