1:20 a.m.
So I’ll leave you on this:
Do Dance Marathon ‘09,
I’m going to sleep.

12:40 a.m.

Back on the dance floor:
“That which don’t kill me can on-
ly make me stronger.”

12:19 to 12:28 a.m.

Oh shit, rumor is one
fainting and one seizure;
this is serious.

A girl sits up, she’s
okay but no idea as
for the other one.

The girl is shaking
and I hear sirens pulling
up now, and I’m scared.

Natalie’s crying
and I’m scared and keep writing
in fucking haikus.

(more…)

toothpastefordinner.com

I hate dancing and I love sleeping, but somehow I’m about to do one of those things for 30 hours at the expense of the other. No, I’m not being induced into a light coma (but I totally would if someone would pay to see that). Today, I’ll be haplessly head-bobbing, hip-swaying and haiku-ing my way through Dance Marathon. You heard right: there will be hip swaying!

And yes, I will be bringing a yet-to-be-purchased tiny notebook and yet-to-be-found-in-the-recesses-of-my-backpack pencil onto the dance floor, where I will be tracking my downward spiral into delirium — in haiku form.

For the uninitiated / McCormick kiddies, a haiku is a three-line poem with a strict syllabic meter: 5, 7, 5. For example:

Why am I dancing?
Roommate really wanted to,
and I’m a pussy.

See what I did there? I’ll be doing that for 30 hours, come 7 p.m., when the good people here at NBN will be decoding my scratch handwriting and posting my haikus to the site in (almost) real time. So if you’re not dancing, stay tuned. And if you are dancing? I’ll meet you at the bleary end.