how are you i ask
i'm getting old and i don't like it
i laugh at that
don't laugh it isn't funny getting old
can you still get it up?
i have not tried lately
i laugh again
jesus christ you're so goddamn happy
i'm sorry
no you are still young
so what really is the problem?
that is the problem there is no problem here it just happens
i don't laugh at that
Monday, March 09, 2009
Monday, March 02, 2009
Universal Tree
There are a few things a the museum that are so exciting, I wish to steal them. But, unfortunately, these things I like weigh thousands of pounds. One is a copy of a sarcophagus, the original buried deep in a Mayan temple. On the lid, is a rendering of the cosmic tree of life, the leaves spilling abundantly down the milk of the Universe onto a blessed king who was buried in the stone shell. Taken from one perspective, the carvings look very sci-fi, the king a spaceman lifting off the launch pad, ready for the stars.
Sunday, March 01, 2009
Something to Say
What did I want to say? Something clear that came to me, distilled through the purity of dreams. Now in the daylight, lost. But this is okay, because the mechanical music box with the Christmas diorama plays on and on, with the mechanical people in it trimming the tree and celebrating, forever.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
I Slept
I was tired of snoring. I was tired of sleeping, but I know you can't avoid sleeping. When I slept, if I wasn't snoring, I was sweating. Thin or thick blankets produced sweat, hot or cold, it didn't make a difference. I would wake up from time to time, and I was scared I would see a ghostly figure in the door. I saw a ghostly figure by the closet, but this was a robe. Sleeping again, I didn't know where I was, in the house or the flat. I'd look for a window, and it was a wall, I'd look at for a chest of drawers with a painting on it, and see a television and a mirror. A voice told me quietly, never write with red ink, it is unlucky to do so. I agreed. I slept.
Young Groucho Marx
I dream Groucho Marx is young, not wearing his trademark greasepaint eyebrows & mustache. He's sitting in a expensive hotel room, drunk as a skunk. I think he wants the phone to ring. Harpo comes in, looking very debonair in a expensive suit, smoking a cigar. Groucho and Harpo start to talk, but this exchange evolves suddenly into an explosive, profanity-laden argument. A lamp is broken, a small table is upended, spilling silverware and china in a tinkling miniature avalanche. Harpo leaves with Groucho violently gesticulating, jumping up and down on the bed. Alone, Groucho collapses on the floor, but after holding still, and looking at the silverware from eye-level, he crawls to the window, where a bottle of booze is. While Groucho is taking a sip, Chico kicks the door open, and yells at Groucho for a few minutes. He leaves, and Groucho stays sitting on the floor with an open window right above his head. I can see a distant streetlight, as the drapes blow gently in and out. He crosses his legs, holding the bottle of whiskey wedged between his thighs. It is quiet for about 10 minutes, Groucho barely moving. Then the phone rings, thank God, the phone is ringing! It rings and rings, but he does not answer.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Hope
I go to the reading. I think I am too excited. Everyone is jaded. They think I am a rube. We eat dinner. I am too engaged. People get offended. I have no freinds. I have no "circle". I only mean well. They dismiss me. Oh, well. I am used to being alone. It could be a good thing. I'll never stop. What is the point of it all? To go on. And have hope.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Poem - tell me
tell me i am your santa to a christmas tree
or the atomic bomb in your heart
tell me i am better than peanut butter
with sliced bread
tell that without me soda has no fizz
and hell hath no fury
tell this attraction is illogical
beyond concepts or trivial words
give up please give up
and we can watch the moon
i'll sleep holding onto your arm
and you will know we are together
or the atomic bomb in your heart
tell me i am better than peanut butter
with sliced bread
tell that without me soda has no fizz
and hell hath no fury
tell this attraction is illogical
beyond concepts or trivial words
give up please give up
and we can watch the moon
i'll sleep holding onto your arm
and you will know we are together
Do You Know How Much I Love You?
i.
I dream lucidly about books, about being a book, on how we are all books.
ii.
I take June to school, at the Loop. The Loop is quietly exciting, quietly impressive, quietly quiet. Oh blue sky, which I have described (didactically) too many times, as fine. But it is true. You are a fine blue sky.
iii.
I race back to Oak Park, for no apparent reason.
iv.
Is it iv or vi? No, it is iv.
V.
Sweet 5.
vi.
Is it vi, or iv -- terrible is the uncertainty. I could look it up on the "Internets".
vii.
I don't.
viii.
Do you know how much I love you?
ix.
Do not delay.
I dream lucidly about books, about being a book, on how we are all books.
ii.
I take June to school, at the Loop. The Loop is quietly exciting, quietly impressive, quietly quiet. Oh blue sky, which I have described (didactically) too many times, as fine. But it is true. You are a fine blue sky.
iii.
I race back to Oak Park, for no apparent reason.
iv.
Is it iv or vi? No, it is iv.
V.
Sweet 5.
vi.
Is it vi, or iv -- terrible is the uncertainty. I could look it up on the "Internets".
vii.
I don't.
viii.
Do you know how much I love you?
ix.
Do not delay.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
I Am an Idiot
I don't understand lots of stuff, but I know my capacity to be an idiot, is limitless. I am an educated polite buffoon, and you should never think I am more than that. For me, being a buffoon is enough. The education happened because I thought it would improve my buffoonery. Being polite keeps me out of jail.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Webpage - F*** My Life
I found this website today -- F*** My Life -- through the excellent pointers blog Look At This. People join and submit short anecdotes about terrible things that have happened to them. Many of the entries are quite hilarious, and tragic, in equal parts. I loved the one where a kid came back from college, and found out his family took a family trip to Thailand, without him. He thought the picture on the mantelpiece was photoshopped, of everyone but him, with a jungle and an elephant, but no, it was real.
About a year ago I made a horrendous faux pas, in front of all my new neighbors. We were having a Father's Day block party and I turned to the older gentleman sitting next to me and wished him a Happy Father's Day. I don't know what compelled me to do it, because I didn't know him. Everyone sitting at the table got quiet. The man asked me why I thought he was a father, but he had been a father. It turns out his grown up son had died very recently, and the family was coping with it difficultly.
About a year ago I made a horrendous faux pas, in front of all my new neighbors. We were having a Father's Day block party and I turned to the older gentleman sitting next to me and wished him a Happy Father's Day. I don't know what compelled me to do it, because I didn't know him. Everyone sitting at the table got quiet. The man asked me why I thought he was a father, but he had been a father. It turns out his grown up son had died very recently, and the family was coping with it difficultly.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Calling People
He calls people at random, and leaves short messages.
"Marmut's Revenge."
"Rubber dog poo."
"Glass Doornob."
"Forbidden Idol."
He calls the flower shop down the way, and pretends the flower shop and he are two Russian submariners, each sailor trapped in compartments on opposite ends of the boat. The girl who works at the shop knows who he is, and is secretly in love with him, though she thinks he is embarrassingly strange.
Many people who he phones at random, who have caller-ID, call back. He responds to their insults, or inquiries, while talking through a comb, wrapped in a piece of wax paper, over his lips.
The flower shop girl is 25, she has long blond hair. The kind of hair you want to touch. She is annoyed, and appreciative of this, all at once.
"Marmut's Revenge."
"Rubber dog poo."
"Glass Doornob."
"Forbidden Idol."
He calls the flower shop down the way, and pretends the flower shop and he are two Russian submariners, each sailor trapped in compartments on opposite ends of the boat. The girl who works at the shop knows who he is, and is secretly in love with him, though she thinks he is embarrassingly strange.
Many people who he phones at random, who have caller-ID, call back. He responds to their insults, or inquiries, while talking through a comb, wrapped in a piece of wax paper, over his lips.
The flower shop girl is 25, she has long blond hair. The kind of hair you want to touch. She is annoyed, and appreciative of this, all at once.
I'll Be Back Soon
i.
He does not ride the bus right. He is dancing, singing, roughhousing playfully with old ladies (some of whom, laugh at this) and he tries to look out of as many windows of the bus, as possible, in the shortest span of time. This can't last too long, but it lasts longer than it could. Back on the sidewalk, after he imitated a helicopter, he sees a big leftover lump of dirty snow and he picks it up. He finds a cop and shoves it down the back of the bullet-proof vest. He runs towards Grant Park, the peace officer waving a pistol in the air.
ii.
After hiding in the bushes for several hours, near the Bean, he decides to go to a bar. He has no money. He pays for four drinks with a feather, bartender takes the feather. There is a cute girl who seems to like him. He reminds her of a friend of hers. She buys him a drink and they go back to her small apartment that is directly across from the El where they make love. Between lovemaking sessions, they talk about Cuba, Egyptian pyramid building techniques, ancient Chinese discoveries, and maps. They both get a bit frisky, drinking some wine from a small jug on the floor.
iii.
He wakes up in the late morning and finds that the girl is gone, she has handcuffed his left wrist to the bed. The trains rumbling by shake the whole apartment in an exciting way. A lovely note says, "I'll be back soon." There are cookies and big glass of water within reach.
He does not ride the bus right. He is dancing, singing, roughhousing playfully with old ladies (some of whom, laugh at this) and he tries to look out of as many windows of the bus, as possible, in the shortest span of time. This can't last too long, but it lasts longer than it could. Back on the sidewalk, after he imitated a helicopter, he sees a big leftover lump of dirty snow and he picks it up. He finds a cop and shoves it down the back of the bullet-proof vest. He runs towards Grant Park, the peace officer waving a pistol in the air.
ii.
