boutell: (shave)
Remember blogathon? Remember when I went completely batshit and wrote 48 sonnets in 24 hours? Ah, those were crazy days. And [livejournal.com profile] glaucon is getting ready to raise the bar.

Specifically, [livejournal.com profile] glaucon is walking 27.6 miles in 24 hours, starting late this afternoon Seattle time, to raise funds for a young adult homeless shelter:

http://hemerodromia.blogspot.com/

A worthy cause, a fun concept, and he'll be posting updates from the trail along the way.
However, at this point in his training Chris doesn't need 24 hours to walk 27.6 miles (the total distance of the Burke-Gilman trail) anymore. So he has also planned his walk so that he winds up at the Fremont Solstice Parade just when it is getting into full swing, and will spend an extended sojourn liveblogging that extremely fun event before continuing his trek.

You can donate via his blog.

Just thought I'd pass the word to any who have missed it!
boutell: (Default)
There will be no blogathon in '08. Oh well... it was fun both years I did it, but I respect their need to take a break as much as I appreciate their willingness to acknowledge that need and not run a halfassed Blogathon!

(For those who have been reading my livejournal for five minutes and/or through a Swedish Chef proxy, Blogathon is an annual charity event. Participants blog every half hour for 24 hours to raise funds for a variety of causes.)
boutell: (Default)
I wrote this one with Star in mind back in the summer. From hour five of "48 Sonnets in 24 Hours."

Yes, I fixed it up a little. Eleven syllables? Twelve?!? For blogathon maybe, but come on!


* * *

Mere bluster's not enough to fill your days.
The mirror's not enough to entertain.
So let me introduce you to her ways.
A meeting I'd be happy to arrange.

The elegance to spark a heated sigh,
The power and integrity to shout:
A generous woman, expertly supplied
With humor and the grace to share it out.

She paints the town in red, the air in blue.
She moves, and wise men drop their pens and run.
She knows their names, and all of them are true.
For her sake, even dead men brave the sun.

The boys are shallow, clinging to her cuffs.
A man would find the courage soon enough.
boutell: (Default)
Sacred cats and profane kittens! I've been nominated for a Blogathon Award in the fiction category!

There's no Shakespearean sonnet sub-sub-category. Or sonnet sub-category. Or poetry category. So that makes sense.

I was completely unaware of the awards until I spotted a post on [livejournal.com profile] shadesong's blog about it. She was also nominated, of course, because she rules.

It's a little confusing, but apparently the final winners will be chosen soon by the blogathon staff.

Anyone who was - very sensibly - hiding under a rock during Blogathon can find my Saturday sonnets here, and my Sunday sonnets here.
boutell: (Default)
Blogathonner musicalily brings us Pride and Prejudice... with dolls and light sabers. No, she didn't quite finish the whole book in time, but she did stay up the full 24 hours and post every half hour, and she posted the remainder of the... dollphotonovel... before the end of Sunday. And most importantly, it's hilarious. Way, way impressive.

Unfortunately I can't figure out how to read her earlier posts. The "archive" links don't seem to work, and there's no "previous posts" as there would be on an LJ. Am I just too st00pid? Any help?
boutell: (Default)
One more thing before they yank my ass off the Oscar stage:

[livejournal.com profile] shadesong! No one outside of my living room kept me better company. And due to a complete and total lack of time, there was only room for me to keep up with one other blog during the event. I'm glad I chose to keep up with hers.
boutell: (Default)
[Rises from five-hour post-blogathon nap]

One important detail I missed earlier in incoherence: thanks to everyone who read the darn things! Especially those who commented in the wee hours.
boutell: (Default)
I wrote 48 sonnets in 24 hours! And lived to tell about it!

I raised $1,010 for Doctors Without Borders, including one as-yet-unverified donation that I'm confident will be. Which is close to double what I had yesterday. Wow.

A huge thank you to all of my sponsors. I would thank you all by name, but I'm not sure everyone who allowed their name to be known by me meant it to be public knowledge. Now, please remember that so far, you've made a promise. You'll receive follow-up emails explaining how to make your actual donation. Be sure to do that!

Extra-huge thanks in a double thanks bag to Mark, Toad, [livejournal.com profile] shellefly and Ella, who showed up and kept me company until three-thirty AM. And quintuple five-dimensional thanks to Mark for bringing, among other things, a dictionary of cultural symbols. Holy shit, so very awesome. You can bet that paid off in the painful hours of the morning.

Yes, you can still pledge. Pledges will remain open for at least 48 hours. Sponsor me in Blogathon 2006!

I started writing at 8:30am Saturday in order to post my first sonnet at 9am, the official beginning of Blogathon. So I finished my final sonnet at 8:30am this morning. However, to give you something fun to read now, I'm attaching the "boneyard."

