Where is Tim Young's Blog?

A web log dedicated to the campaign for the creation of an official Tim Young web log.

Sunday, September 28, 2003

Young Marries, Moves to Texas 

(AP) Popular poet and recent convert to evangelical Christianity, Tim Young, plans to relocate from his home in Anchorage to Plano, TX. Known for its tumble weed and hot Summer weather, Plano carries the nickname, "anywhere but here."

Young's sudden conversion to Christianity and elopement to East High School's 1999 Homecoming Queen, Patricia Barkesdale, came as a surprise to those who know him. "He was here a couple weeks ago drinking wine and talking Buddhist philosophy," said long time friend, Raoul Magadangdang. "Next thing I know, he's preaching at me like a some maniac."

Reached at home, Young denounced "all gods but Jehovah" and stated he was excited about his move south and marriage to Barkesdale. "Patty's the best," he said. "We thought Plano was child friendly and that's important to us."

Young is known locally for his off-beat poetry, unconventional manner, and skewering wit. In the mid 1980's, Young caused a stir by filling an Anchorage-area chapel with stray dogs adopted from a local animal shelter. Friends said it was a dispute over money.

Young admits "I was an anarchist, but that's too chaotic. I worshiped all sorts of gods. That's in the past."

Placing the last of their belongings, an antique high chair, into a pick-up truck, the newlyweds waved goodbye to friends and many memories. Surely, there's more to come in the scorching fields of East Texas.

posted by JG  # 10:40 PM

Thank You for Contacting Mary Kay, Inc. 

Sept. 28, 2003

Reverend Timothy J. Young
Church of the Supremely Divine
1685 Stanton Avenue
Anchorage, Alaska 99508

Dear Reverend Young:

A letter sent to my assistant, Rebecca Carr, was recently brought to my attention. Unfortunately, all representatives of Mary Kay Cosmetics, Inc. are women. Begun in 1971, Mary Kay envisioned fine cosmetics sold locally by trustworthy persons who understood their product, that is, women. While we live in a modern world -- one where cosmetic use is not confined soley to the "fairer sex," Mary Kay, proud of its heritage, also knows its customers. Therefore, we have no plans to change our "women only" policy any time soon.

Additionally, we do very little business through churches or church organizations. Based on our experience, most congregations prefer to focus on spiritual matters. While we did have test markets in Mobile, Ala. and Tallahassee, Fl., these were, sadly, marred by violence.

Also, in answer to your inquiry, we do not carry any product lines named for religious figures, Christian or otherwise. Our "It's the Devil" lip gloss is as close as we might come, but that would surely be a poor choice for you.

On behalf of Mary Kay, Inc., Reverend Young, I want to thank you for your letter and am sorry we couldn't be more help. Incidently, don't some religious organizations (like Catholic orders) sell products to ease their financial burdens? None that I've ever heard of, however, sell cosmetic or skin care products. There's a first for everything!


Betsy L. Tartlinger, Regional Vice President
Mary Kay Cosmetics, Inc.

posted by JG  # 9:52 PM


August 2, 2003

Mr. Timothy J. Young
1685 Stanton Avenue
Anchorage, Alaska 99508

Dear Tim,

Congratulations! You will be part of the graduating class of Bob Jones University, 2007! Because you have been accepted to one of our nation's foremost Christian Colleges, your high school grade point average and personal essay were among the best we received. Bob Jones receives more than seven thousand applications each year, yet we admit only eight hundred new students. You are the cream of the crop. Get used to it!

Being part of the Class of 2007 recalls Revelations and how "seven angels will deliver upon the Kingdom of Babylon seven plagues ." Indeed, at Bob Jones, our plague will be your education. After you graduate, this plague will be visited upon the "wicked and vengeful" but preceded by a "vision of a golden calf and horn of ivory" (Rev. Book 5.)

But let's not talk about that now. There is more than enough time to nurture yourself spiritually at Bob Jones.