After hiding in the bushes for several hours, near the Bean, he decides to go to a bar. He has no money. He pays for four drinks with a feather, bartender takes the feather. There is a cute girl who seems to like him. He reminds her of a friend of hers. She buys him a drink and they go back to her small apartment that is directly across from the El where they make love. Between lovemaking sessions, they talk about Cuba, Egyptian pyramid building techniques, ancient Chinese discoveries, and maps. They both get a bit frisky, drinking some wine from a small jug on the floor.
iii.
He wakes up in the late morning and finds that the girl is gone, she has handcuffed his left wrist to the bed. The trains rumbling by shake the whole apartment in an exciting way. A lovely note says, "I'll be back soon." There are cookies and big glass of water within reach.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Appreciation
The white cat noses around, suspiciously -- he's the cat that likes to chew on wires, and in the process, has ruined several very expensive pieces of electronic equipment. We're talking about that $500.00 Bang and Olufsen telephone, and a very high tech headset, two cell-phone chargers, a fax machine, and an all-in-one printer. All the cats are acting like they are starving, as white cat walks behind my laptop and thinks about nibbling on the edge of the screen. For me, a two-year-old is methodically disassembling the house as I sit through 6 hour phone meetings all week long. Important things need to get done, in a certain order, if I could only remember all of them and prioritize them, but I have little help in doing this from the very people it would benefit. I am tempted to write longer, more convoluted sentences, but I stop myself. On days like these, I almost become convinced that appreciation is something that decreases over time, the longer you know someone.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Poem - Hey Fritz
it snows and i really miss you
a damn cat
i'd give anything to have you back
and see how your stripes looked
i pine for you because you belonged here
quite perfectly
a southern californian cat
just ashes now
a damn cat
i'd give anything to have you back
and see how your stripes looked
i pine for you because you belonged here
quite perfectly
a southern californian cat
just ashes now
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Tuesday
i.
One kid is awake at 6 AM. I ignore him until about a quarter to seven. He can't get out of his crib, but that might change by next week. Then I'll hear a giggle and a yell & have a hotwheel rammed into my face. I get up and we kick ourselves outta the flat. Breakfast at the house. Phoebe to school. Spongebob Squarepants, Spongebob Squarepants, Spongebob Squarepants. Meetings.
ii.
How I'd like to have a doughnut.
One kid is awake at 6 AM. I ignore him until about a quarter to seven. He can't get out of his crib, but that might change by next week. Then I'll hear a giggle and a yell & have a hotwheel rammed into my face. I get up and we kick ourselves outta the flat. Breakfast at the house. Phoebe to school. Spongebob Squarepants, Spongebob Squarepants, Spongebob Squarepants. Meetings.
ii.
How I'd like to have a doughnut.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Poem - 13
burning my days down
as if they were free
& they are not
the cost is high
i am good
but i don't act good
bored in the churches
of reason
as if they were free
& they are not
the cost is high
i am good
but i don't act good
bored in the churches
of reason
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Proud Daniel
I want to go to the bathroom alone, privately, but for Daniel, who is 2, this would be like missing the Superbowl. So I'm going to the bathroom in the smallest bathroom of the house, a water closet, and Daniel is right there with me. Almost on top of me, really. Rolling his toy car over my toes, as I try to go. And I'm trying to read a story I like. But I can't concentrate, so I give up.
Outside, it is raining. When I'm done, I get up, and Daniel points at the water in the toilet, and he yells, "Poooooo!" "You're right!" I reply. Together, we flush the toilet. "Bye Bye!" yells Daniel as the toilet empties. "Thanks for the help, Daniel." I say. Daniel is very proud, and later, he squeezes the cat extra hard.
Outside, it is raining. When I'm done, I get up, and Daniel points at the water in the toilet, and he yells, "Poooooo!" "You're right!" I reply. Together, we flush the toilet. "Bye Bye!" yells Daniel as the toilet empties. "Thanks for the help, Daniel." I say. Daniel is very proud, and later, he squeezes the cat extra hard.
Monday, February 09, 2009
Flushing Toilets
I did it. I had every toilet in the bathroom flushing, all at once. The sound was glorious, a magnificent symphony of porcelain and vibrating plumbing. Once I got the timing right, I was able to get the stalls to fire off repeatedly, several times in a row -- filling the shining white restroom with a uninterrupted wall of sound. People came in and left, but I could see they absolutely approved of my activity, as any five-year-old assumes.
Too soon, it was over. My mother managed to get a nice, big man to go into the bathroom, and he escorted me out. When I was reunited with her, I realized I was so excited, that I forgot to go pee. I managed to hold it all the long way home.
Too soon, it was over. My mother managed to get a nice, big man to go into the bathroom, and he escorted me out. When I was reunited with her, I realized I was so excited, that I forgot to go pee. I managed to hold it all the long way home.
Thursday, February 05, 2009
Ants and Other Things
I dream I am trying to sleep, when an ant gets in my mouth....in the dream about trying to sleep. In the dream, I wake up, and I'm trying to figure out why I'm getting stray ants in my mouth, because it is disconcerting. I turn the covers over, and see there are 40 or 50 ants between the sheets. I shake out the bedding and wonder why my bed, or the sheets are attracting so many ants. The ants seem lethargic, and there is no food to attract them. It is a real mystery. I can't figure it out. I don't know what they want, or why the ants are there. All I want to do is to sleep in my dream, without being worried about ants getting in my mouth. And in worrying about this, I wake up for real, and I see a softly glowing series of numbers. It is the clock, showing 2.33 AM. I check the sheets, and there are no ants. After turning off the light, I lay back down, and I watch the ceiling. It isn't doing much. Just there, a white surface.
---
As I fall asleep, I believe I hear someone out on the sidewalk shoveling snow. Who shovels snow in the middle of the night?
---
As I fall asleep, I believe I hear someone out on the sidewalk shoveling snow. Who shovels snow in the middle of the night?
Wednesday, February 04, 2009
The Bleebs
He had the "Bleebs". He thought it was a funny word, until the doctor explained what it was.
'Where did it come from, doc?" he said, his mouth suddenly quite dry.
"India, at first, we think." said the doctor, quietly, seriously.
"And the prognosis?"
"I'm sorry to say, but...the Bleebs..."
"Give it to me straight, doc."
"The Bleebs are fatal."
"How much time do I have?"
"Seconds -- hours, weeks, even years. There is no way of telling. But you have it. The Bleebs."
In the hallway, he could distinctly hear some kind of medical equipment, probably in another room, beeping softly, constantly, maddeningly...until it was shut off.
'Where did it come from, doc?" he said, his mouth suddenly quite dry.
"India, at first, we think." said the doctor, quietly, seriously.
"And the prognosis?"
"I'm sorry to say, but...the Bleebs..."
"Give it to me straight, doc."
"The Bleebs are fatal."
"How much time do I have?"
"Seconds -- hours, weeks, even years. There is no way of telling. But you have it. The Bleebs."
In the hallway, he could distinctly hear some kind of medical equipment, probably in another room, beeping softly, constantly, maddeningly...until it was shut off.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
WOW!
As we get the king-sized mattress into the truck, the jet, it passes over low and loud. Miramar is gearing up for Aviation Week, so the Phantoms and other jets are practicing their routines. Phoebe does this kind of herky-jerky dance of terror -- I've seen small children do it before when they are unexpectedly filled with terror. It's funny and heartbreaking at the same time, and I scoop her up, and we both say, "WOW!".
Monday, January 26, 2009
Poem - i'm sorry/ he said
i'm sorry
he said
here are poems
deep in me
the very best
ones
and i could not
bring them
it is my fault
my lack of skill
there is one now
gliding away
slippery
i cannot touch it
he said
here are poems
deep in me
the very best
ones
and i could not
bring them
it is my fault
my lack of skill
there is one now
gliding away
slippery
i cannot touch it
Monday, January 19, 2009
Chung Tzu Says I'm a LUCKY DOG
"If I have accomplished anything, it was largely due to the unrequested kindness of others." I say to Chung Tzu.
"You LUCKY DOG!" Chung Tzu exclaims.
-----
Frederick Larrabee: She's a delight Bannister, a delight and you're a lucky dog.
Howard: I...
Frederick Larrabee: Admit it! Admit you're a lucky dog.
Howard: I'm a lucky dog.
"You LUCKY DOG!" Chung Tzu exclaims.
-----
Frederick Larrabee: She's a delight Bannister, a delight and you're a lucky dog.
Howard: I...
Frederick Larrabee: Admit it! Admit you're a lucky dog.
Howard: I'm a lucky dog.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Lao Tzu and 10,000 Years
"If you do something for yourself, in authenticity, you could be doing it, also, for others."
Lao Tzu nods gently, and says almost imperceptibly, "Meditate on that for a time as long as 10,000 years, and you could go far."
Lao Tzu nods gently, and says almost imperceptibly, "Meditate on that for a time as long as 10,000 years, and you could go far."
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Should I Move to Iceland?