The boneyard is an outtake reel of lines that didn't make the cut. Some of them are rather entertaining. Particularly the partially completed ode to Marzipan. Mmm, cool tapes.

And now I must sleep. If I can! Thanks again for all the lovely madness, and read back in my journal to catch all 48 sonnets. There's good stuff in there.

Sextuple love in a hyperdimensional squeezebox,

[livejournal.com profile] boutell

The boneyard. )
boutell: (Default)
Jet contrails ride in grayish blue.
A small boy flies a giant azure kite.
A flock of birds erupts, apart from two,
And in the power lines they all alight.

The roller coaster stands a mile back,
An only child beside a naked tree.
The deer is small, and waiting for a snack.
And that giraffe's too short to reach a leaf.

A sawhorse lion, alone in orange plain.
A pair of tiny whales adrift in green.
The birds explode and fly against the grain.
Smokestacks softly fill a winter scene.

We gaze into them, and our hearts contract.
These canvases are pregnant with the facts.

* * *


That's the last one, folks - I posted the first sonnet at 9am yesterday. Thanks for reading and pledging! I'll post a wrapup at 9am.

I wrote 48 sonnets in 24 hours! Sponsor me in Blogathon 2006!


Your sponsorship is a pledge to donate funds directly to Doctors Without Borders (informational link, please use the sponsorship link above to pledge your support during Blogathon).

boutell: (Default)
A Dublin hostel's where I met Diane.
We bought a pint, the pub across the way,
And we discovered we'd laid similar plans.
We hopped a train to Rosslare the next day.

We were young, and we were side by side,
And well-prepared in traveling student style.
But Ireland ran on coal, and so did I.
There wasn't enough kleenex in the isles.

I'm sorry, lass. It really was a pleasure.
It might have been a sweeter thrill as well.
I would have liked to take your closer measure.
And I was unfit company. Bloody hell.

But then, the young are cheerful and resilient.
My next stop was Brugge, and that was brilliant.
boutell: (Default)
She suggested teachers. Doctors. Witches.
Of course, a princess knows her final fate.
It's part of the tradition, when she switches.
I've learned to fix tiaras with scotch tape.

This neighborhood held unfamiliar goblins.
The old one featured ghosts, and those seemed safe.
We walked the streets with butterflies and robins.
Next year we'll walk with all the Gringott's waifs.

We haul the loot home in a felted sack.
Her arms protest, and I take on the task.
I'm secretly amused by ghost attacks.
But this is Halloween. I wear the mask.

We sort and toss the gelatin and wax.
But first, I charge my girl paternal tax.

* * *
I'm writing 48 sonnets in 24 hours!
Sponsor me in Blogathon 2006!


Your sponsorship is a pledge to donate funds directly to Doctors Without Borders (informational link, please use the sponsorship link above to pledge your support during Blogathon).

boutell: (Default)
I'd always thought I kept the faith the best.
I built it last, and then I dug it deep.
I placed my trust in parents, like the rest.
That's not the only place I make the leap.

Surprises burn, when trust is hard to hold.
We contemplate a tragic loss of faith.
A bitter plunge into the lunar cold,
The very first betrayal or the eighth.

It's hardest when the fault is in ourselves.
The guilty one perceives it differently.
We give ourselves a perfect bill of health.
We're victims of a private fantasy.

At every stage, we do what must be done.
Yet we draw blood, as much as anyone.

* * *
I'm writing 48 sonnets in 24 hours!
Sponsor me in Blogathon 2006!


Your sponsorship is a pledge to donate funds directly to Doctors Without Borders (informational link, please use the sponsorship link above to pledge your support during Blogathon).

boutell: (Default)
The mighty hunter Nimrod in Rehoboth!
A city of his long-forgotten kingdom.
The bottle game becomes his anger's locus.
He doesn't know the trick, and cannot ring them.

Assyria's leader humbled by a carnie?
He didn't take the modest lesson kindly.
He wandered drunk into a boating party,
And battered his bewildered subjects blindly.

At first the townsfolk thought he was a joke.
He threatened to discard each mother's son.
And in the end, they took him off by boat.
The tourists don't like death. Does anyone?

No, every child must must escape the man.
Your money's welcome. So is Abraham's.

* * *
I'm writing 48 sonnets in 24 hours!
Sponsor me in Blogathon 2006!


Your sponsorship is a pledge to donate funds directly to Doctors Without Borders (informational link, please use the sponsorship link above to pledge your support during Blogathon).

boutell: (Default)
Petrov heard the sirens scream away.
His satellites informed him of the end.
Five flashes in Montana, plain as day.
The minutemen were certain to descend.

