idegosuperhero: Mm... I sort of wish I had found you tied naked to a bed...
Tish 2 Angel: Of course you do.
idegosuperhero: Oh fine make it seem like you wouldn't like to be tied to a bed by me.

Things get interesting.

Aside from that, I need to tell you about my fun times in Boston. Don't let me forget.

Oh and just in case you need to tell em something quick or summon me somewhere. My mobilephone-mail address is:

          2072292274@mobile.att.net

Do NOT abuse this, folks.

idegosuperhero: Heheh.
Auto response from Tish 2 Angel: Ian. Shut up.
idegosuperhero: Jerk.

The heater broke and boiled my fish to death. The tank water was as hot as bath water. Thus the fish sort of flipped over and did the floaty thing.

Now I'm all tired of fish and thinking about getting a gecko. Which would interfere with my purchase of a laptop (Hopefully iBook, possibly DellBook) for my writing and my playing of classic Aliens vs. Predator.

I have an unnatural fondness for that game. Possibly because it's so fun. Sooo fun.

And it's official I'm not going to college until Spring if I can get in to any then. That might be why I want to drown myself in material wealth. Oh well, time to go browse catalogs for digital cameras...

Stonecoast was my summer, nothing has or will be better. I don't like talkinga bout it that much though. It's too hard to describe and I don't want to sound pretentious.

Also:

OUR TOWN by Thornton Wilder. Directed by Nathan Milkins, produced by Mary Stair. Performances @ Sanford Maine Stage Company tonight, tomorrow and Saturday at 8:00pm tickets are 12 dollars each, make reservations now as Friday and Saturday are heavily booked.

Come see me act as exiting as that sounds.

I must go tend to my fish, two of them (the big cichlids) have died mysteriously but with no apparent bite marks or signs of trauma.

A murder mystery is afoot.

So, I should explain Stonecoast to you. Or at least why I'm a might bit nervous, though it's not that warranted. The writing conference is a nation-wide conference, out of all the applications for the five different classes (Poetry, Short Fiction, Popular Non-Fiction etc.) fifteen writers for each category are chosen to attend. I'm the third teenager ever to be accepted into the conference in it's twenty-five year run. Most of the writers there are either going to publish soon, or have all ready published and the age group usually goes from 25-70 years old.

I'm going for Poetry, which means I'll be studying under Stephen Dunn and Dennis Nurske. Now for those of you who don't know me all that well, Stepehen Dunn is one of my favorite poets of all time, right up there with Shakespeare and Allen Ginsberg and the rest of them. He's won a slew of awards for his poetry, and he's fucking brilliant. Dennis Nurske is the same. I haven't read anything of him yet, I feel I should though because he's going to be fucking teaching me. I mean, these are all going to be poets and well I still have a weblog... you see my intimidation? I feel like I'm mimicking them.

I didn't say this wasn't going to be fun though. It will be amazingly fun to go and try to get in with this crowd and well if I feel brave enough, actually get photographed with Stephen Dunn.

I mean this man's gonna talk to me and actually workshop my poetry. Stephen Dunn. I mean I know he's still an ordinary man but he's a more than ordinary poet. Chance of a lifetime here.

So I'll be gone a lot. You want to talk to me leave me a message by cellular phone or e-mail me ( iancarlsen@hotmail.com ). I'll try to get back to you but since I've managed to wring three college credits out of this thing I'm going to be writing plenty of essays as well as new poetry. I have Wednesday off though so that's all good for my rest.

It all starts tomorrow. I need a kiss, or something lucky to take with me. Or Somone to wish me luck or something.

Justin Levesque asks:

1.Would you sleep with me? Ever? Maybe just once? Yes. I would... I have to admit it but if I was drunk enough, or just a bit too sober and lonesome, yes.

2. If you could be the most famous writer in the world but lose your hearing and eyesight, would you do it? Nope. I'd be plenty happy being number 22 and having all my senses intact. I could not and could never stand not being able to see or hear the things I love.

3. When was the last time you slept with a stuffed animal? Give bg info. My iguana, Joe Juanna, had died so I slept with Buttercup, a stuffed T-Rex that I've had since infancy. That was when I was around eleven years old. I haven't really cried over deaths that much since... even both my grandfathers... I'm not one for big outbursts of emotion. Surprisingly.