With windchill, it is -25 degrees, or even -35 degrees, otherwise, the thermometer is steady at -1. The day is brilliantly sunny, not a cloud in the sky. The snow is like sand, blowing off the rooftops in a crystalline spray, no birds out today. To cold for even the little birds, I wonder where they are. The car has trouble starting, I make sure the garage is sealed up tight when I get back, to conserve warmth. Now you can feel every nook or cranny in the house that leaks cold air, but the good news is the few leaky windows or doors are now sealed with blankets or towels. All in all, we're snug and content, watching TV reruns in bed and eating ice-cream, of all things. Tonight, -14, to -18 as a low, not counting the wind. I love it. Should I move to Iceland?
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
A Sleepy Discussion with Chung Tzu
After a period of lucid dreaming, I am having a hard time waking up. I feel half immersed in dreams, even when I am brushing my teeth.
I go outside, and see that it is pleasantly snowing. When I get to the house, Chung Tzu is in the kitchen.
"I had lucid dreams before I woke up, and now I'm trying to be awake." I say to him.
"No, you're still asleep." Chung Tzu says.
"How can I wake up?"
"Well, the best you've done, is to be semi-awake."
"When was that?"
"Oh, I guess about 7 months ago, for about 15 minutes."
"I guess that's better than nothing."
"Sure. I think, possibly, you'll be semi-awake again in about 6 weeks."
"If I go on retreat?"
"Yeah. You tend to be very sleepy around here."
We are quiet. He blows on his tea. Meanwhile, I see it has been gently, softly snowing, all along.
"Going on a retreat would be nice."
I go outside, and see that it is pleasantly snowing. When I get to the house, Chung Tzu is in the kitchen.
"I had lucid dreams before I woke up, and now I'm trying to be awake." I say to him.
"No, you're still asleep." Chung Tzu says.
"How can I wake up?"
"Well, the best you've done, is to be semi-awake."
"When was that?"
"Oh, I guess about 7 months ago, for about 15 minutes."
"I guess that's better than nothing."
"Sure. I think, possibly, you'll be semi-awake again in about 6 weeks."
"If I go on retreat?"
"Yeah. You tend to be very sleepy around here."
We are quiet. He blows on his tea. Meanwhile, I see it has been gently, softly snowing, all along.
"Going on a retreat would be nice."
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
"Snow"
I come in after shoveling snow. Lao Tzu is sitting in the kitchen.
"Snow!" I say.
"What is 'Snow'?" he asks, almost to himself.
--
Later, Chung Tzu is here.
"What do you think about 'Snow'?" I ask him, innocently as possible.
"I think it is a very good 'Idea'" says Chung Tzu.
"Snow!" I say.
"What is 'Snow'?" he asks, almost to himself.
--
Later, Chung Tzu is here.
"What do you think about 'Snow'?" I ask him, innocently as possible.
"I think it is a very good 'Idea'" says Chung Tzu.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Molested
1.
It was on the Church Street line, in a crowded train, absolutely packed, at rush hour, when I got molested. Doesn't every straight guy in San Francisco have some variation of this story? I'm in the middle of the train, in the crush, when more commuters get on, and suddenly I'm aware of the short guy wearing a business suit and a expensive tan overcoat. I notice him, because he's behind me, facing me, with the coat open, and he's pressing his whole body up against my side. And he has an erection. He's staring at me, with no expression, really, his face has a fine sheen of sweat on it. He's about 45, I can smell his aftershave, he has 5 o'clock shadow on his chin -- no expression, leaning hard against me. I have five stops to go, but I blush like a girl, I'm probably red head to foot. I don't know if that satisfies him, but as the train lurches forward, and we all sway, he decides to try it on someone else. This time he tries it on an older gay man. I get off the train at the next stop, and walk the rest of the way home.
2.
My wife told me a story one time, about her first trip to Europe. When she was in Italy, she saw the older Italian man following a cute blonde in a short skirt up an escalator. Apparently, the girl wasn't aware that the Italian was two steps below her on the escalator, with his neat salt and pepper hair, his nose about 1 inch from the back of her ass. He rode that way all the way up, she never turned around and saw him. Or maybe she knew right away, and she blushed & froze, just like I did.
1.45 AM, in Oak Park
We decide to go out and have a smoke. It's about 1.45 AM, in Oak Park. Not too cold, but quiet. As we're out there, a funny little guy comes out of nowhere, he wants to be a part of our conversation. He's about 5'8", 145 pounds, neatly dressed in a sweater and jeans, with fine gold spectacles. Neat as a pin, preppy, well groomed. Friendly. What the hell does he want behind that constant smiling? He tells us that he moved a year ago to Wicker Park, him and his lovely girlfriend. They just decided to pick up and go with a few bucks in their pockets to Chicago, and try it out here. And my pal and I were discussing age, and how we are pushing 40, and he says we're fine looking, handsome guys -- you wouldn't know we were that old. Weird little screwball. We are polite, and we disengage from the chat session, and go back in the bar. I'm going back in too! The kid says, and after we sit down, he passes us and heads for the restroom at the back. Both me and my pal, at the same time, say, WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT? Where did that weird little guy come from? What the hell is someone from Wicker Park doing out here, at 2 AM in the morning. You can't get a cab, and the trains are done running. I look down to the back of the bar, and I swear, the little guy never comes out of the restroom. Bizarre. Where did he go? Where's his girlfriend? We decide to go outside one more time, to see if he'll pop up again. Nope, he's gone, back into thin air. Trolled by a rent-boy.
Poem - are you from out of town
are you from out of town
you talk loudly in the bar
like you are on vacation
you laugh a big fake laugh
horribly mirthful
if you talked that loudly
every day where you live
people would grow to hate you
but who knows
they might already
your other freinds arrive
each time i can tell
because you get louder
absolutely thrilled
out of your mind
not to be an asshole but
if i was as thrilled as you sound
i'd have a massive heart attack
and they'd have to take me away
in a rubber body bag
finally it is time to go
i hear you all the way out
and now i can relax
as you shriek with delight
in the street
you talk loudly in the bar
like you are on vacation
you laugh a big fake laugh
horribly mirthful
if you talked that loudly
every day where you live
people would grow to hate you
but who knows
they might already
your other freinds arrive
each time i can tell
because you get louder
absolutely thrilled
out of your mind
not to be an asshole but
if i was as thrilled as you sound
i'd have a massive heart attack
and they'd have to take me away
in a rubber body bag
finally it is time to go
i hear you all the way out
and now i can relax
as you shriek with delight
in the street
Monday, December 29, 2008
He Lied to Children
After we graduated High School, my friend Jake rented a room in a house with two hyperactive boys, whose mother didn't pay enough attention to them, while she dated bikers. Naturally the kids cleaved onto Jake as a surrogate older brother, who wasn't adverse to roughhousing and generally entertaining them the way their absent father would. But I never met their father, and as far as I know, he was never around. I think the boys will always remember Jake as being an amazing diversion from that.
Jake would whirl them in the air, toss them again and again into the overstuffed couch...but the favorite game was called "Hide and Seek Baseball". This would involve the boys hiding in the living room, and Jake putting on a gorilla mask. He'd then get a sleeping bag with three pillows stuffed into it, and he'd chase them all around and hit them with the sleeping bag until the whole house shook. If anybody cried, they'd stop and watch cartoons and have a snack. The boys were never bored when Jake was around.
With this routine set, whenever Jake came home, if the kids were around, they'd run to his room. If his door was shut, they'd pound on it, and ask him what he was doing in his room. The irritating thing, especially in the summer, was if the door was closed & locked, it was because Jake wanted to make love to his girlfriend. So something had to be done.
One day, when his girlfriend wasn't around, Jake sat down with the boys, and had a chat with them. He explained that he had just found out that his girlfriend had been diagnosed with a rare heart condition, and if the boys were too loud around her, or startled her by banging on the door, she could have a heart attack, and die. This was a terrible problem to live with, but hopefully the doctors would find a cure, but until then, the kids would have to be extra careful when his girlfriend was around.
And the lie mostly worked. They certainly never banged on the door and asked Jake what he was doing when he had his door shut. Those damn kids would just about believe anything. Many years later, after Jake and his girlfriend were married, she found out why the two boys suddenly became so scared of her -- and Jake told her the story, thinking it hilariously funny. She did not find the story amusing.
I decided if I outlive Jake, this will be his epitaph:
Jake would whirl them in the air, toss them again and again into the overstuffed couch...but the favorite game was called "Hide and Seek Baseball". This would involve the boys hiding in the living room, and Jake putting on a gorilla mask. He'd then get a sleeping bag with three pillows stuffed into it, and he'd chase them all around and hit them with the sleeping bag until the whole house shook. If anybody cried, they'd stop and watch cartoons and have a snack. The boys were never bored when Jake was around.
With this routine set, whenever Jake came home, if the kids were around, they'd run to his room. If his door was shut, they'd pound on it, and ask him what he was doing in his room. The irritating thing, especially in the summer, was if the door was closed & locked, it was because Jake wanted to make love to his girlfriend. So something had to be done.
One day, when his girlfriend wasn't around, Jake sat down with the boys, and had a chat with them. He explained that he had just found out that his girlfriend had been diagnosed with a rare heart condition, and if the boys were too loud around her, or startled her by banging on the door, she could have a heart attack, and die. This was a terrible problem to live with, but hopefully the doctors would find a cure, but until then, the kids would have to be extra careful when his girlfriend was around.
