Click here to access the ElectricPoetry tag for the themed blog pages, where the Online diary of Michael F. Nyiri plunges headlong without looking into the 21st century.

 

The Online Diary of Michael F. Nyiri
poet, philosopher, fool

This is the "Original Blog".


The Electric Poetry Diary is essentially my very first blog, and was originally hosted on the Homestead ElectricPoetry site in 2000. My early website pages were always "date stramped for content", and with this page I added essentially the first "blogpage" to one of my sites, however I manually input the dates. This was in March of 2000 before I'd ever heard of Journaling online. Eventually I came across some Web Journals, and of course nowadays everybody's blogging.The following posts were all made to this page with Homestead's sitebuilder software and then I recreated the page in Dreamweaver when I shut down the Homestead site. As with regular blogs, the earliest entry is at the bottom of the page. MFN/ppf 01/31/10 9:21 a.m. pst

 


JANUARY 13, 2004
DEAR DIARY:

The new site is almost finished, after only a week online. Sometime soon, these pages, which have been on the Homestead server since 1999, will disappear. Some of the individual poems, with graphics intact, will probably remain online, but as my New Year's Resolution for 2004, I have vowed to transcribe as much of my work as I can, so I can be positive I did everything in my power to present my poetry to the masses, even if, as I always seem to complain without promoting, the masses don't come and read any of them.
This incarnation of the site is the second. It started as a "section" of the AllThingsMike main site, and was "spun off" to be a part of "The Site Fights" which didn't promote poems, but rather itself. Now the pages are on the allthingsmike server, so if I ever have to close down the Homestead account because of rising costs of maintaining what used to be a free website (only three scant years ago).


JULY 13, 2003
DEAR DIARY:

I have written a few poems today. Actually three poems in total as of 6:30 p.m. pdt. I don't know if I shall be any more prolific this evening, but it is nice to finally pen a few poems, and pen a few thoughts here on the now "old" Electric Poetry website.
I was inspired to put something up here from reading the last guestbook entry, which merely told me to keep writing. I am never sure I am even read anymore. I feel as if it were a dream, the internet publishing chance, which I somehow failed, because I view the first page of the seventies section and see the hit counted under 200. That was the poetic decade, and I am upset that I didn't post more poetry from that period. Well, the year isn't over. The decade isn't over. I'm certainly not over, and even though today's poems were negative detritus from an absurdly bad situation occurring in a particularly bad week. Well, those are the breaks, and from despair comes art. Hopefully. Not much more today. Hopefully the spark of creativity will light the fires of my heart.
Again.


DECEMBER 17, 2002
DEAR DIARY:

A long time passes without poetry. The words are icy points of stickling absurdity, and none have spilled form the poet's pen for lo, these many months.
And as if, like a spell, I wish the words to flow forever thoughout the coming year of two thousand aught three, then I take this time to visit the Electric Poetry site once more, if only to herald my present existencse, and to feel the tips of my fingers pass over the keys again while workds, even if they have little import, are set on the page for the first time in six months.
I had a great idea, and like all my unfinished ideas, I posted once or twice in the blog, and then left the internet . Well, I'm beck, at least to say hi to Christmas time, and maybe to post a poem or two.


MAY 20, 2002
DEAR DIARY:

One last post here, before the posts are blogged. The Heartbeats site will be poetry posts, current ruminations, verse and nonsense. The Diary page will point to a blog for diary entries, much as it has been since early 2002. The reason for this post: I received an email from a reader wanting to know if there were a better way of reading the poems since the graphics and music laden Homestead pages, and most of the current poems, are in the form of "presentation verse" like the new Anfy verseimage. The reader said my pages kept crashing her computer, so starting today, I am posting text only pages for selected years. First up is 2002, then 2001, and
2000. There will still be "media saturated" poetry, and blog poetry, and now the words will speak for themselves on the text only pages starting with the poems of 2002.


MAY 5, 2002
DEAR DIARY:

Long time, no posts, now two in a row. This will be the last entry to the Diary in the Homestead format. The new diary, and the poems for 2002, are located at the new BLOG address here at: "Heartbeats on the Oscilliscope of Life."


MAY 4, 2002
DEAR DIARY:

Here is the first link to what this page will eventually encompass. It is the ElectricPoetry Diary Blog, sort of what these diary entries on this page and on the diary page have been since 2000. there is no content, the colors are orange, not green, although that will probably change by the time you view this, diary.
The birthday is over, I have a new computer, and am slowly truning it into a webbuilding, multimedia, universal mind kind of machine. The books of the realization are soon to be written, if any body reading is familiar enough with my philosophy to understand.
I have visited and read many blogs, or web logs. These entries on ElectricPoetry, as stated earlier, are basically diary page, hopefully enlightening as I gain understanding, in a poetic sort of prose. The blog will replace the page, and the updates are quicker to post than on the Homestead editor.
Another long paragraph, and I didn't even mention my latest poem, which only has this link, until I set up a
"Poetry of 2002" page. (only three so far, and the year is half over.) Fitting that my latest is called "poetryblog"
and my main theme this year is change, which is the subject and title of the first "verseimage" created in the Anfy java applet program.

