Crash Test Dummies Blog

Written by Brad Roberts

11 Nov

Toy’s Record

Hello people. I haven’t been much involved with the site lately, so I figured I may as well do my bit and let you know how things are going.

You all know about my fondness for scotch whiskey. However I have stopped drinking entirely and feel like a new man. I was really over-doing the boozing and my health started to fall apart. Don’t worry, though – I’m not one of those people who quit drinking and stop hanging out with his friends who drink moderately. I still go to bars, and I have a club soda instead of a beer. No big deal.

When I stopped drinking I knew I had to get in shape, so I got a yoga teacher and committed to developing a steady practice. I’ve been doing it for over 2 years now, and I am healthy as a freakin’ horse. Lost a ton of weight, and literally changed my body and my entire being. I actually get high from doing it.

More recently I started kickboxing with a world-class kick boxer. I do it because it’s a really fun work out. I can’t jog or lift weights simply because it bores me. But kicking the crap out of my teacher (they wear pads) is very satisfying. I’d love to compete but I don’t I’d be ready to get in the ring for another 5 years, at which time I’ll be 50, which is kind of old to be starting.

I am finally near the completion of my new record, ‘toys’. ellen sings on it, but the rest of CTD’s have families and can’t just fly off to new york like she can, so we are the only two dummies on the record. I can say with confidence that this is going to be a killer record.

I’ve been writing poetry and actually taking the time to send it to magazines. No luck yet. But it doesn’t matter. I’ll keep writing them and they can keep rejecting them.

One of the poems I wrote is a villanelle, which is a very formal structure. Google villanelle if you want to know the structure. It’s one of the more tough forms, because the rules are very strict.

I’ll sign off now – here’s the poem. Hope you all are well and good.

Kirk out.


And as he packed, he did not say a word,
Nor did she move, frozen in tableau:
She watched, her head cocked, like a tuneless bird:

Her pigeon chest, her racing heart, unheard;
She tried to speak, but what? She did not know.
And as he packed, he did not say a word.

He glanced at her, then went on, undeterred,
While on her face no feeling could she show;
She watched, her head cocked, like a tuneless bird.

My verse old-fashioned, better left unheard?
My theme, a thing grown tiresome and slow?
And as he packed, he did not say a word.

The years have passed, since all if this occurred.
Remembering now, it seems not long ago,
That as he packed, he did not say a word.
She watched, her head cocked, like a tuneless bird.

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