The first rule of writing camp

I miss it already. If you like to write, you should go to the next writing camp.

Our last exercise was to go off and write and become a writer. There was a smaller exercise too: to pen a few haiku, a short form that takes more time than I could eek out of my last week.

Here goes. One line in a reading was “What drug are you?”. I hope revealing that here doesn’t get me sent to detention – the first rule of writing class is what happens in writing class stays in writing class. This question inspired my haiku in the same way that finding an easter egg lodged in my 2006 Burning Man project saying “What is your purpose?” has inspired confusion and existential insecurity ever since.

I’m the perfect drug
You took me and then forgot
Come back and buy more

Gutpocalypse now
Six day old chicken gurgling
Immodium please

Life without you blows
Calm me with your warm embrace
Milk-breathed baby smile

Writing camp over
No longer wordless I type
Tippy tappy tap

iPhone is psychic
I type “me” it says “mr”
Many dropped calls every day

Remember folks, it’s not the size of the fight in the dog in the fight, it’s the fact that the dog keeps typing even when it’s kicked.

Oh, and here’s my Mueller Water Tower haiku in video form.