 


APRIL 11, 2002
DEAR DIARY,

It's been almost two months to the day since I've "stepped foot" in my poetry site, excepting to read some poetry every now and then. I feel ashamed, but the Cultural Blender project is taking up most of my time these days, and I don't feel "poetric".. As I've mentioned before, Diary, before the website existed, the dry periods didn't feel so desolate, but now, as with other pages in the website, if I don't at least update once a month with some addition or at least alteration of content, then I don't feel the website is s vital part, and of course when (if, there I go whining again) I am getting readers, then they wouldn't mind reading something new here even though there is always new prose and poetry to some extent being added in some other part of allthingsmike. I really only wanted to mention,and perhaps this is better posted on the Cultural Blender. It almost seems that those very iconic people my generation worshipped as "great capitalists building the country would be vilified as monopolists, and of course now we find out that they were monopolists. I've always maintained that it is always the "inventors" and "thinkers" like Bill Gates, for instance, who are derided for monopolistic practices when their invention starts a healthy business infrastructure. If they hadn't acted on their ideas, they wouldn't be called monopolists.
Oh well, hardly poetic thought. Just on my mind at this point in time, and to me, that's the essence of poetry.


FEBRUARY 14, 2002 VALENTINE'S DAY
DEAR DIARY,

I can't believe it's after 10pm, Valentine's Day is over, and there was a really big deal made about the holiday on radio, and in the media. Almost as if, after Sept. 11, as innocuous a holiday as Valentine's, one that was "dreamed up" by Greeting Card manufacturers to promote and sell Valentine's cards. (Remember giving Valentine's Cards in elementary school? Believe it or not, I always got lots of cards, and I always felt special. This year, since the media saturated us with it, I feel lonely. The feeling of "lonesomeness", one which is ingrained in my psyche after almost fifty years, is slowly turning to "lonliness" and this isn't a good thing.
Here's a little story about something that happened the other day which makes me feel like there is less, instead of more, communicaiton on the web.
As I frequently do, I joined a group, which used to be called clubs, at Yahoo, where I have a profile, and membership and ownership in clubs and groups, and which used to sponser the webrings I belong to , as well., When I join groups, I promote my website(s). It is one of the ways I garner readers, and webfreinds. The group I joined, Coming Together, is a singles group, and I joined to promote my Loveseach pages, which I recently updated. The moderator of the group, a woman in Toronto, Canada, one of my favorite cities, by the way, and one I would probably move to in a minute if I thought my soulmate resided there, emailed me after I posted links to my websites, and told me to post often, and keep posting my links, and maybe I would find my soulmate from new members of the group. I don't have a lot of time for groups, and am spending too much time on computers as it is creating the website, but always pick up webfriends, and in order to do so, have to make myself known. I chose Mardi Gras, and didn't know it, to answer all strings, and post a few messages. Since no one else was posting, they were probably all celebrating, all my posts appeared in a row, and when I returned the next morning, expeciting to be thrilled and delighted at the response, there was only one message. It was from a poet who had, undoubtedly , garnered the attention of some of the women on the site, and felt like I was muscleing in on his territory. He didn't even have a website, so used the group as an outlet for his creative juiices. I read his post, which was a familiar "What is the purpose of this group" post, engineered to flame the rival, i.e. me. He didn't mention me by name, and didn't really disparage me, but I got the message. I haven't posted much there since. Even though it is Valentine's Day. I remember the sad feelings I got when that guy flamed me after Sept. 11, for saying I was skeptical that dropping a bunch of bombs on Afghanistan was going to eradicate terrorism. I preached peace on a message board when everyone had turned into "hawks" overnight. I almost felt that way this time, but turned off the computer, got in my car, turned on Faith Hill's "Breathe" album real loud, and drove to work feeling invigorated. Funny thing is, I sort of feel like I might have a connection with the woman who moderates the club, and this is stirring my poetic juices this Valentine's Day. My latest poem, which I posted on the Coming Together group exclusively last week, and one of the poems derided by the phantom poster who wished I would just go away, which I did. is on the Current Poem link. Each time I feel love is near,. Each time I feel I'm very wrong, I fear. But there is no use worrying or hurrying. The true serendipity someday will come a scurrying.


JANUARY 1, 2002
DEAR DIARY,

The new year dawns. If I have any resolutions, it is the same as always. I will search for, and eventually find fulfillment and substance. I have made my "resolutions" and swear this year to cease this excitedness which shakes my soul. As the years advance, there seems to be so little time. Even my web pursuits seem to lie forever, while I am pursuing others. As I write, I'm "creating" the AllThingsMike Index page on Dreamweaver, and although I do want to upload some of the photos I took at Disneyland last week, I am taking it easy. Whatever I can accomplish, I will. Whatever I can't, I won't, for now. That is all there is.
I'm still finding new "readers" and nearly turned a potential webfriend off the other day by thoughtlessly throwing words around without paying heed to their meaning. A sad thing for a poet to practice, and it was very gracious of this person to forbive me my transgressions. After all, I'm always saying I want to "touch" humanity. There is a time for every season, and a chance to say everything we wish. I will look to savor and exhibit honesty this year, and all years.