4. What's the sexiest thing you've ever said/done to/for a girl? Aww shit. I know it's been with Tricia though. I've got a couple things I can remember: 1) First time we met, we had talked for a while and there was this palatable air around us of sexual tension, so I finally just apologised beforehand in a quasi-romantic way and kissed her... we just layed there kissing for what seemed like hours. 2) Saying this:

Tricia: What do you want to drink?
Me: (mouthing this quietly) You.

There are a bunch of others. I'll remember them suddenly later. I always do. Oh yeah... sex... for eight hours straight. But that was logn before I met Tricia. I don't talk about that too much.

5. Define love. I could cheat and say Tricia, because she is love right now, (hopefully longer) but I'll go by the best sense of the feeling so far. Love being something conscious and touchable between two people that can very easily be what seems to be complete opposites. Love is having an argument and being able to collapse any anger or frustration with a simple brush of an elbow. Love is never getting tired of somone's eyes. Love is lips touching. Love is a hunger your skin feels when it's neglected of their touch. Love is lonelyness. Love is sitting on a chair together and just simply talking while your hands rub together in interesting ways. Love is finding spots one another that you fit perfectly into. Love my lips running down her neck, lightly and the way her body tightens and moves, quietly. Love is surprising to me, I'm never ready for it. But I love it... it's the reason I live.

Jessica Robinson asks:

1. What was the randomest act you've ever done? Details please... Me? Probably spasm, or visit somone's house to see if thier home. I don't do anything all that random and I don't really like doing things for thier sheer randomness. I'm fucked up and confusing enough. I don't need to get more fucked up or confusing to be interesting.

2. Which do you feel is more important : Friends or Family? If I was Italian, Greek, Irish, or just had a really really really big family? Family. But for now friends, I like the independence and variety they impose upon my life.

3. What would LOVE be if it was an acronym? (don't use the Nat King Cole song either!) Love could never be an acronym. I hate to just shut it out and not try but anything I think of just wouldn't be good.

4. If you could invent the perfect ice cream flavor, what would it be? Something involving a lot of big dark chocolate chunks and either mint or a specific berry flavor.

5. What was your least favorite acting role and for what reasons? Linus in You're A Good Man, Charlie Brown. I was a Freshman. I squeaked out my songs. I barely learned my lines. I had no clue how to dance. I was full of myself. It's really hard to make an entrance and dance routine when your girlfriend was halfway through giving you a handjob and your cue came up. That's why I don't like remembering it. I went about it completely recklessly and had no real intentions of ever doing a good job. I was in it for the breasts. Not saying that I'm not exaclty in it for the breasts now but... I'm in it for the acting, mostly.

Matt Joyce asks:

1. Why do you write poetry? There is no real reason why I write poetry, per se. I don't know why I'm building a house right now for myself or starting a buisness or even fixing that annoying whine the sink makes. I guess I write poetry because in some strange form I feel compelled to and no one has ever really really told me to stop. It's excercising demons I guess, and learning to aprpeciate the texture and moods of things. I do it, I'm sort of good at it, so I continue. 1b. Have you ever written poetry for the classic, stereotypical reason of "The chicks"? Yes. All my poems from way back when were direct expressions of my "broken and rusted, inner angels" which was my broody way of picking up chicks. It doesn't stop I've got a whole other sort of book, I guess, of love poems going. Girls inspire me especially if I'm in love with them so I write little poems filled with these wonderful inside jokes and such. It varies a lot from girl to girl, some people inspire me greatly and others don't. But I do have to admit, I love inspiration, there's nothing sexier to me than somone being a muse. Well... possibly... but a muse is a top contender.

2. What made you want to become a writer? Talent. It's why I wouldn't mind being an actor either. If I was good at building the aforementioned houses, then I'd want to become a house builder.

3. Would you ever be naked on stage and like it? Yes. Yes, I would. As long as it was either very sexually done or very humorously done.

4. Canteloupe? Yes, please. Thank you. 4b. Canteloupe scooper? No thanks, I've eaten one with only a knife before, I can do with this spoon here.

5. Would you write me a poem? A true, dear-to-you poem? Hell yes. Just let me think of a good reason for writing it... or to better phrase that a good idea for a poem and I'd roll with it... though it'd probably sound up like Beat-era type writing, but there isn't anythign nessecarily wrong with that now is there?