As prophesied in Isaiah 13.11 all the races "shall be quartered, living seperately but without war." Accordingly, we have placed you (based upon your signed and sworn application) in the Caucasian dormitory, Lamb of God Hall. Lucky for you, in the Spring and Fall, Lamb of God Hall holds a barbeque for its all-male dormitory residents. Bibs are provided, so bring your Bible, put on the feedbag and join us!

Regarding our "races in quarters" policy, we ask that you not mention this to anyone unknown to you nor to anyone unfaithful in the Lord (including the press.) Many have tried (though none have succeeded) to break traditions at Bob Jones stretching back more than forty years. We are not afraid, says the great gospel tune, but there's no need for outsiders to cause anymore trouble. Thank you.

Please be advised that all of your Fall classes have already been chosen for you. This should have been made VERY clear in the information packet sent to you last year along with your admission application. The Gift of Fear (Fall, 101), Man as Master (102), Conduct Unbecoming (Seminar, 102) and Seperate Is Equal (103) are configured in such a way to make class attendance (manditory) and study time easily accessible.

They have called us "conformists," "racists," "lunatics," "highly unstable," and "character-disordered." But we stand by a tradition reaching back to the heydays of the great Strom Thurmond and our very own Jesse Helms.

Ms. Penelope Curlu (S through Z) is your assigned advisor for Fall term. Please call her with any questions about classes, lodging, or move-in times at LOG Hall.

Congratulations! Bob Jones wanted you, and now we've got you!


Bob Jones III, President
posted by JG  # 3:11 PM

Poet Seperates Conjoined Twins, Parents, Hospital Stunned 

Tim Young, a popluar poet and anti-technology crusader, slipped into a local hospital Sunday and performed surgery to seperate two siamese twins brought to the hospital from Guatemala for treatment.

Young was unavailable for comment and calls to his home went unanswered.

"The twins are in perfect health, which is a miracle," said a hospital spokesman. "We will have no other comment at this time."

Young has been in the news recently due to controversy surrounding an online blog (web log) created in his name.

"Our feeling was that he was ignoring the blog," said a friend, who provided only his first name, Jo-Jo. "Than there's this thing -- the twins, I mean."

For confidentiality purposes, the names of the twins and their parents were not released.

A crowd of what appeared to be religious pilgrims surrounded the hospital late Sunday making its main entrance, lobby, and emergency room nearly impassable. "It's like the Y2K thing," said an emergency room employee. "We had a lot of people then -- you know, freaks. I guess they think it's some visitation or religious thing."

"I cannot, absolutely cannot believe that such an intricate, marathon surgical procedure could have been successfully performed by anyone other than, well, a team of highly trained surgeons and other specialists," said Dr. Robert Kingston, Chair of Neurosurgery at Johns Hopkins Medical School in Baltimore. "It would be absolutely impossible."

But Providence Hospital stands by it statement that the seperated twins are in perfect health.

Clutching rosaries and Bibles, the throng on onlookers crowding the hospital were asked to leave by hospital security. The few that stayed where threatened with arrest. When escorted out, however, they vehemently swore to return.

posted by JG  # 12:42 PM

Wednesday, September 24, 2003

Italy: now with fewer communists 

The quotable Berlusconi
posted by Undersecretary to the Deputy Commissariat  # 8:56 PM

Sunday, September 21, 2003

Personal Ad 

Gay, white, male. 41 y/o. Attractive, funny, honest. Would like to meet a guy thirty or under with lean muscular body. Looking for a slightly vain Bruce Lee or Tarzan to explore tantric worship of Shiva. I need a hero, strong in body and soul with a good imagination. Contact timalaska@hotmail.com.
posted by JG  # 4:51 PM

National Prayer 

Make me as harmless as Jesus; let me lick the cat,
then you.

If you think this should be the new National Prayer, please sign this blog. Comments?