NOVEMBER 16, 2001
DEAR DIARY,

Merely two months after the shock of finding that one of my email correspondents had passed away, and that was a week before Sept. 11th, I just received the following email from my webfreind Sheryl, or Wren Wolfbane, whose link I featured on this page when we were fighting alongside each other in the Site Fights.
"My husband; Jon A. Helmic,
wonderful father to three beautiful boys,
and the love of my life and soulmate,
passed on into spirit, November 13th @2:15p.m.
These past few months he had been trying to get his blood pressure under control.
He had a blood vessel burst in his brain Monday morning, and he never recovered.
He was 37, he was born on Christmas day."
Needless to say, this "email edged in black", a matter of fact description of the loss of this great bear of a man, from his loving wife drained my heart until sore, and caused my SoulGrief to pour unabashedly into the Universal Being. Jon's death was sudden, he was far too young, and he has left behind his true soulmate, and three young touseled haired sons, who will now have to grow up with merely the fading memory of their father.
I was overwhelmed upon reading these sad but noble words of Sheryl's, and though I don't know these wonderful people personally, I do probably know them more personally, by perusing their pages on their websites, than most of my actual freinds and acquaintences.
Immediately after reading the email, I hit reply, and composed the poem "SoulGrief" (Accessible through the "current" link). I wrote it for Jon's lifeforce, and for hris Mother Gaia and sons who are still on the Earth. I was reminded of the declaration which young braves used to proclaim upon riding into battle.
"It is a good day to die."
Jon battled his blood pressure, and in the end his battle was lost. But the final battle isn't over, and Sheryl still feels his presence through her SoulGrief.
I have never experienced such incredible spiritual energy than what I feel when I "visit" Sheryl and Jon, and their family and friends. She is a true mystic, and I hope that Jon's mystical aura is enhanced and kept by her side comforted by his totem, the Bear.
LIfe Really Begins at the Moment of Death, and for Jon, it was a good day to die.


OCTOBER 31, 2001
DEAR DIARY,

This has been the month of Jury Duty. At the end of September, still shuddering from terrorist attacks and anthrax scares, I received a summons for Jury Duty, and even though everyone always says you never have to go in, and just call from work each day, the fates decided that not only would I be deemed impartial enough to sit on a jury, but on a jury for a trial that has lasted over a month. I feel as if I'm in Hell, or Limbo, and there's nothing to do about it.
Needless to say, I haven't spent a lot of time at work, and now the Jury is deliberating, so hopefully it will all end soon. One very interesting thing has happened, that being I'm getting interested in one of my fellow jurors, a single mother of two who has almost if not a more skewered sense of humor than I do. I'm starting to get the feeling I want to ask her to keep in touch after this thing is over. Already I've had lunch with her, and really like talking to her. Perhaps the Internet Lovesearch will yield no fruit, and I'll find companionship in real life first, as it was always supposed to be. I only wrote one poem this month, "FullMoon on Hallowe'en Night", accessible from the Current Poem Link.


SEPTEMBER 22, 2001
DEAR DIARY,

The numbness hasn't even begun to wear off. It's nearly two weeks later.
America is at war. The ships are sailing. The planes are in the air. I was very patriotic, at first, and then started questioning what "an invasion" would mean. I wrote my essay. I began to "preach" tolerance, and advised caution, both to people at work, on my websites, and in message posts on discusion boards . I am aftaid of sending our young to fight another unseen enemy, and I want to caution the country to remember,and to think before embroiling itself in another Vietnam. I think I was rather full of myself anyway. I wanted to do "something" and created composites, and wrote poems. The posts were supposed to get people to read the essay. Answering one post, agreeing with the concept that any coming conflict could be compared with Vietnam, a war which I call a "mistake". I really "offended" someone by preaching pacifism and not joining the patriotic heros typing away, declaring that the US should declare "bombs away". That I posted a pacifist viewpoint caused me to be derided, and called a moron, and a coward. One patriot told me he was sure if I were on Flight 93, the plane surely would have reached it's intended destination. Needless to say, that last remark bothered me deeply, and I can only forgive this person his hatred and his jingoism. I have been incredibly upset the past day since this happened, and have stopped posting. In an attempt to get people to read the work, which exists, right here, I have done too much promoting. This is a terrible time, but it is a time I knew would come. I don't want to try to predkct an outcome, and the events as they are happening are rather frightening. Two weeks. The enemy shot down one of our planes, even though it was an unmanned spy plane, it is another senseless use of fire and violence. From now on, I will reflect on the events, as they happen. It looks like we're at war, so I'm behind my country, right or wrong! (But i'm still sad for all the needless killing in store.


SEPTEMBER 16, 2001
DEAR DIARY,

Nearly a week has passed since the attacks on the World Trade Center in New York. Although I haven't yet updated the ElectricPoetry website, I have posted the link to the poem I wrote following the saddest instance of inspiration I have ever known, and posted the link on the index and News page on AllThingsMike. Emotionally, I was wracked with pain and despair, as was most of the country, and the world, at the massive loss of life in New York and Washington. The last poem I wrote was inspired by the death of a single person. The death of so many, for no reason, is a disaster of biblical proportions. This week, the grief will slowly subside, but the feelings that all is not well with the world will not stop. I have been talking to many people, and everyone is upset, and confused. Why now? Why did they have to die? When you stop to think that the perpetrators killed not only Americans and Christians, but foreigners and Muslims alike, the reasons behind someone's misguided attempts at retaliation seem futile. This wasn't just a terrorist attack on the USA, or on democracy. This was a terrorist attack on all humanity, and for humanity I weep.


SEPTEMBER 6, 2001
DEAR DIARY,

When I first came home from work this afternoon I was going to start reading the first novel I will have attempted in nearly two years, "Candle Bay", the new horror novel by Tamara Thorne, who isn't too well known, although probably should be, judging by the reverence paid her on the web. But I didn't. I didn't sit down to read an analog book because I sat down at the computer as usual. And I had an epiphany. I know, people who know me say I have too many epiphanies, but this was incredible. While rereading old guestbook entries on my own websites, in an attempt to connect with some sites and people whom I hadn't "seen" or "talked to" in months, I clicked on my web friend CuteDog's Site, and read that she had died. "Last night" is what her husband wrote on the site. I can picture him and sense him, sitting at her computer, dialing into her server, and "posting", what for me at least, has been like a message from time, but that is just as hard hitting. Especially when her husband has kept her site up, as a memorial, and I'm always talking about "virtual webpresences". Well I strolled her virtual webpresence tonight, and remembered her "essence" and I wrote tonight's poem, I only wish it were longer and more heartfelt. I really feel sad tonight, but I also feel special that because of the ability to connect to each other on the internet, I "knew" a life I wouldn't have known, and so I wouldn't have been able to remember it tonight.