And the lie mostly worked. They certainly never banged on the door and asked Jake what he was doing when he had his door shut. Those damn kids would just about believe anything. Many years later, after Jake and his girlfriend were married, she found out why the two boys suddenly became so scared of her -- and Jake told her the story, thinking it hilariously funny. She did not find the story amusing.
I decided if I outlive Jake, this will be his epitaph:
HERE IS BURIED
JACOB HOWCROFF BENNINGS
1968 - 20--
HE LIED TO CHILDREN
JACOB HOWCROFF BENNINGS
1968 - 20--
HE LIED TO CHILDREN
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Chung Tzu Would Like to Kick Cupid's Ass
"Sometimes a "bird in the hand" gives you nothing but sorrow." I remark to Chung Tzu.
"Cupid!" exclaims Chung Tzu. "I don't get mad easily -- but when I hear shit like that, I want to KICK HIS ASS!"
We look outside. Lao Tzu is in the backyard, reading it like a illustration in a fairy-tale.
"Cupid!" exclaims Chung Tzu. "I don't get mad easily -- but when I hear shit like that, I want to KICK HIS ASS!"
We look outside. Lao Tzu is in the backyard, reading it like a illustration in a fairy-tale.
THE DEATH OF LOVE
A Journey in Eight Poems
On The Road
deep into
treacherous godforsaken
waste
eternal optimism
just ran out of
fucking gas
about 50 miles
back and now
i'm on foot
cupid rides
donuts around me
on a motorcycle
and then is
gone in a cloud
of dust
refrain:
i shall
not see thee
in the morning
because thou
split
-------
The Day Before My Trip
cupid comes
to me
in a dream
and he seems
quite freindly
"go to death valey
and bring me
something back"
so i reply
"borax? you
want some borax?"
but cupid
is gone
(refrain)
---------
Anything To Escape
i left my heart
in the middle of
the death valley
where the
sun and the
wind
mercilessly
devoured it
(refrain)
---------
Comment
cupid
encourages some
women to
make cute little
bunny noises
either when
they have
sex or sneeze
or both
in this way
a potential
erection
is considerably
modified
---------
Shit Out Of A Sweater
cupid
punches me in
the stomach
while in pain
i rest my cheek
on the cool
cement of the
sidewalk
"you can't
knit
shit
into a
sweater"
cupid says
-----------
Sexual Harassment
cupid can
break any man
women or
animal that
walks this earth
in half
cupid hangs
out at a
pizza pallor
eating onions
and drinking beer
harassing
he young beautiful
waitress
till she cries
------------
Death of Love I
i told my lover
about you
in the restaurant
in north beach
and then i cried
and she said
she'd go to seattle
and kick your ass
for me
and i laughed
-------------
Death of Love II
i'm in
line in the
supermarket -- so
i write on a receipt:
cupid is a
drunk old fuck
who doesn't
give a shit
about me
i write love
poetry and
he just laughs
like he's out
of his mind
& does
nothing
i would
love all women
if i were
less discerning
or more
loving
i would prefer
to me more
loving
for
love is good for life
and life is good for love
-------------
At the end of this story, Cupid reads what I wrote, some of it from a long time back. He has his boots up on the corner of the table, I notice for the first time his eyes are blue. "I like it." says Cupid. "If you like it, then let's settle up." I reply. Cupid smiles. "There is no settling up. Just like I can't stop being Cupid." "Is there an easier way?" I ask. "Sure" he says. "Never deviate from the Truth."
diligo dat nos valde gaudium quod moestitia
On The Road
deep into
treacherous godforsaken
waste
eternal optimism
just ran out of
fucking gas
about 50 miles
back and now
i'm on foot
cupid rides
donuts around me
on a motorcycle
and then is
gone in a cloud
of dust
refrain:
i shall
not see thee
in the morning
because thou
split
-------
The Day Before My Trip
cupid comes
to me
in a dream
and he seems
quite freindly
"go to death valey
and bring me
something back"
so i reply
"borax? you
want some borax?"
but cupid
is gone
(refrain)
---------
Anything To Escape
i left my heart
in the middle of
the death valley
where the
sun and the
wind
mercilessly
devoured it
(refrain)
---------
Comment
cupid
encourages some
women to
make cute little
bunny noises
either when
they have
sex or sneeze
or both
in this way
a potential
erection
is considerably
modified
---------
Shit Out Of A Sweater
cupid
punches me in
the stomach
while in pain
i rest my cheek
on the cool
cement of the
sidewalk
"you can't
knit
shit
into a
sweater"
cupid says
-----------
Sexual Harassment
cupid can
break any man
women or
animal that
walks this earth
in half
cupid hangs
out at a
pizza pallor
eating onions
and drinking beer
harassing
he young beautiful
waitress
till she cries
------------
Death of Love I
i told my lover
about you
in the restaurant
in north beach
and then i cried
and she said
she'd go to seattle
and kick your ass
for me
and i laughed
-------------
Death of Love II
i'm in
line in the
supermarket -- so
i write on a receipt:
cupid is a
drunk old fuck
who doesn't
give a shit
about me
i write love
poetry and
he just laughs
like he's out
of his mind
& does
nothing
i would
love all women
if i were
less discerning
or more
loving
i would prefer
to me more
loving
for
love is good for life
and life is good for love
-------------
At the end of this story, Cupid reads what I wrote, some of it from a long time back. He has his boots up on the corner of the table, I notice for the first time his eyes are blue. "I like it." says Cupid. "If you like it, then let's settle up." I reply. Cupid smiles. "There is no settling up. Just like I can't stop being Cupid." "Is there an easier way?" I ask. "Sure" he says. "Never deviate from the Truth."
diligo dat nos valde gaudium quod moestitia
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Poem - the record has a skip in it/ a storm is coming
the record has a skip in it
a storm is coming
tornado possible
what is that bumping
postman most likely
bringing the mail
it is like they say
no news is good news
except for a storm
a storm is coming
tornado possible
what is that bumping
postman most likely
bringing the mail
it is like they say
no news is good news
except for a storm
Friday, December 26, 2008
Poem - The Day After Christmas
coming home i almost slipped on ice
now i am wrestling tigers
while typing this one handed as
i called and said it will definitely
be a baby girl due in april
now i am wrestling tigers
while typing this one handed as
i called and said it will definitely
be a baby girl due in april
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Poem - on christmas morning
on christmas morning
i see exactly
why cats
were invented
they are designed
to watch
mineral water
bubbles rise
with their eyes
and their ears
very very close
to the sides
of the bottle
-- Oak Park, 2008
i see exactly
why cats
were invented
they are designed
to watch
mineral water
bubbles rise
with their eyes
and their ears
very very close
to the sides
of the bottle
-- Oak Park, 2008
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Poem - freezing fog/ down the side of the house
freezing fog
down the side of the house
out onto the road
where cars move slowly
in the backyard
play equipment covered
wagon filled with snow
holding still
down the side of the house
out onto the road
where cars move slowly
in the backyard
play equipment covered
wagon filled with snow
holding still
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Statements
Facts:
- You cannot make the proverbial "Deal with the Devil" and remain pure. The "Deal" puts you of the Road to Hell. Any method of "The End Justifies the Means" is instantly and ultimately corrupting. It is a path of weakness.
- If you wish to represent, or uphold the Rule of Civilization, you cannot resemble your enemies.
Ultimately, and quite simply, on the Ethical Level, our "Virtue" is only valuable in contrast:
- If your enemies torture, then you must not torture.
- If your enemies disregard the Geneva Conventions, you must uphold the Geneva Conventions.
- If there are atrocities, you must perform no atrocities.
Truths:
- It is better not to kill.
- It is better not to bomb.
- It is better not to starve people.
- It is better not to mistreat prisoners.
- It is better not to indiscriminately incarcerate.
- Your enemies will do all of the above.
If:
- You debase, you are debased.
There is no escape from acting Badly. Those who have acted in this way, in time, will not deny this fact. Even if they acted Badly under the command of others, they have scoured their soul.
And:
Tremble if you do Ill, and aimed to do It. Tremble if you do Ill, by circumstances, or by pure accident.
So:
There is no "hook", there is only what we do. You cannot escape your actions. It is insane to mistreat anyone.
- You cannot make the proverbial "Deal with the Devil" and remain pure. The "Deal" puts you of the Road to Hell. Any method of "The End Justifies the Means" is instantly and ultimately corrupting. It is a path of weakness.
- If you wish to represent, or uphold the Rule of Civilization, you cannot resemble your enemies.
Ultimately, and quite simply, on the Ethical Level, our "Virtue" is only valuable in contrast:
- If your enemies torture, then you must not torture.
- If your enemies disregard the Geneva Conventions, you must uphold the Geneva Conventions.
- If there are atrocities, you must perform no atrocities.
Truths:
- It is better not to kill.
- It is better not to bomb.
- It is better not to starve people.
- It is better not to mistreat prisoners.
- It is better not to indiscriminately incarcerate.
- Your enemies will do all of the above.
If:
- You debase, you are debased.
There is no escape from acting Badly. Those who have acted in this way, in time, will not deny this fact. Even if they acted Badly under the command of others, they have scoured their soul.