In six months -- March 21, 2004 -- at 4:30PM EST we will issue a press release on the steps of the U.S. Capitol in Washington. D.C. "We as Americans deserve a National Prayer in these troubled times. This National Prayer can bind our collective spirits together in ways that has never been done before."

The hope is that a National Prayer Referendum will be included on every state ballot in the 2004 election cycle.

posted by JG  # 4:42 PM

Los Mangatos 


I realized before I went to play golf that I wanted to lead the Mango group. We'd have a flag, half brilliant green, half red-orange. Our priests are called "Mangatos." In our theology, all earthly fruits are native, except mangos. These came from outer space, delivered by aliens called "The Bringers." I've devised any number of mango rituals. Also, things of value would be expressed in mangos. A "starter" yurt, for instance, could cost up to a hundred mangos. A yurt with a view, a hundred fifty mangos and up. The Mangos, as a group, are not xenophobes unless you walk in, unannounced, to a mango ritual (like the "seated amidst" ritual where Mangatos and their disciples sit on sand amidst fresh, newly picked mangos. The price for interrupting this all-male, intense ritual is, of course, death by beating with the consequent lifeless body thrown into the surf.)

I'll hold off now and not go into any more detail. It is true that mangos came from outer space. You would be the high priest of the Mangatos (Papa Mango) and would sit, all day, in a yurt. People would bring confounding questions to you like, "What is the meaning of this island? Is it all that exists? What is beyond the horizon?" etc. You might be paid in mangos as well as a highly prized jambalaya, a mixture of spicey feral hog ("black pig") and lucious chunks of new-season mango.
posted by JG  # 4:26 PM

Fresh from "the Thames" 

John, here is some more stuff. i am trying to type stuff up and all, but I still am unsure how to put things on the blog. maybe there is a long wait. any way, just happily typing away.

by the way, don't be sad I didn't choose you to be cult leader. i just thought you'd be happier being the leader of the dahlias. i would be in the group you organized on the desert island. you have the same good solid mojo as [name] does.


Declare your own holiday.
Eat pie.
Have phone sex with a friend
while eating pie.
Tell the truth when it
scares you
just for the thrill of it,
then have some more pie.
Dream up a different
festival for tomorrow
and the day after that,
but always include pie.


I want a hat.
Make me a hat, large and flowery,
with grasping appendages.

Make me a rude hat, one that will snatch and clutch
at people on the bus
while I sit by calmly,
pretending not to notice.

Make me a party hat out of old circus posters,
with tiger claws and dog faced boys and lion fangs.
Paste together odd bits and pieces with clown glue.
Tie it together with elephant string.

Let my hat grow rowdy and unmanagable,
sneak out at night,
lead a pack of wild dogs, turn over garbage cans, and steal cars.

My hat could get a job, bring in some bucks, go downtown.
My hat would become my best friend,
tell me stories, bring me snacks.
I would learn to trust my hat.
It would cover me when I ran out of a foxhole.
It would hold on tight when I swung from a jungle vine.
It would whisper answers in my ear while I waited for the bus.

In the end, my hat would become old like me,
cough up phlegm,
move real slow,
mumble to itself.
Friends would advise me to box it up,
put it away in the attic,
close the door,
But I would never betray my hat.
It would stay perched on the top of my head
till they boxed us both up,
lowered us into the ground


It is time I spoke the truth.
It is time all the world knew.
It is time the doors were opened,
The window shutters flung wide.

I am a lemur.
No reason to hide the fact any longer.
The family will be scandalized.
Mother will go back on her medication.
Father will stop speaking to me.
Just as well.
I am headed for the moist, hungry jungles of Madagascar.

No longer forced to hold a day job.
Nocturnal, I will be free to peer through the leaves,
Eyes as large as 90 watt bulbs.
No longer forced to drive an automobile.
(My feet never reached the pedals anyway.
Could barely see over the wheel.)
No, I'll swim through the leafy air silent as a moth.
I'll wear no pants.
Free at last,
I'll grasp branches with wise, sturdy tail,
Eat large beetles sweet as caramels,
Move with premeditated grace,
Spontaneous gentility,
And never have to say a word.