AUGUST 19, 2001
DEAR DIARY,

Sunday morning, and I am adding yet some more poems from 1978. Only twenty-six more to go and I will have successfully "published" all the poems from that particular year. After I finish transposing, which could hopefully be at the end of today, I want to write an essay about Cathy, then I will transpose the essay: "Poetry: the lifeblood of my humanity" which was the introduction written in 1974. The essay outlines the series of "suicide poems". I guess it is a poet's prerogative to write suicide poems. I wrote mine in college and got it out of my system. Besides, my father died and mother was incapacitated at the time, and I had more life to live. But the poems chart my depression at that time in my life. Today, I feel a sense of fulfillment. After years of wondering why I don't seem to get more readers, I recently glanced at my guestbook here on Electric Poetry, and the entry was from New Zealand, "down under" on the other side of the world. There isn't much to the post, but I visited the site, and the poetess is pretty good. I don't know how she got the URL to my site, or if she will visit again, and read more pages in my "book of life" but the fact that this is not someone I "invited" or whom I know really excites me. I am in the midst of creating the new index page for my allthingsmike.com webhub, and as usual, I have great plans and dreams, and still wholeheartedly would like to construct that "internet island" free of the cynicism and untruths inherent in "real life." I just can't seem to develop this community. I have a large email list, and I proclaim more than once on this page and in emails for people to send my site URL to others, and see if they are interested in my poems. This "message" from New Zealand might be a sign. Perhaps more "readers" will appear. It always pained me, that during my "site fights" phase in early 2000, the individual poems were not being read, and only the graphics were commented upon. I still add new and older poems in hopes of eventually finishing this project, and each new reader is embraced with glee. I do feel my work is important, and at some point I forsee an avalanche of interest, it only needs to be, and perhaps has, somehow, been set in motion. Only one person who tells another, and so on, until the world drops by the doorstep of ElectricPoetry. As depressing as the hit counter numbers look when compared to other sites I visit, getting the recognition I crave from select members of the internet community is the greatest gift I feel I can receive.
The DSL service has been down all weekend, they have a "minor problem" of not having service in either Texas or California for two days. Thankfully, with all the early problems encountered with DSL service (or more specifically, with the Directv/Telocity internet service) I'm glad I retained my AT&T subscription. The extra 20 bucks a month was insurance this weekend, and I could switch to AT&T, which works, and update my sites. The worst thing that could happen to ElectricPoetry is a lack of the connection for me to get to it, much less edit it. Technology sputters and wheezes onward.


JULY 19, 2001
DEAR DIARY,

I can't get email right now because I don't know how to configure the modem for my new DSL internet service, but I am very jazzed, because for the first time I can see my movies on my home computer, and with this speed, the very slow to load web pages (like this one) come to life incredibly easily. I will only add this thought for tonight. I am so glad I got the DSL service. I only need to establish my internet mail connection.


JULY 15, 2001
DEAR DIARY,

I am halfway through transposing the poetry of 1978 onto this website. I still have roughly thirty more poems to put up, and then write a treatise of why the Cathy Poems are so important to me, and I will have the first true "year" of poetry completed. As I am typing up these poems, which of course only exist first on handwritten sheets from 1978, I am astounded by my themes and by the love I probably still possess for this wonderful girl who is the subject of most of the poems in 1978. Just this last week, I have begun corresponding with a few souls from high school, and I have gotten back in touch with my little sister, who is the subject of a few poems, and who I will have to give a special section. I haven't acutally "seen" my sister since 1990, over ten years ago. I always proclaim that time is fleeting, but either through procrastination, or what, I don't know, I am astounded that I haven't seen her in so long. I guess since I do feel this fleeting time going by now that I am about to reach the end of my first fifty years on this planet, I do want to connect with all from the past, and continue to reach out to all souls in my present and future.


JULY 6, 2001
DEAR DIARY,

I got the scare of my life yesterday. While saving this page on my offline software, something happened, I still don't know what, and only a remnant of the page was saved online, obliterating the page which was on the online SiteBuilder software, and replacing it with the incomplete version. It has taken me two days to restore the page to a semblance of what it was. This only proves the fickleness and insubstatiability of the internet, software, and computers in general. On the poetic front, there is a new poem this week, and I have added a lot of poems from 1978, the year of the "Cathy Poems." I will eventually have all sixty of the Cathy Poems posted, hopefully before the end of the month. A read of each poem in sequence, I think, will give the reader a sense of what it was like to woo the subject, and be given what I called "subtle hints" from her, but ultimately lose her to reality. The quintessential poem in this series is "The Battle Betwixt the Heart and Mind Rages On." My common sense told me that there was no romance, but the romantic notions of my heart would not let me believe it. All the poems were handwritten in a little book and given to the subject when I knew both in mind and heart that I would never win her. A current dream is that she will someday stumble across this website, and get back in touch.