And:
Tremble if you do Ill, and aimed to do It. Tremble if you do Ill, by circumstances, or by pure accident.
So:
There is no "hook", there is only what we do. You cannot escape your actions. It is insane to mistreat anyone.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Look!
I like it when it snows. When I see those fat flakes twirling down, a curtain of swarming bewildering white, instantly I'm in a good mood. Probably I like snow, because it radically changes context. You can't tell where the yard touches the sidewalk, or where the sidewalk links with the street. You have no fixed reference point where your yard ends and the neighbor's house dominion begins. Fences become a joke, they can't hold anything in or out, the snow goes everywhere it can't be regulated. Trees become white fairy worlds, moving gently in the wind. It begins to snow heavier, quieter, faster. More limitations overcome, more boundaries erased. Look! Snow snow snow.
Monday, December 15, 2008
Poem - you can always start again
jack
you died when you were 40
famous
as could be with that huge ranch
wolf
house burned to the ground
i'm
41 years old with little prospects
and
everything i have is on fire
the
good news for me is i'm alive
so
i can always start over again
you died when you were 40
famous
as could be with that huge ranch
wolf
house burned to the ground
i'm
41 years old with little prospects
and
everything i have is on fire
the
good news for me is i'm alive
so
i can always start over again
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Whiskey Flight
As a young man, on his second business trip, he decided the night before the flight home to learn about whiskey. There was a fine whiskey bar at the hotel, and it was -15 outside, so he made a deal with the bartender to help him be educated in the ways of Fine Whiskeys. The bartender, being a whiskey affectionado, living for whiskey, stocking 80 varieties, was only happy to oblige.
He spent several enjoyable hours and many shots of whiskey, being explained how this whiskey contrasted the taste of that whiskey, how whiskey could be smoky, sweet, a fine sipping whiskey, a before dinner whiskey, and after dinner whiskey, etc. Later, the young man needed to go back to his hotel room to rest. He had been brutalized by his education into whiskey, and an older business lady made a pass at him in the elevator that he was not capable of responding to.
Early in the morning, after two or three hours sleep, he was awakened quite terribly by the wake-up call he had ordered. Each time the phone rang, it just about ripped a hole right through his skull, so it was hard to get the phone to stop ringing. His limbs were not very cooperative, he couldn't stand up without feeling like he was on the edge of a cliff, or on a ship pitching in high seas. He managed to pack his bags and barely made the flight in time.
Just after the plane took off, he sensed that he was soon to become violently ill. Without waiting for the seat belt sign to be turned off, he bolted for the nearest bathroom and spent the next five hours locked in the lavatory, helplessly and continuously vomiting his guts out. Once and awhile a passenger would knock on the door, but he could not respond. When not gagging in the toilet, he lay on the floor, curled in the fetal position. Shortly before the plane landed, he managed to make it back to his seat, wearing a rime of dried vomit around his mouth. He only noticed the vomit when he was in the airport bathroom, after puking in the farthest stall from the door.
The young man was very tired when he got back to his apartment, and put his luggage down. His midsection felt as if he had done hundreds of situps. To alleviate the residual pain, he decided to go down the street, and have a drink, a nice cool glass of beer.
He spent several enjoyable hours and many shots of whiskey, being explained how this whiskey contrasted the taste of that whiskey, how whiskey could be smoky, sweet, a fine sipping whiskey, a before dinner whiskey, and after dinner whiskey, etc. Later, the young man needed to go back to his hotel room to rest. He had been brutalized by his education into whiskey, and an older business lady made a pass at him in the elevator that he was not capable of responding to.
Early in the morning, after two or three hours sleep, he was awakened quite terribly by the wake-up call he had ordered. Each time the phone rang, it just about ripped a hole right through his skull, so it was hard to get the phone to stop ringing. His limbs were not very cooperative, he couldn't stand up without feeling like he was on the edge of a cliff, or on a ship pitching in high seas. He managed to pack his bags and barely made the flight in time.
Just after the plane took off, he sensed that he was soon to become violently ill. Without waiting for the seat belt sign to be turned off, he bolted for the nearest bathroom and spent the next five hours locked in the lavatory, helplessly and continuously vomiting his guts out. Once and awhile a passenger would knock on the door, but he could not respond. When not gagging in the toilet, he lay on the floor, curled in the fetal position. Shortly before the plane landed, he managed to make it back to his seat, wearing a rime of dried vomit around his mouth. He only noticed the vomit when he was in the airport bathroom, after puking in the farthest stall from the door.
The young man was very tired when he got back to his apartment, and put his luggage down. His midsection felt as if he had done hundreds of situps. To alleviate the residual pain, he decided to go down the street, and have a drink, a nice cool glass of beer.
Peom - if i don't have something positive
if i don't have something positive
to write it is better not to write
anything at all
good advice today from me to myself
you don't want to reinforce negative
thinking because it can build
but the one kid's snowsuit is two sizes too
small and he takes off his gloves and
his hands are turning red
the wind blows though not a serious
cold wind but a wind nonetheless
ripping leaves through the yard
i watch the two children play i sit and
i am idle trapped in watching and the
waiting for you to go
to write it is better not to write
anything at all
good advice today from me to myself
you don't want to reinforce negative
thinking because it can build
but the one kid's snowsuit is two sizes too
small and he takes off his gloves and
his hands are turning red
the wind blows though not a serious
cold wind but a wind nonetheless
ripping leaves through the yard
i watch the two children play i sit and
i am idle trapped in watching and the
waiting for you to go
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Waiting
He hears her up there, doing something, getting ready, so he sits by the stove and wants to cry, but he can't cry like that, in front of the stove. Other people are around, in rooms. He looks outside, the power pole he stares at has not moved. It is immovable. He's tired of looking at the power pole. The transformer hangs at the top of the pole at an odd angle, and has a toxic stain running halfway down one side. Wires loop from it, loop here, loop there, some slack, some tight. He looks at each house or building, where the wires go in. He does not want to think about how the wires are attached to the buildings, by grimy small round insulated sprockets. Suddenly she is ready. She looks fresh, and young, and smells faintly of hairspray.
I'm a College Student
I'm a college student, who didn't know his father well enough.
Coincidentally, I don't know it, but I'm doing a number of things my father did.
Like hanging out in dives, going with girls who turn a trick if money gets tight, or if they feel like doing for some cash, or a drink, or drinks. Is there such a thing as a semi-professional hooker?
In high school I almost went to jail for fighting other kids. I'd fight practically anyone who wanted to fight. I don't fight much, anymore.
I'm generally clean cut, the kind of young man girls like to show off to their parents, it shows her good judgment. I'm the kind of kid the girl's mother likes.
When I first started college, I dated many pert, neat girls, with pert, neat families. My girlfriend's dad is always a freindly overachieving alcoholic, and her mother invariably turns out to be a borderline pill popper, frustrated sexually, and has to make at least one pass at me.
After the first few times, the relationships were boring, but I was always polite and considerate. If I ever run into an ex, often she says her parents say hi, and want to know what I've been doing.
On certain occasions, I have been called a "Heartless Bastard". I think they are partially right, and partially wrong about this.
I'm the kind of guy, who, if you passed me in the street, and I felt a certain way, you wouldn't even remember seeing me. Sometimes I shake bums down, you'd be surprised what you can get off a bum.
My illicit habits have no pattern. I'm not a sociopath, but I act sociopathic if I feel like it. I'm careful with this sociopathic tendency.
Not knowing my father, like him, I also aspire to be something of a writer, and I have some talent for writing. This aspiration has been reflected through a process of the capability in the ordinary recalling of things.
Or stated simply, I do, then I write about what I do, and things become clearer, and I think my writing improves.
This talent hasn't been crushed yet, as it was crushed in my father, before he left when I was 3.
I fell in love with a girl named Eve. She said she was a lesbian, but she sure liked my cock.
She loved it in her vag, in her mouth, in her...well, you know. She was crazy about my cock.
This made her girlfriends very upset. They'd think they had this wonderful lezbo monogamous relationship, and then Eve would fuck a Japanese businessman, or have sex with me for a few days and they wouldn't know where she was.
I thought that fact was funny. Even hilarious. This wasn't in a mean way, this feeling. But it was hilarious.
I saw a string of lovely, devastated young lesbian girls, with angry tears in their eyes, not knowing what to do.
I had a drink with a few of them, and they'd pour their woes out.
Eve was fun. We had some good times together. She liked me because I wasn't possessive about spending time together, and cracked up pert relationship shit like that.
Then Eve got this real bitch of a girlfriend, I can't remember her name, but she was a hardass bitch of a lesbian.
Eve and her new girlfriend took off for Tampa, even though there was nothing for either of them in Tampa.
I hated that last girlfriend, she was a real bitch. I still hate her.
Later I heard Eve was in jail, for getting caught breaking and entering, something like that.
Like you ever get caught breaking and entering, I heard that Eve took the rap for the bitch girlfriend.
I don't know if that is true.
I hear Eve gets out in a few months, I don't know if she'll be staying in Tampa, of if she's coming back here.
Meanwhile, I'm on the Dean's Honor Roll.
My instructors like what I write.
I write fiction.
I wonder what my creative writing instructor would say if I submitted this.
