Mr. Weber Launches ePoem!

In an effort to create a legitimate venue for his rather sizeable poetic prowess, while simultaneously managing to avoid annoying all of the folks who would rather not be bothered with rhyme, meter, assonance, etc. (including you non-native anglophones) I bring you epoem, a seperate identity from Home Brew where you may click to read arcane, non-sensical, gibberish that I have devoted hours of my life to writing.

Click to enjoy the wonderous new land of ePoem!

Incidentally, note that there is a permanent link on the sidebar.

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Among the perils of running a household of one: my nemesis the refrigerator.

Actually optimism and thrift may be my elements of hubris in this case. Two nights ago was the second time in the past few months I have woken up puking. Ok, so maybe the slightly slimy tomato at the bottom of the fridge wasn't so good after all. Or maybe it was the yellow pepper… it’s hard to tell when so much of your food stays around so long.

Since I was young I have had an aversion to retching which borders on the neurotic. By the time I was ten I had trained my stomach against this upchucking so well that for ten years I never barfed. This herculean record ended my sophomore year with an unfortunate encounter with some summer sausage. Those of you who have tried this abomination of preservatives may take pity on me. But what really is the problem with puking? Surely not the actual, involuntary vomiting, for once that is over we all feel much better. Indeed, many times it seems to be nature's way of helping us expel harmful digestants. Perhaps it is the undeniable realization that we are retching. That, no matter how much we would like to be dualists, Aristotle was right: we are body and mind together.

Sometimes we are just wretched people retching.

And that is a truly humbling experience.

Triptych

Paramecium, dull and void
With swift flagellates on your side
Your carbon pressed and aged in stone
Helps to get me to my home.

Igneous time spilling forth:
Slow-metered increments of worth
Metamorphisize with age
In a fortnight are a wage.

Eyes expand to take in light
Contradicting evening’s right
Yet cannon change their shape to stem
Their natural myopia.


This poem has numerous problems, including the misuse of words and the use of so-called "non-words."

I still like it.

And let's face it: Assonance - it's the new rhyme.

The Votes Are In!

We've polled all the major contributors to the site and asked him what he thought of the books he read this year. Responses were varied and anemic and they come to you free of charge, in no particular order:

The Name of the Rose - Poirot meets the "Dumb Ox," they chat of Virtue Ethics and murder most foul.

Shogun - So what if the British were not as nautically naughty as the Dutch during the 17th Century? Let's face it; carving people up with swords is still awesome.

The Sound and the Fury - I discerned this medium obfuscating in the extreme, obstreperous in the manner of its dissertation, devoid of the lucidity prevalent in commensurate literature, and downright Awesome!!!! Who-hoo-hoo, go team. It took roughly no longer than approximately twenty-five fortnights and numerous secondary readings for the aforementioned reader to consummate this behemoth.

The Road Less Traveled - Something about psychology or some such nonsense about how to like, live a better life. I totally don't need this, like, I'm so hot already.

The Boglehead's Guide to Investing - Remember learning to sew, cook, and take care of a boiled egg whose yolky persona will not be too unlike that of your first born son? If only we had gotten more of these practical life lessons in high school. Perhaps we could have a day where everyone dresses like a bum to simulate retirement on future pensions and social security.