JUNE 24, 2001
DEAR DIARY,

Impasse. Last week was the week of the Homestead Message Boards. After receiving an infamous e-mail about a week ago informing me (and quite a few other webmasters) that my webhosting service, Homestead, would be charging for hosting beginning a month from now, I began to worry a bit. Heck, I need to upgrade to DSL, which costs money. Rent has been increased, gas is two bucks a gallon, and since business is down at work, I'm certainly not getting any raises soon! Fearing for the worst (the end of personal websites unless paid for) and anticipating new readership, I began visiting the message boards at the service to read about the impact of the announcement, and to spread a few URL's around.
The response to a rather long treatise I wrote, in effect, telling all the complainers to stop their whining, and either sign up for the pay service, or switch to another free service as long as it lasts, was sporadic. My intent, I must admit, was to steer more potential readers to my poetry. No matter which avenues I try to travel, I really don't get the traffic I feel this site warrants, and the more I look at the volumes which haven't been posted, the more I think this project was perhaps too daunting in the first place.
The upshot of the experience? I almost got addicted to checking message boards again, and have stopped "posting". I feel I probably should use poetry posting boards on established poetry sites, but first of course, either this site will soon "move", or will merely become the first page of a website which will be built either on a pay service or posted on Geocities. I have until the end of July before "plugs are pulled" and the content disappears from Homestead's Community.


JUNE 8, 2001
DEAR DIARY,

It is now 5:30pm and I just posted the first poem written since this latest loveearch began. It has been about two weeks, and I am corresponding with about eight people. I can sense that some are interested in the logistics of the search, and are actively reading my poetry, and this is a positive force in my life at this moment, and why I feel the presence of "muses" however slight, will cause the poetry to proliferate. I am not sure if any of these correspondents is the "other half" for whom I seek. Most are from far away, and there is really no solid way I can think of in which I would physically connect with someone as far off as some of these wonderful people. But the promise of the internet, as I have always believed, is in the ability to reach across the cosmos, and connect with the masses. My small lovesearches are a step in that direction, for me, and if I can touch just one, as I have said, then my search is not in vain, because I have connected with the Universal Humanity of the cosmos.
My latest poem is an attempt to describe the feelings of happiness, then sadness, as I come to the full realization of the results of the lovesearch. I don't know if I wholeheartedly believe in the fate in which I profess to believe, and am certainly hoping against hope that my other half will come within sight. But in past lovesearches I have concentrated on the one from whom I believed I were receiving love, and in both cases, that was just "email talk" and our love declarations became moot after a time. As I have often written, I do love all of mankind, and feel a connection to everyone. Perhaps with this current lovesearch, I might fulfill my own prophecy, and keep these foreign and local connections forever. Perhaps through the small part of communication, I will endear and enhance the lives of the women with whom I correspond. Or perhaps nothing will come of this at all. I have to keep an open mind. I am disheartened at the ones who never write again, yet I do not want to lead anyone along as yet, because I do not know in my heart if I have been touched by my muse.
I still do not know if love exists on the internet, and of course still do not know about life.
But it is mind and heart expanding to want to find out.


MAY 27, 2001
DEAR DIARY,

I've just "published" about eight to ten poems from the seventies on this website. I've created "contents pages" for the years 1971 and 1972, where there are now links to the individual poems. It took most of the day, and was a tiring process, but for the first time since I put up this website, I actually feel that the "complete works" are just now being realized on the internet. Before, I merely copied a few selected poems, and now you can actually see the amount of work that has been done, and has yet to be done.
Recently, I received an email from someone who proclaimed she was "brushing up against an old soul". There was not much identification to let me know exactly who this person was, whether they knew me earlier in my life, or in a past life, or in the vast expanse Universal Mind. There are times when I think that nobody ever "reads me like a book", and then I get a message from someone who might be. I always proclaimed that if I were able to touch but one soul through my words, then I would feel accomplishment.
New poems are not coming this year, but with this recent encouragement I might find inspiration.
The poems from the seventies are still relevant, and I believe they speak to the young, as well as those of us who have travelled the road of life. I wrote the poetry of 1971 and 1972 in that strange transition from high school to college, and as I transposed, I thought of the dreams and the hopes I cultivated in those naive years. I steadfastly refuse to believe that any of those hopes have been dashed.
My roommate and I were talking the other day, and I mentioned happiness, and how most people don't seem to be happy, yet I feel a happiness. He disagreed, saying that I seemed to be upset most of the time. I didn't think about it, but it does seem to others that I am upset, and my solace only appears in my words at times. I want people to be touched and inspired, and I would like to be the conduit in their lives to fulfillment. That I haven't attained fulfillment myself is more grist for the mill, as it were.


MAY 13, 2001
DEAR DIARY,

The internet is a vast wasteland (with apologies to T.S. Eliot and early television critics.) My dream is that someday people who might receive insight from my poetry will gain access to this site, and find something which inspires them, and in the process this will inspire me again. This has been a poetryless year so far, and this site is joining all those poetry sites in the wasteland. It's not that I have nothing to say. It's just that the internet has proven daunting, and creativity has been better served in other areas. My words will out, I have always proclaimed. What I can't seem to do, even with the many websites, and the thousands of words I have posted, is to grab the attention of the people I want to read these words.
The incredibly wonderful thing, though, is that those words do exist, here on this page, and in these pages, and I know that someday, even if it is after my corporeal self exits these waters of life, that the poetry will live on somewhere, and perhaps even then will inspire as it has been intended.