Coincidentally, I don't know it, but I'm doing a number of things my father did.
Like hanging out in dives, going with girls who turn a trick if money gets tight, or if they feel like doing for some cash, or a drink, or drinks. Is there such a thing as a semi-professional hooker?
In high school I almost went to jail for fighting other kids. I'd fight practically anyone who wanted to fight. I don't fight much, anymore.
I'm generally clean cut, the kind of young man girls like to show off to their parents, it shows her good judgment. I'm the kind of kid the girl's mother likes.
When I first started college, I dated many pert, neat girls, with pert, neat families. My girlfriend's dad is always a freindly overachieving alcoholic, and her mother invariably turns out to be a borderline pill popper, frustrated sexually, and has to make at least one pass at me.
After the first few times, the relationships were boring, but I was always polite and considerate. If I ever run into an ex, often she says her parents say hi, and want to know what I've been doing.
On certain occasions, I have been called a "Heartless Bastard". I think they are partially right, and partially wrong about this.
I'm the kind of guy, who, if you passed me in the street, and I felt a certain way, you wouldn't even remember seeing me. Sometimes I shake bums down, you'd be surprised what you can get off a bum.
My illicit habits have no pattern. I'm not a sociopath, but I act sociopathic if I feel like it. I'm careful with this sociopathic tendency.
Not knowing my father, like him, I also aspire to be something of a writer, and I have some talent for writing. This aspiration has been reflected through a process of the capability in the ordinary recalling of things.
Or stated simply, I do, then I write about what I do, and things become clearer, and I think my writing improves.
This talent hasn't been crushed yet, as it was crushed in my father, before he left when I was 3.
I fell in love with a girl named Eve. She said she was a lesbian, but she sure liked my cock.
She loved it in her vag, in her mouth, in her...well, you know. She was crazy about my cock.
This made her girlfriends very upset. They'd think they had this wonderful lezbo monogamous relationship, and then Eve would fuck a Japanese businessman, or have sex with me for a few days and they wouldn't know where she was.
I thought that fact was funny. Even hilarious. This wasn't in a mean way, this feeling. But it was hilarious.
I saw a string of lovely, devastated young lesbian girls, with angry tears in their eyes, not knowing what to do.
I had a drink with a few of them, and they'd pour their woes out.
Eve was fun. We had some good times together. She liked me because I wasn't possessive about spending time together, and cracked up pert relationship shit like that.
Then Eve got this real bitch of a girlfriend, I can't remember her name, but she was a hardass bitch of a lesbian.
Eve and her new girlfriend took off for Tampa, even though there was nothing for either of them in Tampa.
I hated that last girlfriend, she was a real bitch. I still hate her.
Later I heard Eve was in jail, for getting caught breaking and entering, something like that.
Like you ever get caught breaking and entering, I heard that Eve took the rap for the bitch girlfriend.
I don't know if that is true.
I hear Eve gets out in a few months, I don't know if she'll be staying in Tampa, of if she's coming back here.
Meanwhile, I'm on the Dean's Honor Roll.
My instructors like what I write.
I write fiction.
I wonder what my creative writing instructor would say if I submitted this.
Sunday, December 07, 2008
Positive
i.
I'll stay positive, and not complain. I say, the snow is beautiful, 2 inches deep, crunchy, smelling of crunchy snow. Walk in it, it is a cool, head clearing scent that you cannot contest against. You smell it, and the cold gets a grip on you as you walk, so pull the scarf up a bit higher, stuff your fingers a bit deeper into your gloves. Whisps of snow fly off the rooftops, small birds are still here getting what they can get.
ii.
Coming back, see the tree in the backyard still has leaves on it, though they are turning brown and ready to fall. Toughest tree in Oak Park! The stone fox contemplates snow, being half buried in it. A Christmas tree is required, and soon. Colorful chains made out of construction paper should be strung over the hearth, 10 - 15 feet long, doubled over and over again. Multi-colored paper snowflakes taped to the french windows. Santa is coming, have you been good this year?
I'll stay positive, and not complain. I say, the snow is beautiful, 2 inches deep, crunchy, smelling of crunchy snow. Walk in it, it is a cool, head clearing scent that you cannot contest against. You smell it, and the cold gets a grip on you as you walk, so pull the scarf up a bit higher, stuff your fingers a bit deeper into your gloves. Whisps of snow fly off the rooftops, small birds are still here getting what they can get.
ii.
Coming back, see the tree in the backyard still has leaves on it, though they are turning brown and ready to fall. Toughest tree in Oak Park! The stone fox contemplates snow, being half buried in it. A Christmas tree is required, and soon. Colorful chains made out of construction paper should be strung over the hearth, 10 - 15 feet long, doubled over and over again. Multi-colored paper snowflakes taped to the french windows. Santa is coming, have you been good this year?
Thursday, December 04, 2008
Lao Tzu is not Roy Lic - or - What I Said to Chung Tzu Later That Night
It is getting darker, the evening is blue, there is snow on the ground. When I look outside, I am shocked to think I see a person in the backyard, standing by the evergeen tree. Who is that intruder in the corner of the yard? Could it be Roy Lic? I go to the window and cup my hands to block out the light. Incredibly, nobody is in the backyard.
What is that -- in the alley, a shape? I move quickly to the dark livingroom, and somehow, there is no one in the alley, under the streelamp.
I turn on the lamp in the livingroom, almost fall over when I see that Lao Tzu has been sitting there in the dark on the couch. Who sits quietly in a room like that?
"Are you Roy Lic?" I ask him.
Lao Tzu smiles fantly, and waggles a finger at me. No.
---
Later, at about midnight, Chung Tzu comes by.
"Tonight I thought I saw Roy Lic!' I say.
"Why, bless us all!" exclaims Chung Tzu.
"You don't believe me."
"Of course!" says Chung Tzu.
Potshot Sez:
Ha ha ha. This is so true, and so not true
Because the AUTHOR, in fact, knows
Exactly WHO Roy Lic IS
What is that -- in the alley, a shape? I move quickly to the dark livingroom, and somehow, there is no one in the alley, under the streelamp.
I turn on the lamp in the livingroom, almost fall over when I see that Lao Tzu has been sitting there in the dark on the couch. Who sits quietly in a room like that?
"Are you Roy Lic?" I ask him.
Lao Tzu smiles fantly, and waggles a finger at me. No.
---
Later, at about midnight, Chung Tzu comes by.
"Tonight I thought I saw Roy Lic!' I say.
"Why, bless us all!" exclaims Chung Tzu.
"You don't believe me."
"Of course!" says Chung Tzu.
Potshot Sez:
Ha ha ha. This is so true, and so not true
Because the AUTHOR, in fact, knows
Exactly WHO Roy Lic IS
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Drudgery
My palms are sweaty, and I'm drinking instant coffee, so things are shitty. I hate instant coffee and I hate when my palms are sweaty. I have real coffee, but I broke my french press back at the old apartment when the toilet exploded, and I needed to catch water with something, and I cracked it when I was bringing it up to pour water into the sink. Then I moved again, so there was no time to replace the cracked french press. And this morning I noticed my palms were sweaty, while I was drinking instant coffee. And not to complain more, but I will -- all the email I sent out last week about work or cartoons must have ended up in spam folders everywhere I sent them, because nobody has written back. What drudgery.
Friday, November 21, 2008
News - All Time Favorites at CM Evans Cartoons
I've decided to run some of the "All Time Favorites" over at my cartoon website CM Evans Cartoons. With over 1,000 original work posted there, over a span of more than 6 years, some of the funniest, most popular gags can get lost. You can go to the website blog H.P. Lovecraft is My Paperboy for commentary. If you've been with me the entire ride of CM Evans Cartoons, thank you so much for your attention. If you're new, welcome to the show. For everybody else who has stopped by over the years, I'll be gearing up for many many more. There is no end to the work!*
* Plus I have about 5,000 drawn cartoons laying around, and I need to do something with them, other than construct huge paper mache bunnies.
* Plus I have about 5,000 drawn cartoons laying around, and I need to do something with them, other than construct huge paper mache bunnies.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Chung Tzu and I Discuss Fish and People Wrangling
"I'd like to be a Fish Wrangler when I grow up." I say to Chung Tzu
"Ah. I don't think the fish will want you to grow up that way." Chung Tzu says back. "Unless there are some fish out there that want to become People Wranglers."
"Ah. I don't think the fish will want you to grow up that way." Chung Tzu says back. "Unless there are some fish out there that want to become People Wranglers."
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Chung Tzu Asks Me What I Have Against Knives
"Hello, brother!" says Chung Tzu, as he comes into the kitchen with a swirl of snow. "Now what is this, that I hear you're against knives?"
"Hello!" I say.
"Don't you know knives are good for things, like "cutting through", or even "severing all attachments to the preferences of what-is, or what-is-not?"
"You make an excellent point!"
"Yes I do!"
Potshot Sez:
Ha! Looks like Negative Nancy
got a comeuppance!
"Hello!" I say.
"Don't you know knives are good for things, like "cutting through", or even "severing all attachments to the preferences of what-is, or what-is-not?"
"You make an excellent point!"
"Yes I do!"
Potshot Sez:
Ha! Looks like Negative Nancy
got a comeuppance!