Not a monkey, not a man, not a mistake,
But a lemur and proud.

High in the branches my lemur comrads and I will
Plot the revolution..
Plant the seeds of a juicy, green sidewalk breaking riot
Of root and vine,
A delicate, fragrant orchid outbreak.

But we move so slowly,
And the fruit makes our heads swim,
And there is nothing as pleasant as being scratched on the belly
By a lemur friend.
So probably we will never get around to it.

Your big buildings, trucks, cars, planes, and trains,
Your time saving devices,
your new and improved products with added freshness,
Your asphalt worry mad scramble death machine
The grimaced faced crowd purchasing, pushing, rushing and working,
All the while
Ignoring luscious bugs, tasty fruit, leafy shade,
And the joys of tree love,
This world of you big dumb stumblers
I once moved through
Footsore and sad,
Will be safe
From a sleepy green lemur revolt,
For a little while longer.

posted by JG  # 4:07 PM


Truly brilliant. And hilarious. Hope you hear back from [name]. We could change his name to Charlamagne. Now, that would be Byzantine. Or Bob. Marty, the self-important voo-doo master and cult leader ("Hey, you, with that pig leg -- bring that puppy over here. I'm going to offer it to Zamphiera, Marty's Goddess of the Night. Hussle it up, pal.")

OK, gotta go. Wonderful suggestion. I want to be in charge of flags. Only colorful flags. None of these crests or anything that looks like gold brocade.

Peace, baby.
posted by JG  # 3:57 PM



Wait to post this, since I am waiting to hear back from [name] about using his real name. Thought it might be fun to start our own cult, file for church status etc., collect donations to fund yurt building projects the world over, focusing on those most yurtless. Comments?

Plan B: Love Under Fire

I think we should start a cult. Looking around it seems people are involved in all sorts of silly nonsense dressed up as important wisdom. It is like those commercials offering a product you have used many times before but now with "added freshness". Religion, education, psychology, politics take a perfectly good thing and swear now they have "added freshness" to it and we rush out to buy more of it. Why don't they just offer us a big bag of freshness so we can add as much as we like to everything? I'd buy that, and everyday I would just eat a handful of freshness and wouldn't have to have it doled out to me a dollup at a time mixed up with crap I may not want. What else do you need if your sticking freshness down your pie hole?

So that is the basic idea for the cult; we offer people direct access to the freshness and screw the middle man.

If we are going to have a cult we need a charismatic leader. It can't be me; I'm too bald, only have one lung, and am not good looking enough. But I met the perfect canidate while teaching in Asia. He is [redacted]. He is tough enough to easily come up with a set of twisted Byzantine rules for gaining salvation or enlightenment or whatever nonsense people think they're searching for. But actually he would be tricking them into experiencing that fresh feeling. This is what people really want; they want to feel fresh, but they are getting shafted instead.

If the Heaven's Gate cult could attract a large die-hard cadre of computer geeks willing to chop off their own nards (what about the women?) so they could catch a ride on a comet tail-gating spaceship, we can certainly do better. I am sure [name] would be willing to take our money and paddle our asses in order to purge us of our sinful ways. But only if you were in to it.

People would be lining up around the block. If you crashed on a desert island out in the middle of the ocean you would want to be in the group he was organizng. [name] is a hero. You most definitely do not want to be in the group organized by that loud-mouthed business man from Texas because you know he is going to lead everyone into quicksand, or be snoozing while the smallest ones are picked off by giant anacondas. [name] would take in the rag-tag survivors, after he had bitch slapped the Texan business man into submission. Then he would organize us into teams building cool tree forts, and hunting parties to chase and kill those damn wild black pigs who have had it too good on this island for way too long.

I think we have had enough of ugly leaders. The ugly have had their turn, now we should choose only the beautiful for our leaders. [name] is so stunning you feel fresh just hanging around him. He is so smart he can make you laugh at your wounds and feel good again. Of course he likes many women, and some might have problems with that. Cretins.