MARCH 18, 2001
DEAR DIARY,

How do I begin to describe the feelings inherent in having a website, which is supposed to be updated from time to time, when the poetry flees for an extended period of time? I last edited this website in October of 2000, and haven't written anything since, hence the site has remained in a perpetual state of Oct. 2000. Of course the poetry was only last in me as I conducted my lovesearch, and words just are not there right now, as I really feel that I have nothing to say right now as well. (Maybe I still have something to say, I just feel as if I''ve said it all.)
Inasmuch as I know these free websites can be deleted when there is no "action", I felt I would at least come back and "touch base" with some of my pages. Time flies, as they say, and the words written on the site are permanent, at least as long as they stay in the ethereal internet exosphere.
I just don't feel the creative juices flowing for some reason. I still search for love, but as I age, I feel more comfortable with myself, and my existence, and it seems as if I do not harbor the need to constantly try to find the "right one". I've always maintained that she exists, and if in fact she does, then we will couple as the heavens intended. Meanwhile, I have fulfillment in different ways, and I am aghast that three months of this year are gone already.
I only need to wait for inspiration. It always comes sooner or later. The computer screen has taken over for the insidious blank piece of paper, and the blinking cursor is my pen, poised at the ready. I noticed one day I got 38 hits on this site in February. The intent behind the site was to "publish" the work. I hope some lone souls stumble across the work already here and stay awhile, and maybe get inspired themselves.


OCT.1, 2000
DEAR DIARY,

This morning marks the beginning of the last three month period of the true Millennium, and I don't hear anything about it from the media or from the people I know. But as usual, I am feeling the changes of the universe. I know there are great things about to happen, but of course in reality, each day overwrites the day before it, and each minute of existence feels like an old coat.
For the past few weeks, I have written to Regina, but am beginning my lovesearch again, if only to begin again in establishing the internet personality I began in May of 1999. When I stopped "fighting" in the Site Fights, it seems my email database dried up, only helping me to realize that I need to find other outlets for my poetic ramblings, those people in the fights really only have time to participate in the fights, and not take time to read reams and reams of poetry. Which brings me to another point. I need to add more of the poetry of the past, probably beginning with the Cathy poems written in the late seventies. I've tried "searching" for this entity with whom I fell in love in 1978, but can't find her online, and believe she is probably married, and never thinks of me anyway.
I am still thinking of Regina, she of the artistic talent, and the urge to make things right with her life, and I wish her well, and try to keep her current with what happens with me, although sometimes I wonder if we connected at all like I want to connect with someone, and the time I spent getting to know her makes me realize that as I get older, I get more and more set in my ways, and maybe am not a candidate for love at all, although friends tell me I'm just getting over the feelings of failure which probably weren't even there in the first place.
I am in the midst of adding this site to poetry webrings, ever on the lookout for hits, and for readers.
Who knows, maybe someday my mailbox will be graced with a letter from someone who felt touched by my feeble attempt at poetic ramblings. Time will tell.


SEPT. 23, 2000
DEAR DIARY,

Earlier this week, I signed on to the Excite Personals again, and did a search. Only one "candidate" showed up within the criteria I set up. I bookmarked the ad, and even as I write this, I wonder why I haven't taken the time to respond. This month is almost dried up, and although I miss Regina, she has been back ensconed in New Mexico for two months now, and although I know I love her as a human being, I equally am sure that I was never "in love" with her as I describe being "in love" in my writings, and on my lovesearch page on the AllThingsMike website. The ad on Excite with which I have procrastinated in composing an answer was just written on the 17th, and I am nervous that if I respond, I will involve myself with my third strikeout in the lovesearch, and I certainly do not want this to happen. In the few emails I get currently from Regina, she wonders why I don't send her more emails, and I do send her at least one every week or so, like letters, and I always thought of email as mail, not an instantaneous way of talking to people. The internet will not replace that kind of interaction.
While talking to friends and acquaintences lately, I have come to grips with the fact that with all the "interaction" we think we are receiving on the internet, really, we are sitting in front of a machine, and can turn it off at any time. What might seem "interesting" and "intensely personal" in a string of emails is really just a bunch of words, sort of like poetry, I guess, and each individual can, if they are artistic or have a good deal of imagination, present themselves exactly as they wish to, and the interaction isn't really interaction at all. I'll call it "masturbatory interaction". That's probably not a "respectable" term, but it most describes how I feel about email interactions at this time.
I've been across this country "looking" for love on the internet, and my ads always said I was looking in my own backyard in the Los Angeles area. The ad to which I have not responded belongs to a woman in the Los Angeles area, and if she is interested in me as a person, we do not have to fly 3000 miles to see if it works out, or as it turned out in Regina's case, relocate, and lose what tenuous grip you have on perceived reality.
As I write this, I think I will respond to this ad, if only to let the woman know that I exist, and hopefully gain another reader for my poetry. Life is a movie without a final act while we're living it, and sometimes we tend to write bad scripts for the individual acts, but I still believe very strongly in the concept of serendipity, and really do not want to stop looking for my muse.
I loved the concept of a life with Regina, but it didn't work out, and maybe it's time to start the search again.


SEPT. 4, 2000
DEAR DIARY,

It seems that a lot of my early poems had the subject of inactivity. I would go for long spells without writing anything, and then proclaim the "the poetry is all gone" in a poem. When Regina left for her home in New Mexico a little over a month ago, the poetry in me again seemed to flee, and I haven't written anything since "Confessional." In the old days, the only witnesses to this inactivity were my notebooks, and now with the suddenness of the web, periods of inactivity show up, or more succinctly, do not show up, for all the world to see on this page. Since I sincerely believe that my poetry is my life, when the poems do not come to me, then I sometimes feel as if my life is stagnating, when in actuality, the "life" is what gets in the way of the urge to write poetry. Even this diary is sporadic, as I fully intended to supplement the poetry with prose detailing what was "on my mind" at any given time. Well, as long as the website is evolving, and as long as I can touch my readers, then there is nothing to worry about. The words always come to the surface, even after months or years of dormancy.