Paul Bergeron asks:

1. If there was a big store, a really big one, and it had everything, and anything, and a walk in get one item free deal, what would you get, and why? Sex. No, just kidding. A good house, north of London with heating, etc. Because I need one, and I'd always like to have a house to fall back on.

2. If you were a superhero/villian, what would your powers be, and what crimes would you devote your life to solving or what would your evil domination plan be? For the superhero approach I think I'd have to borrow something along the lines of Tolkien's Tom Bombadil, and have nearly godlike powers and control in a very limited area, say two city blocks or a rural town and I'd strive to make that place as close to my image of perfection as I could. For a villain? I'd be an egomanical sexual vampire of sorts and just try to make all the worlds women obsessed with me. Yeah, it's got something to do with a small insecurity complex. Hey, if I were a villain I woudn't want money, I'd want something better for the ego.

3. Out of all the thousands of annoyances in the world, if you could pick one thing that annoy's the hell out of you and get rid of it, what would it be? Insecurity. Nothing bothers the fuck out of me more than insecurity. I do belive it's one of the few roots, of all evil. However, I probably wouldn't take it away if I had the choice, I wouldn't want to mess with something that big.

4. Would you kill 10 people to prevent world hunger forever? No. I doubt I could ever kill 10 people and remain mentally stable. I don't want to evoke a big change on the Earth either.

5. You are desinging a website based on your autobiography you plan on writing sometime. What's the theme of the site? CSS? Java? XML? Frames? Flash? Flash, it can do everything. Possibly some PHP scripts in the background for user interaction, etc but all the visual stuff is done in Flash so I can have complete control over all of it. I'd just have to learn Flash first...

Long live Basket Head, king of all who put baskets on their heads.

This might interest you all who like to know more personal stuff about me. And my lovelife...

If you want to get in on it... reply and leave your name and email address if you don't have a livejournal account.

I appreciated it.

idegosuperhero: You know who was full of fucking baloney?
Hells Atmosphere: Ginsberg?
idegosuperhero: Thoreau.
Hells Atmosphere: No no no
Hells Atmosphere: Havent had the golly-gee to read any of him.
Hells Atmosphere: Ive been reading my Burroughs though.
Hells Atmosphere: Ive come to the conclusion that he is the worst published writer in history, with the exception of Bukowski.
idegosuperhero: I've read The Bluebird Carries The Sky on His Back and a bunch of exerpts from Walden. He's got good ideas but got way to "Look at meee! I'm out here in the woods! You're the real barbarians! Look! Only one spoon here!"
idegosuperhero: Burroughs? His mind is just fucked up. Some people are into that. Some people just find it hard to read.
Hells Atmosphere: Its not hard to read.
Hells Atmosphere: Its fucked up, yes.
Hells Atmosphere: But not hard to read.
Hells Atmosphere: Its just crap!
idegosuperhero: I liked it... it kept me far far away from ever considering heroin.
idegosuperhero: They should make it required reading for the DARE program.
Hells Atmosphere: Youd have kids running around in class smearing excrement on the walls.
Hells Atmosphere: That wouldnt be good.
idegosuperhero: Or kids scared the fuck out of heroin making their tounges drip off.
idegosuperhero: Plus there'd be the chance you could throw in some Elementary school sex-ed.
idegosuperhero: They need more of that. I was an ignorant wreck in elementary school when it came to girls.

I love talking with Matt sometimes.

thedakotasuite: k
idegosuperhero: See you around then Justinius.
idegosuperhero: Looking forward to your helping me regain the sexiness.
thedakotasuite: haha you still have it baby
idegosuperhero: Aww... too kind, too kind.

And I love it when I can post obtuse and mysterious messages involving freinds who can do stuff with hair.