Monday, November 17, 2008
Poem - there's a lot of poetry in the backyard
there's a lot of poetry in the backyard
or is it
i have not seen enough falling leaves
this lifetime
Dedicated to Richard Brautigan
or is it
i have not seen enough falling leaves
this lifetime
Dedicated to Richard Brautigan
Poem - November
wind ripples the hammock
twists it like it was alive
brushing the edges against
snow dusted ivy
twists it like it was alive
brushing the edges against
snow dusted ivy
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Peom - gilbert they said/ tell us about love
gilbert they said
tell us about love
are you ready to know
about love asked gilbert
i will tell you about love
if you are ready
we are ready to hear
they replied
gilbert said love is profound
strongest of things
but if you are going to love
you have to love everything
in the past it has been said
you must love beyond constraint
and beyond all causes
and conditions
if you are going to love
there can be no end to it
you must absolutely love
everyone and everything
then you will find that everyone
and everything loves you
do not make the typical errors
when doing this
do not love one person or thing
contrasted to another person or thing
do not love based on time
nor feel love on occasions
do not love through discerning
do no arrive at love by deciding
loving all is like opening a door
that was always open and was never a door
loving all is complete without
effort of completion
love is here and will always be here
unrequested and requested
no going to it no going away
from love or the loved
uneducated untaught not done
nor not not done
clear through and straight
for you and for me if we do it
tell us about love
are you ready to know
about love asked gilbert
i will tell you about love
if you are ready
we are ready to hear
they replied
gilbert said love is profound
strongest of things
but if you are going to love
you have to love everything
in the past it has been said
you must love beyond constraint
and beyond all causes
and conditions
if you are going to love
there can be no end to it
you must absolutely love
everyone and everything
then you will find that everyone
and everything loves you
do not make the typical errors
when doing this
do not love one person or thing
contrasted to another person or thing
do not love based on time
nor feel love on occasions
do not love through discerning
do no arrive at love by deciding
loving all is like opening a door
that was always open and was never a door
loving all is complete without
effort of completion
love is here and will always be here
unrequested and requested
no going to it no going away
from love or the loved
uneducated untaught not done
nor not not done
clear through and straight
for you and for me if we do it
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Poem - danny is two and nonstop
danny is two and nonstop
he moans he cries
he laughs & plays
even he does things he shouldn't
do
all the while knowing
doing certain things is bad
and certainly very naughty
he's in a stream of action
all day long and if
i get exasperated
i know that he and i are precisely alike
the
only difference is i have covered
most of the rough pleasures and
selfless begging in thinking
self-reflection
and manners
he moans he cries
he laughs & plays
even he does things he shouldn't
do
all the while knowing
doing certain things is bad
and certainly very naughty
he's in a stream of action
all day long and if
i get exasperated
i know that he and i are precisely alike
the
only difference is i have covered
most of the rough pleasures and
selfless begging in thinking
self-reflection
and manners
Poem - there is no "A" for effort in Hell
there is no "A" for effort in Hell
and doing your duty comes at a high price
but Hell is the best factory in all the universe
you wouldn't want to be anywhere else
slowly being burned all the way through
going beyond ash going beyond unrestrained carbon
your limbs torso and head even eyes vaporized
heart turns into a diamond which rests there in the deep
until a jet of flame squirts it up to earth then
it may be found and cut into a fabulous treasure
mounted on the royal sceptere of a monarch
who makes the world tremble
or on a sober thin gold band
worn on a woman's finger
and doing your duty comes at a high price
but Hell is the best factory in all the universe
you wouldn't want to be anywhere else
slowly being burned all the way through
going beyond ash going beyond unrestrained carbon
your limbs torso and head even eyes vaporized
heart turns into a diamond which rests there in the deep
until a jet of flame squirts it up to earth then
it may be found and cut into a fabulous treasure
mounted on the royal sceptere of a monarch
who makes the world tremble
or on a sober thin gold band
worn on a woman's finger
Advice
1. Take some time off and reflect on what happened. Absorb the past few months and try to get some perspective. You'll need this kind of introspection if you wish to aspire for the higher office, a position you clearly believe you deserve now.
2. Focus on the work you should be doing. Be the best at exercising what power you have now. Rebuild a feeling of cooperation, transparency, and accessibility -- even to the people who hate you, or disagree with you.
3. Demonstrate the kind of discipline when a microphone is stuck in your face, or camera, that you will decline to speak. Realize that many interviewers are on the outside friendly, but most of these interviewers want to record not who you are, or what you want to be -- what they really want are your gaffes, they want to record a display of presumptiveness towards power.
4. Realize the more you seek national exposure, at this time, the more you fritter away what small amount of political capital you have gained. This is because you are speaking too much, too soon after the election. As in point #3, it brands you as a blatant opportunist, a power monger, and a fool.
5. Educate yourself in the following areas, at least to the point where you can name some names, have a general appreciation for, or show you know the big picture, or basics concepts of:
- World Geography
- International Relations
- National Affairs
- Economics
- The Civil Rights Era in America
- American History
- History in general
- Linguistics
- Psychology
- General Science
- General Political studies
- Basic Philosophy & the history of Philosophy
- Comparative Religious Studies
Also read "The Prince" by Niccolò Machiavelli, read "Democracy in America" by Alexis de Tocqueville, read "The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich" by William R. Shirer, read "The Spanish Inquisition: A History" by Joseph Perez & Janet Lloyd, read the Constitution of the United States, the United States Bill of Rights, the Amendments, be familiar with the significance of the Magna Carta, the Mayflower Compact, understand the valuable concept of Habeas Corpus, be familiar with the history of the Supreme Court and famous cases -- you may wish to take some introductory classes, or do undergraduate work at a law school.
The good news is, realistically, you have at least 8 years to "bone up" and get educated the rest of the way. I don't think the first 4 colleges you attended were very good schools, or you didn't apply yourself. So get your head down, start some night classes at the local J.C., and see where it takes you.
2. Focus on the work you should be doing. Be the best at exercising what power you have now. Rebuild a feeling of cooperation, transparency, and accessibility -- even to the people who hate you, or disagree with you.
3. Demonstrate the kind of discipline when a microphone is stuck in your face, or camera, that you will decline to speak. Realize that many interviewers are on the outside friendly, but most of these interviewers want to record not who you are, or what you want to be -- what they really want are your gaffes, they want to record a display of presumptiveness towards power.
4. Realize the more you seek national exposure, at this time, the more you fritter away what small amount of political capital you have gained. This is because you are speaking too much, too soon after the election. As in point #3, it brands you as a blatant opportunist, a power monger, and a fool.
5. Educate yourself in the following areas, at least to the point where you can name some names, have a general appreciation for, or show you know the big picture, or basics concepts of:
- World Geography
- International Relations
- National Affairs
- Economics
- The Civil Rights Era in America
- American History
- History in general
- Linguistics
- Psychology
- General Science
- General Political studies
- Basic Philosophy & the history of Philosophy
- Comparative Religious Studies
Also read "The Prince" by Niccolò Machiavelli, read "Democracy in America" by Alexis de Tocqueville, read "The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich" by William R. Shirer, read "The Spanish Inquisition: A History" by Joseph Perez & Janet Lloyd, read the Constitution of the United States, the United States Bill of Rights, the Amendments, be familiar with the significance of the Magna Carta, the Mayflower Compact, understand the valuable concept of Habeas Corpus, be familiar with the history of the Supreme Court and famous cases -- you may wish to take some introductory classes, or do undergraduate work at a law school.
The good news is, realistically, you have at least 8 years to "bone up" and get educated the rest of the way. I don't think the first 4 colleges you attended were very good schools, or you didn't apply yourself. So get your head down, start some night classes at the local J.C., and see where it takes you.