JULY 30, 2000
DEAR DIARY,

Back in April I was so happy to have been able to bring the love of my life here to California to live alongside me, and to experience life alongside me. Last week, this woman, the beautiful Regina, decided to leave these environs and move back to her home in the desert. Her life here in California proved too difficult, and though she still loves me, she finds she can get easier employment, and can survive this life a little better from the comfort of her earlier home.
This move at first devastated me, but I am doing a little better since I have had contact with her, and know she is happy.


JULY 9, 2000
DEAR DIARY,

Yesterday I installed a MIDI sequencer program which I purchased some months back, and opened the little piano icon which allows you to make music. The program has a mixing board, and seems to be for sound what the Micrografx Picture Publisher is for images. I do believe I will be able to make music for my websites, using this program, and I've never played an instrument in my life. From my elementary school days, I have always been very interested in sound, and used to record TV theme music off the television with a small reel to reel tape deck, and also would record "radio shows" with my brother and sister.
So far, on the internet, I have dabbled in content, writing poetry, philosophy, and my movie reviews, and also I have created background sets and graphics, which draws upon my subconscious artistic nature. I always wanted to play the piano, and at 47, I may begin, starting with this music program. The first piece I imported was the alluring MIDI which I use here on ElectricPoetry. I doubled the guitar and harmonica tracks, and made it sound fuller, but couldn't get the right notes down on the refrain.
When I finish, I will put it on this site.
I think this would be the perfect place to add music, and instead of prerecorded pieces, like the Enya MIDIs which are all over my Site Fights team, the Seryn Isle Elves, I really feel I could make some haunting and lyrical works.
Just more proof that the computer and the internet are fostering creativity. I am very thankful to be alive in this wonderful time.


JUNE 18, 2000
DEAR DIARY,

Whoever said life was easy probably never said it. Most times life is incredibly hard. Even if we think our spirit is soaring and events are happening in a wonderful manner, there is still often a "straw breaking a camel's back" somewhere in our lives. As I interact with more people, through the Site Fights, and on the internet in general, I find that nobody has really ever found exactly what they are looking for, but I guess that is what makes this "chase" through life interesting. We are all learning, day by day, how to live with ourselves and with the world in general. Various things which have happened to me lately have put me in a "wait and see" mode, a mode which I really haven't ever used in my life. I am always a "go get it" type, and get frustrated VERY easily. I think as I sit back and ponder some more, that I have to increase my "Patience Potential" and wait a little longer. Life, most of the time, seems to gallop past at an alarming pace, especially with the rise of "internet culture" and so many labor saving devices which seem to increase labor. Although my frustration at not being able to accomplish what I want at any particular time shows in my life and my interactions, I am willing to filter this frustration, and begin to have the patience to wait and see what happens. Time will tell is a very good homily. And like all homilies it is true and that is why it survives.


JUNE 5 , 2000
DEAR DIARY,

I have recently upgraded the Archives pages on the ol' website, and have imported some logos I designed into the page, to hopefully try and develop a graphic style for each page. The content is still king, however, and the archives link to a lot of early poetry


MAY 14, 2000
DEAR DIARY,

I had a wonderful weekend visiting my favorite place, the Southern California Renaissance Faire, with my love, my friend, and companion, My Regina. I have asked her to be with me forever. We are truly planting the seeds of love from the depths of our bosoms. I have not felt this
sense of wonder and companionship for ages, and the feeling is good. The various and myriad feelings which have prompted my poetry in the past have nearly been forgotten, as I prepare for a life of love. Although I feel the poems return, in truth I have not set "pen to paper" as often as I thought I would, but I am certainly not regretful of any feelings I am currently feeling. There have been some sadnesses, as are evident as I get to know more people through this website and the experience of the site fights, but these sadnesses sare somewhat universal, and I have known them for eons. The chief emotion I feel as I write this is happiness. The happiness I can only have felt through my relationship with Regina. Here is to my muse!!


MAY 6, 2000
DEAR DIARY,

There are two things happening in my life at this moment. One of them, of course, concerns my muse and inspiration, Regina.
She is now living merely minutes from me, and the feelings I feel when thinking about her are magnificent. The other concerns the love and sincerity which I have found since I returned in the realm of the Site Fights. I must say that at first, even though I eagerly joined, and joined in the Site Fights, I did think it was a rather cynical affair. At first, only seeing the requests for VE, and the many Reminders emails, I didn't think the people involved even had time to work on their sites, much less engage in the camaradere the endeavor promised. Then a funny thing happened. Within a few weeks involvement. I "figuratively" "met" a lot of various people, people who turned out not only to be genuine and special, but flesh and blood humans with foibles and fortunes. In the past few days, while voting, and reading the various reminders, and because of a terrible tragedy which really touched my soul, I really feel as if now, even more so than ever before, a sense of community exists on the world wide web, and I am a part of it. These are the days which are changing my soul.


MAY 3, 2000
DEAR DIARY,

Now that I am back in my home state of California, and my muse is living close by me, I feel the poetry is about to retrun again. I recently found a volume of a few poems from 1995, which I plan to add to these pages this weekend. I hardly remember writing them, when my life was in a sad state, now that it has truly turned from melancholy to bliss. I have never felt the love I feel now, and the poetry wells in me, ready to burst on the page. I am happy for truly the first time in my life, and I raise my voice to the heavens in thanks to Regina, my queen.