He heard the sirens, knew the birds would fall.
He knew the code of conduct. Time to fly.
He stalled the brass and made a private call.
It's all or nothing. No one launches five.

We recognize him, now the war is won.
The UN celebrates his wise intentions.
But not the rocket forces. He was done.
He's living on a microscopic pension.

The rap was plain: no judgment calls allowed.
The missiles? Those were sunlight in the clouds.

* * *
I'm writing 48 sonnets in 24 hours!
Sponsor me in Blogathon 2006!


Your sponsorship is a pledge to donate funds directly to Doctors Without Borders (informational link, please use the sponsorship link above to pledge your support during Blogathon).

boutell: (Default)
Civil twilight's coming, thank the witch.
The military keeps a separate score.
To cross the Delaware, it must be pitch.
A hopeful glow is what I'm pulling for.

There is an ancient feeling to these hours,
A sense of wisdom shattered when we sleep.
Despite unsteady movements, I'm empowered,
And I refill the lantern that I keep.

The joyless cant, the grim pursuit of prizes,
The bitterness that lingers in the bones -
Not so important, as the orange rises.
It's easier to let the thing alone.

As you awake, my anger has moved on.
Forgiveness is so easy at the dawn.

* * *
I'm writing 48 sonnets in 24 hours!
Sponsor me in Blogathon 2006!


Your sponsorship is a pledge to donate funds directly to Doctors Without Borders (informational link, please use the sponsorship link above to pledge your support during Blogathon).

boutell: (Default)
The figurines that guard the tomb were broken.
Two thousand years of patience, come undone.
The curator was drunk. The guards were smoking.
And Ying Zheng walked into the August sun.

He saw the cars and heard the sirens' keening.
He saw the city's sprawl, and was unquiet.
He saw the rocket launch, and read its meaning.
The time had come, and no one could deny it.

The Emperor gave Beijing quite a fright,
And everyone suspected Western powers.
But all he wanted was a one-way flight.
And that request was met within the hour.

And now he shines at dusk, the sun brought low.
They launched him into heaven on the Shenzhou.

* * *
I'm writing 48 sonnets in 24 hours!
Sponsor me in Blogathon 2006!


Your sponsorship is a pledge to donate funds directly to Doctors Without Borders (informational link, please use the sponsorship link above to pledge your support during Blogathon).

boutell: (Default)
The thing I'm thinking possibly you missed:
I never cared that you were not yourself.
I wasn't looking for a sober bliss.
I had in mind a different kind of wealth.

The joy we shared, the thrill that came to call,
Was mostly in the hands and what's connected.
And after what I'd been through, that was all.
I only wanted to be reelected.

You ducked your head, and quickly split the check,
And then the waiter doused the votive light.
I built a tree fort out of all the wreckage.
I sometimes linger there. I like the height.

So some things weren't quite what they appeared?
I only asked for what was crystal clear.


* * *
I'm writing 48 sonnets in 24 hours!
Sponsor me in Blogathon 2006!


Your sponsorship is a pledge to donate funds directly to Doctors Without Borders (informational link, please use the sponsorship link above to pledge your support during Blogathon).

boutell: (Default)
So what's in a percentage, anyway?
Would we share any common social loci?
Or Snake 'n' Bacon's cartoon cabaret?
And would you draw the line at karaoke?

Would you go salsa dancing? Would you like it?
Can I wear loafers worn to comfy tatters?
Will you still come if I decide to bike it?
And come to that, does any of it matter?

Let's take a risk. A calculated gamble.
Let's walk the city's streets without a plan.
An open, unpremeditated amble.
If that's the sort of thing you understand.

Dear Jane, your many charms are evident,
And we are soulmates... eighty-six percent.

* * *
I'm writing 48 sonnets in 24 hours!
Sponsor me in Blogathon 2006!


Your sponsorship is a pledge to donate funds directly to Doctors Without Borders (informational link, please use the sponsorship link above to pledge your support during Blogathon).

boutell: (Default)
You want to court a lusty pirate lass?
My love, she'll gladly go to sea with you.
But she's become accustomed to the lash.
It wouldn't hurt to learn a knot or two.

You can't accuse the girl of being cruel.
She simply hasn't found the proper phrase.
How do you beg your lover for misrule?
Your sweet remarks will serve for all her days.

But all her nights are quite another matter,
For those require a master of escape.
And some of those escapes involve a ladder.
So don't be gentle. Please, stop offering grapes.

Your gentle words convey she's safe and sound.
But in that safety, danger must be found.

* * *
I'm writing 48 sonnets in 24 hours!
Sponsor me in Blogathon 2006!


Your sponsorship is a pledge to donate funds directly to Doctors Without Borders (informational link, please use the sponsorship link above to pledge your support during Blogathon).

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