I think [name] would set up cozy, comfortable yurts with beautiful flags everywhere. Inside there might be huge cushions, hookahs, grapes on silver platters, melons, roast lamb, wine, daggers, ancient books of pornography and poetry, also large picture books of animals, birds, fish, reptiles and insects. There might be beautiful prostitute priests/priestesses empolyed to give massages, receive oral sex and keep the hookahs and the wine glasses filled. Folks could rest on the huge cushions, eat grapes, and watch the prostitutes dance to tecno desert bedouin music.

Members of the cult could compete with one another to see who could create the most beautiful lies, who could give the most pleasure, be the most perfect lover. Who could be the freshest? Why waste time making money to buy things we won't be able to use for long? I'd be in it for the yurts.

So that is the basic idea. I'd like to hear suggestions on how the cult could be improved. Of course it all depends on [name]. He is much too smart and beautiful to become a cult leader. We'll have to get a beautiful chick to seduce him into it. He's also too smart and beautiful not to allow himself to be seduced. This is why he needs no "added freshness", and neither do you, bucko.

Always take more than they give you.

posted by JG  # 3:49 PM


Shall this be Tim's blog now?

Will he become a despotic blogmaster and chase all others from the page?

Will he ever try to post again?

Or will Vonn's world conquest render it moot?
posted by Undersecretary to the Deputy Commissariat  # 1:57 PM

Saturday, September 20, 2003

New Poems 


Tried to do the Blog. Typed these poems in but couldn't get it to publish. Would you post these two?



These two poems were written in 98 while I was staying at Mammallipuram in South India.

This is no Baptist gig.
No Episcopalian tea.
A black faced god sits in a cloud of flowers.
Drums threaten the heart,
Hawkers sell balloons, dates, and puffed rice.
People push the wooden railings around the fire.
Children laugh or cry.
Old women do both.
Holy drunkards,
All in yellow, press toward the flames.
The god teases with his silence,
The drums howl like wounded beasts.

Then they begin.
Men and women,
Old and young,
Carrying flowers and faith,
Some carrying babies,
Dancing and singing.
They walk to the god
across the coals.
Saying with their feet
What they cannot
With their tongues:
That God is a great fire,
The soul a bewildered moth,
That somewhere in between
There is a place
Where flesh does not burn.

I am sitting on the beach near Mamallipuram
Deep in South India,
Sunset time,
Heartbreak heaven.
A lean pariah dog chases a dark wild pig.
Black birds wheel and ache to become shadows.
And the world seems to pause,
Waiting for something.
Then over the dunes five children race to the hungry surf,
Three patient mothers in tow.
The young ones strip to underwear,
Leap to challenge their ancient foe.
The women are are more cautious,
Wade in slowly,
Laughing, but watching their children with ferocious care.

One boy, maybe twelve,
Blood of Rama and Krishna seething in his veins,
Offers his small chest to the frothing white horses.
He shouts, kicking and punching those greenwhite beasts,
Is lifted up and pushed down beneath the surge.
The Old Ones whispering,
"Come out a little farther;
We'll show you secrets.
Come out a little farther;
You'll never cry again.
Come out a little farther;
you'll live forever
On a great coral throne,
Ageless and serene,
A perfect pearl for a tongue,
Two black stones for eyes,
And a silence that never dies for a crown."

The boy breaks free, shouting at the waves
In his bravado,
Throws a Bruce Lee punch at the inevitable,
Is thrown back into his sister or maybe cousin,
Laughing in a spray of foam.
A mother sits on the drenched sand smiling,
adjusts her dripping blue sari
With elegant ease.