APRIL 23, 2000
DEAR DIARY,

I have a few hours left before we disconnect the computer before heading back to California. I arrived in the desert on the 21st, and an spiriting away my muse, and we are beginning our new life together. All the elements of the Universe seem to smile on us, as we begin our adventure. I feel a "rich, romantic" hold on my life this Easter morning. It's as if my "eggs are in my basket" of life, ready for fate to collect them.


APRIL 16, 2000
DEAR DIARY,

In the many (few?) years I've existed on this planet, I have had conflicting emotions before. But always one of these was an unhappy emotion, which was usually battling it out with and winning in its fight with the benevolent emotion. Now, for the first time in my life, I feel incredibly happy. All the conflicting emotions are wonderful emotions, not scarred by grief and tears. Because of the first steps I took on my birthday last year, on May 1 to create a webpresence, two incredibly profound things are happening in my life.
And May 1 ,Mayday , my birthday, is coming around in a scant two weeks.
The happy emotions are those I feel because I am constantly thinking of Regina, my muse, my lover , and my other half, soon to be here with me where we can start our lives together. I met her because of connectivity spurred by the internet. This same connectivity is fueling my Spirit in the Site Fights, where for the first time I've been fighting, my supporters have taken me to the Inner Isle with all tens, and I am for the first time fighting against a teammate and supporter, Morgana, while another teammate and supporter, Wren Wolfbane, advanced out of the Inner Isle for the first time. Connectivity is the theme of ElectricPoetry. Dear Diary, I am truly happy in this the dawning of my golden years.


APRIL 11, 2000
DEAR DIARY,

The sun has been down a while now, and I've just "got back" from "surfing some more sites" with potential VEers, and was struck with the true "Spirit of the Site Fights". I admit, I was pretty overwhelmed with the process at first, but now rather enjoy visiting the other sites, but not only that. Pretty soon you are part of that vast community I'm always talking about. As I "go back" and notice new additions and changes on the different personal sites, and as people visit my sites and give praise, you get to a point where you realize that this spirit is the spirit of true community. We might only be joined at first because we agreed to Vote Exchange, and the longer you are in the Fights, I surmise, you start asking every website that comes in the door to VE with you. I've seen Support Walls that take years to load. But seriously, I do feel a "sense of camaraderie unheralded till now." And of course, hopefully some people are actually reading the poems. But, dear Diary, I feel good. I'm in love. I'm making more new webfriends by the day, and the more people I meet, the more time I want to spend really perusing their personalities through their sites. The vast internet is awaiting. (I need one of those really fast modems, Santa.)


APRIL 1, 2000
DEAR DIARY,

It's 10:00am. My room-mate is at work today so I have the place to myself. I've got The Dixie Chick's Fly CD playing "Some Days You Gotta Dance", and I'm dancing around the room, fooling with Spike the cat. In the coumputer room, I'm doing my finances on Microsoft Money, I have the internet up and running, with my website editor showing onscreen along with the Money program. The CD ends, I fire
up the 'ol Napster, download some Britney Spears, then access my own MP3 of Faith Hill's "The Kiss"
and realize that truly, as if I'm dreaming, I'm just simply in love. That's why I feel so good.
I'm in love, waiting for the day now when my soulmate and I get together physically, and the plan is on my birthday, May 1, which is fitting,
because it is exactly one year to the day that I put up my webpresence. I am incredibly happy, diary, for possibly the first time in my life.
Thousands of positive feelings pour through my heart and soul. For once, each phrase or beat of a song is proclaiming happiness instead of
sadness. This is particularly weird for me. I used to "drown myself in beer" and turn music up real loud, and try to immerse my sad soul into
a state of "false happiness." I still observe my room-mate do this on a nightly basis.
I always believed that that I would never really fall in love, and all my feelings were of longing.
Now that the longing is transforming itself into simly a longing that we finally get together and begin our life together, I just can't believe that it took this long for it too happen. My poetry has always been sad poetry, and I feel a great transformation is about to take place, ah, I can see it happening as my mind and being fill with this wonderfulness.
I have competing good feelings. This hasn't happened before. I have to give thanks to that
wonderful phone-television-typewriter-slide projector-mailbox that is the internet. Because I finally decided to use the internet as a tool to inspire and enhance my creativity, I feel more alive than I have in years. Coupled to that because of my internet lovesearch, I have connected to my muse. We will start one of those "internet love sites" and maybe even the wedding will be documented on the net. I have for once in my life begun feeling incredibly happy. (Have I mentioned this enough, diary.) I am making plans for a life with a woman from whom I receive the greatest love in history. On top of that, thanks to my involvement with my poetry club, the site fights, and corresponding with ex-classmates at Rosemead High School on classmates.com, I am finally getting a "community" of people with whom I can correspond, and who can read my feelings "like a book" and help me to realize my place in this world. As hopefully I can help them do the same.
As usual, this has turned into a hurricane torrent of words.
Well, now I'm going to put the top down on the convertible, and take advantage of this wonderful day. On April Fools Day I feel the perfect fool, dear Diary. And I am loving it.


MARCH 30, 2000

DEAR DIARY, I couldn't have thought it could finally happen, but after nearly a year, I am finally getting to see some readers return, and as I make more webfriendships, which are stimulated by building a COMMUNITY of websites, then I realize that there is a lot of very interesting and vital art and literature being produced on the internet today by a vast variety of people. I really feel this is a companionship that can breed and multiply, enhancing all of our lives. I really have only recently begun to feel this "real" "virtual" sense of community, and since I always wanted to have a "perfect society" on an "island" somewhere, I serenely feel like the internet is the sea, and ElectricPoetry is my islandwh


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