idegosuperhero: Some of it's going on my site.
Hells Atmosphere: Go for it.
Hells Atmosphere: The more of me out there, the better!
idegosuperhero: Heheh.
idegosuperhero: I'll see if I can pick you up a chick.
Hells Atmosphere: Go for it.
Hells Atmosphere: One with nice hips.
Hells Atmosphere: Its all about the hips.
idegosuperhero: Mmmm... trust me I know.
idegosuperhero: Curves too...
idegosuperhero: I'll stop because I'm going to piss you off with the direction I'm going in.
Hells Atmosphere: Shut you up. You have no need to talk.
idegosuperhero: My point is proven.
Hells Atmosphere: Piss me off?
Hells Atmosphere: No, continue. I want to see if Ill get pissed or not.
idegosuperhero: What? No. No fair. Now I'm not going to go into the things that I fucking love about Tricia because I feel put on the spot.
idegosuperhero: So there.
Hells Atmosphere: As if you piss me off, Ill make it 30 that you owe me, not 20.
Hells Atmosphere: Dammit! oh well.
Hells Atmosphere: I could have had an extra ten bucks.
Hells Atmosphere: You ruin it all!
Hells Atmosphere: Im going to kill a defenseless cute kitten to show my rage now.
idegosuperhero: Oh that hurts like black diamonds of my bleeding teary blood-eyes.
idegosuperhero: I sort of miss being able to do good crappy angst.
idegosuperhero: But then I read my 9th grade writing and I cry.
Hells Atmosphere: Dont forget to drip that blood into wine glasses
Hells Atmosphere: Oh
Hells Atmosphere: I know what youre talking about.
idegosuperhero: Do you?
Hells Atmosphere: I was the most pretentious, angst-filled crapstastic writer back then.
Hells Atmosphere: Still am.
Hells Atmosphere: Heh.
idegosuperhero: Heheheh. We all are.
Hells Atmosphere: yeah.
Hells Atmosphere: But we know how to hide it these days.
Hells Atmosphere: Thats the key.
idegosuperhero: Exactly.

There, that should be plenty of shit for you to read.

If I were a...
month, I would be: July or Febuary
day of the week, I would be: Tuesday
time of day, I would be: Dusk
planet, I would be: Earth
direction, I would be: East
piece of furniture, I would be: I'd love to be a nice comfortable velvet Chase Lounge, but I'd make a comfortable wooden chair I think.
liquid, I would be: Water
tree, I would be: A very old fig tree.
flower/plant, I would be: A rose, I might like to be a lotus but I'm not enlightened enough for that yet.
kind of weather, I would be: 70's to 80's with scattered clouds and a slight seabreeze for you folks along the coast...
mythical creature, I would be: A Saytr? Ouroborous? I'd like to say an Impundulu* but I'm not naturally malevolent. Or something Incan... but the Incan's didn't have that many mythical creatures...
musical instrument, I would be: Piano
color, I would be: A very clean white, the kind of white you can sort of see colors in if you look at it to hard.
emotion, I would be: Content
vegetable, I would be: Rhubarb
sound, I would be: Piano again.
car, I would be: A Mini Cooper with a tape deck
song, I would be: True Dreams of Wichita by Soul Coughing covers most of my life fairly well in mood and lyric.
book, I would be written by: Jack Kerouac or Douglas Adams
food, I would be: Pasta, made however you want it.
place, I would be: The general Portland area.
material, I would be: Velvet
taste, I would be: Something rich... I hope. Though I imagine I actually taste like venison.
scent, I would be: I could not, could never, tell you.
body part I would be: Hands? Smile?
subject in school I would be: Accl Creative Writing Workshop 1
cartoon character I would be: Sam from Sam and Max: Freelance Police
shape I would be: Circle, bringing it back to that Ouroborous thing.
number I would be: 22?

I just got dome a really rough draft of an essay. Ergo, I needed a break. Please excuse me for my frivolousness.

I want Stonecoast to hurry up and get here. I want to actually meet Stephen Dunn.

*Impundulu, is me being a bastard and dropping the name of a African zombie type creature that terroizes villages that annoyed his female shaman/lover, and has a voracious appetite for human flesh. I know what you're thinking, I should stop reading mythology books. But no, I don't think I will.

idegosuperhero: I just saw Tricia in a bathing suit. The word "bathing suit" is completely and utterly useless to describe how gorgeous she looks with very little clothes on.
thedakotasuite: hot suit.
idegosuperhero: Hot Tricia.

I love her, a lot. God, smart, witty, cream-skinned, dark-eyed, dark haired, artistic, musical wonderfully curved, occasionally wears glasses, reads, acts, can easily make fun of me but gives me thses little looks at the end of it that makes me know it's fine, soft lips but not weak lips, open-minded, polite, non-smoking, classy, wonderfully smooth skin, a body I could explore for nights on end with my hands and my lips...

It's hard to tell where talking about Tricia and describing women I go for seperate.

Yeah, I know, you can shoot me for being so cute now.