The boy ignores the call of the bottlegreen waves,
Drags the whinning dog into the water instead.
Chooses a cot under a palm thatched roof
Sixty-four years from now,
Surrounded by weeping wife and children and grandchildren.
The sea, a distant cold heart
Beating out a constant promise,
Almost forgotten
In the midst of this
Fiery task
Of living.

posted by JG  # 8:41 PM
FYI, there's a rumor that Tim Young will be starting a blog.
posted by Dr. X  # 5:16 PM

I plan to take this sitting down 

Buckos, allow met'be t'first t'post a topical link:


posted by Undersecretary to the Deputy Commissariat  # 4:50 PM

Yurt bathtub 

To Do:

Grout cradle

Explode comet

Park genie aura

Mask licentious idol


Curl hubbub pudding

Malign oral dilettante


posted by JG  # 4:47 PM

Day 3 Update 

I just heard from a friend of Tim's that he described this blog to Tim over the phone, but Tim hasn't looked at it himself, yet. Still, his friend (a reliable source who is one of Tim's "inner circle") predicted that Tim would look at this blog soon. If we keep up this rush of enthusiasm, I think Tim will be so impressed that he will be inspired, no, moved to establish the official blog that we've all been waiting for.

posted by VMM  # 4:25 PM

And through the English to Pirate translator 

Opportunity o'plastero 'a bath:
Leave dilletante with a bottle o' a purse in juurt,
Donkey Moribound.
Whiffo'comets from a brilliant placed in a cradle
He constrains sleepofer razrazhennyj.
Spiteful dream satisfies tough t'disordero'a mouth,
T'masko'an idolo'a puddin' flies.
posted by JAB  # 3:29 PM

Standard pickup lines illuminated by redundant computer translation 

The baby of the ones of the ones of Hé kommen oft more to hier?

If I to say you to him I had a pretty body, he you that I will arrest to answer to me?

It is a cetriolo of the vinegar in the relative bag, is necessarily happy you for seeing or me?

What corner thus a pleasant girl like they in a place?
posted by Undersecretary to the Deputy Commissariat  # 3:26 PM

Jamie's poem translated 

Here is Jamie's poem, translated English-German-Russian-English-Spanish-Russian-English. Again, I regret to point out, it is a clear improvement (especially the last three lines). The sad fact is that computers are much better at non sequitur than human beings. We are prisoners of meaning!

Opportunity of plaster of a bath:
Leave dilletante with a bottle of a purse in juurt,
Donkey Moribound.
Whiff of comets from a brilliant placed in a cradle
It(he) (she((it)) constrains sleepofer razrazhennyj.
Spiteful dream satisfies tough the disorder of a mouth,
The mask of an idol of a pudding flies.
posted by President in exile  # 3:12 PM

'Vast Heavin' There -  

Pirate Day Pick-Up Lines- (thanks to talklikeapirate.com)

Me roger could be a might jollier.

Aye, me hook be electric.

Yes, that be a hornpipe in me pocket and I am happy to see ye.

Swab your deck?

Well blow me down!

Prepare to be boarded.

posted by JAB  # 3:06 PM

What Tim really meant 

I have used a web site to translate Tim's come-ons into German, from German to Russian, and then from Russian back to English. You will agree they are significantly improved:

Example 1: Greetings is suppressed by you to my comets?
Example 2: Whether you wanted to see my flexible bath?
Example 3: I have only got the new idol navoza in the cradle. They wanted to swing it?
posted by President in exile  # 2:50 PM

Nonsense, but complete 

Modality of bathtub grout:
Park a dilletante with a flask in a yurt,
moribound ass.
The aura of a cradled sparkler comet
refrains from a licentious sleepover.
A malignant dream curls thorugh oral hub-bub,
the mask of a pudding idol explodes.


posted by JAB  # 2:16 PM

Make up your own horribly obcene come-on; but don't use standard talk. (gifts from TY) 

Example #1: Hi, would you refrain my comet?

Examle #2: Would you like to see my squeezable bathtub?

Example #3: I just got a new muck idol in a cradle. Would you like to rock it?

Everyone who reads this has to -- some time in the next week -- use a come-on (not using my words necessarily.) Could be in a sports bar, to the postman, to an old woman looking for her dentures on the bus. I want to see a lot more come-ons.
posted by JG  # 2:10 PM

Words I Like (by TY) 

Grout, yurt, park. . .pudding, sycronicity, malign, dream, ass, curl . . . flask, mask, sleepover. . .modality, idol, cradle, comet, aura, oral, hub-bub, bathtub, refrain, licentious, moribund, dilettante, genie, explode, sparkler. . .

. . .I'd like to be a crafty spatula in your yurt

. . .spurn me with calamitous modality

. . .don't refrain, you licentious explosion

. . .it'll be the last time you ever sleepover

. . .I would like to rampage through your squeezable bathtub
posted by JG  # 1:52 PM

Previous entry dictated via phone by TY 

"Why hasn't Vonn Marsch," etc. blog includes poem by TY, not me. He asked if I would post.
posted by JG  # 1:43 PM

Why Hasn't Vonn Marsch Taken Over the World? 

Next time a telemarketer calls,
turn it into free phone sex.
It's usually two bucks a minute.
Don't be rude, but cut lose.
Unleash every secret fantasy;
bring out the muscular black dwarfs
with their dominatrix masters.
Paint epic pornographic vistas
on the inside of the skull,
with your own special scratch-and-sniff
anatomically correct stickers.
You might make a friend,
meet your soul mate,
at least you'll get off.
posted by JG  # 1:28 PM

Pie Poem Poser: Mystery Verse Sweeps West  

posted by JAB  # 1:25 PM

GOP, Green Critics Slam Fox News/ Tim Young Deal  

posted by JAB  # 1:23 PM

Utah Gunfight with ex-US Poet Laureate Pinsky injures 2, delays TY Blog 

posted by JAB  # 1:15 PM

Ashcroft Denies TY Poetry Suppression under Patriot Act 

posted by JAB  # 1:12 PM

Tim Young Prevented from Namesake Blog Contribution by Capitalist Hegemony 

posted by JAB  # 1:08 PM

Um, where is the real blog? 

I heard this was a place for screwball stories and sublime poetry. All I find is a half-written haiku and some advertising. What gives?
posted by Corresponding Secretary General  # 12:55 PM

Will he or won't he? 

Nor have I ever posted to a blog. I like the idea -- I think. I'm sure the quick-witted could anticipate how it all will work. Is there a parallel? Newsletter? Group telegram?

Oh, well. Here goes. Talked with Tim yesterday. He called and read any number of poems, including the one about the pie. Pie with everything -- God, serendipity, misfortune, etc. Very funny. But he has a new one (though I'm unsure how he would feel about publishing it in a blog. Yet this is HIS blog. Plus, shy Tim is not.) It's one where a soul is in flight to either Heaven or Hell. There's an indicting tone in reference to authorative religion, making it all the more rich and poignant. His newest thing, however, may be his best: Something to the effect of spiritual lessons, as in "Spiritual lesson #23: Always take more than someone gives you." Nihlist, hilarious -- vintage TY.

posted by JG  # 12:54 PM

Young Vs. Wolfowitz Poetry Slam  

One line:

Aerial Predator Control
posted by JAB  # 12:49 PM

All Cry Out for Tim's Blog 

Never posted to a blog before, but withal here goes.

Termination dust this morning.

Where is Tim?

[Missed opportunity for a haiku there, Lauren. -CCPC]

posted by Undersecretary to the Deputy Commissariat  # 11:55 AM

Day 3 

Very encouraging news this week! Tim (yes, the Tim) called me (to read me a poem about pie, which was awesome) and he said that he was going to start a blog!

Needless to say, I've been checking my e-mail every ten minutes or so to hear back from him with the URL, but nothing yet :(

Keep checking back for updates, and I will post the new official Tim Young blog URL the nanosecond I get it.

Hang in there! I just know that the wait is nearly over.

posted by VMM  # 11:29 AM


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