Friday, November 07, 2008
Poem - You and Me
the first time we broke up
was at a harbor
when we got married
it was on the top of a cliff
and we held onto each other
as tightly as we could
now ten years later
divorce proceedings
negotiations about money
day in day out of a tug of war
.now
...raking
.....leaves
........while i wait
..........to take you to the
...................................train
(knowing all along it is rather
pointless to rake because
who cares if they pile up
and a million more are ready
to fall and erase this work)
i suppose they call all
this suffering and punishment
acquiring wisdom through
direct experience but i don't
know what kind of wisdom
i am acquiring
i wish i did understand
why it must
be so painful in the process
but who am i to criticize the
flow of this relationship and how
it brought me more direct
wisdom
oak park
november 2008
was at a harbor
when we got married
it was on the top of a cliff
and we held onto each other
as tightly as we could
now ten years later
divorce proceedings
negotiations about money
day in day out of a tug of war
.now
...raking
.....leaves
........while i wait
..........to take you to the
...................................train
(knowing all along it is rather
pointless to rake because
who cares if they pile up
and a million more are ready
to fall and erase this work)
i suppose they call all
this suffering and punishment
acquiring wisdom through
direct experience but i don't
know what kind of wisdom
i am acquiring
i wish i did understand
why it must
be so painful in the process
but who am i to criticize the
flow of this relationship and how
it brought me more direct
wisdom
oak park
november 2008
Thursday, November 06, 2008
Poem - fall
11:06 am
fall is an ocean of leaves
overdue library books
making sure the drains are clear
ready for rain
overdue library books
making sure the drains are clear
ready for rain
Monday, November 03, 2008
Poem - boys rake leaves into huge piles/ on the side of the road
boys rake leaves into huge piles
on the side of the road
listening to a tinny AM radio
playing a pop ballad about love
like the possibility of romance
there is no end to the leaves
until they all have fallen
on the side of the road
listening to a tinny AM radio
playing a pop ballad about love
like the possibility of romance
there is no end to the leaves
until they all have fallen
Monday, November 3rd, 2008
Monday, November 3rd, 2008. The day before the biggest election of my life. Weather in Oak Park is surrealy nice -- 75 degrees. All the trees are changing into their striking fall colors with no fall chill, not a hint of winter in the air. It's been this way for about 3 days, and we'll keep having mild sunny days for the next few days. Who would have thought the Midwest could have finer weather than California? A thunderstorm that will break the spell is set for Thursday, or Friday. After obsessively watching the polls and the predictions, I've been reading old Horizon art books, right now I've gone over a interview of Hemingway by George Plimpton in Havana, in 1959. Hemingway, of course, is brilliant in the discussion and a bit quarrelsome with some of the questioning, as if he was hung over, or wanted to get drunk again, or both. He also said some things that are new to me, and I can think about what he said that day, back in 1959, in Havana, for a long long time. Making sure I spelled George Plimpton's name correctly, I discover he died in 2003. I didn't know Plimpton was dead. Hemingway, he blew his brains out with a shotgun in 1961, aged 61. Plimpton died of natural causes in his apartment in New York City, aged 76. Can you imagine the way you'll end up? The time, place, and circumstances? With such events happening around me, intertwined with the past, and the fine weather at the present, it seems inconceivable that I, or anyone living now in this moment, should die.
Saturday, November 01, 2008
Adios!
i.
I've been thinking about Lao Tzu, nothing specific, as I pack the last few boxes. I clean the apartment for the last time, put the boxes in the car 1 by 1, in no hurry at all. When I know I'm done, the place is cleaner than when I moved into it, empty, serene, ready for someone new to move in and fill it with all their hopes, dreams, talk and worries. I take one last trip into the building when there is nothing left to do. I let myself in, as if I still live there, as if I would be staying there more. Here is where I pause, I look, I listen. I see the floors are almost dry, I peer in all the rooms, I say nothing. Cars move up and down the steet, the sky looks like it might rain later this afternoon. All is done. On my way out, I bow to the apartment of the second floor. Adios! I say. Then the door is locked, a few minutes later the key is in an envelope in the building manager's mail slot.
ii.
Driving away, with the last of my stuff, I almost feel blue -- but there on the side of the road is Lao Tzu. Under the falling leaves, he might be reading a Pennysaver, but I'm not sure. I pull over and he gets in. We drive through town to the flat, and have tea in the kitchen sitting on boxes stuffed with packing paper.
I've been thinking about Lao Tzu, nothing specific, as I pack the last few boxes. I clean the apartment for the last time, put the boxes in the car 1 by 1, in no hurry at all. When I know I'm done, the place is cleaner than when I moved into it, empty, serene, ready for someone new to move in and fill it with all their hopes, dreams, talk and worries. I take one last trip into the building when there is nothing left to do. I let myself in, as if I still live there, as if I would be staying there more. Here is where I pause, I look, I listen. I see the floors are almost dry, I peer in all the rooms, I say nothing. Cars move up and down the steet, the sky looks like it might rain later this afternoon. All is done. On my way out, I bow to the apartment of the second floor. Adios! I say. Then the door is locked, a few minutes later the key is in an envelope in the building manager's mail slot.
ii.
Driving away, with the last of my stuff, I almost feel blue -- but there on the side of the road is Lao Tzu. Under the falling leaves, he might be reading a Pennysaver, but I'm not sure. I pull over and he gets in. We drive through town to the flat, and have tea in the kitchen sitting on boxes stuffed with packing paper.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Poem - i have a knife
i have a knife
i was cutting things with it
when i realized knives are ugly
like guns are ugly
anything built to divide
sunder or cleave cannot help
but be a monstrosity
no matter how you
dress it up
i was cutting things with it
when i realized knives are ugly
like guns are ugly
anything built to divide
sunder or cleave cannot help
but be a monstrosity
no matter how you
dress it up
Poem - robert the great poet
robert the great poet
you're getting old and
i'm not ready for that
feeling a certain
indicisiveness in your mind
or a hesitation in your voice
due to age due to
infirmness we can't escape
i remember in the past
there was nothing half done
about you as you pounded out
verse in the summer fall winter
spring files everywhere with
correspondances papers exploding
in all directions heater blasting
in the livingroom with that
curious green shag ancient
carpeting and now
you are a faint voice on the
other end of the phone
getting fainter and fainter
as i think about it & i feel
like now i have betrayed you
because i write things like
this and you are such
the poet
you're getting old and
i'm not ready for that
feeling a certain
indicisiveness in your mind
or a hesitation in your voice
due to age due to
infirmness we can't escape
i remember in the past
there was nothing half done
about you as you pounded out
verse in the summer fall winter
spring files everywhere with
correspondances papers exploding
in all directions heater blasting
in the livingroom with that
curious green shag ancient
carpeting and now
you are a faint voice on the
other end of the phone
getting fainter and fainter
as i think about it & i feel
like now i have betrayed you
because i write things like
this and you are such
the poet
Monday, October 27, 2008
Poem - oh well when i'm
she's a tough bitch
of a waitress and
she thinks she's better
than me so she
gets in close and invades
my personal space but
oh well when i'm
writing about her she
doesn't know what to
do because she's
never seen anyone do
that in a restaurant
before
of a waitress and
she thinks she's better
than me so she
gets in close and invades
my personal space but
oh well when i'm
writing about her she
doesn't know what to
do because she's
never seen anyone do
that in a restaurant
before
Monday, October 20, 2008
The Last Time I Saw You
The last time I saw you, years ago, was on a bus. The second I got on, something told me this would be possibly the last time I would ever see you again. So I confessed my love for you, and my admiration.
I saw how my words made you very upset. And when you became agitated, I knew it was the last time I ever would see you, in this lifetime.
I saw how my words made you very upset. And when you became agitated, I knew it was the last time I ever would see you, in this lifetime.
Lao Tzu Does Nothing With the Rain
i.
Lao Tzu is gracefully watching the raindrops fleck on the window, beyond the window is the side of the abandoned house. As he observes, I cannot help but watch as well, Lao Tzu does nothing, but for me every drip is magnified. Each raindrop becomes like a whole country, or a room of the Louvre, or of a kind of imperishable great love. I realize these drops of water could be anything and everything, all at once. I realize, also, that these drops can be nothing, or about nothing at all, totally unimportant. Then I am astounded -- look at how the raindrops fall, flecking the window!
We watch for a long time.
ii.
Lao Tzu having done nothing, is now done. He smiles at me, never saying a word. He goes out through the back of the kitchen.
Lao Tzu is gracefully watching the raindrops fleck on the window, beyond the window is the side of the abandoned house. As he observes, I cannot help but watch as well, Lao Tzu does nothing, but for me every drip is magnified. Each raindrop becomes like a whole country, or a room of the Louvre, or of a kind of imperishable great love. I realize these drops of water could be anything and everything, all at once. I realize, also, that these drops can be nothing, or about nothing at all, totally unimportant. Then I am astounded -- look at how the raindrops fall, flecking the window!
We watch for a long time.
ii.
Lao Tzu having done nothing, is now done. He smiles at me, never saying a word. He goes out through the back of the kitchen.
Poem - it rains on the abandoned house
it rains on the abandoned house
masking the frequent beeps i hear
of dying smoke detectors because
the power in the home has been
shut off for at least a year
"the more it rains the more it rains
the more it keeps on raining" (these lines
taken from winnie the pooh and they
are true as true can be while
i hear the ducts softly clicking
as warm are comes into my room)
North Lombard Street
Oak Park
Oct 2008
masking the frequent beeps i hear
of dying smoke detectors because
the power in the home has been
shut off for at least a year
"the more it rains the more it rains
the more it keeps on raining" (these lines
taken from winnie the pooh and they
are true as true can be while
i hear the ducts softly clicking
as warm are comes into my room)
North Lombard Street
Oak Park
Oct 2008
Friday, October 17, 2008
Poem - i'm sure it made good time
here's a happy poem
designed to inspire
i saw a small cloud today all alone
in the blue blue sky
it was alone but not worried
taking it's time
headed NW towards chicago
i'm sure it made good time
designed to inspire
i saw a small cloud today all alone
in the blue blue sky
it was alone but not worried
taking it's time
headed NW towards chicago
i'm sure it made good time
Poem - stone is comforting for a stone
i give up i go to sleep
i turn to stone
you are smarter than me
wiser than me
giving up is giving up
dreaming is dreaming
stone is comforting
for a stone
i turn to stone
you are smarter than me
wiser than me
giving up is giving up
dreaming is dreaming
stone is comforting
for a stone
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Poem - the historic baseball team
the historic baseball team
lost the game
the man watching this
has a white handle-bar
mustache
he quits the bar
in great anger and disgust
off he goes almost
bumping into a young
pretty blonde
lost the game
the man watching this
has a white handle-bar
mustache
he quits the bar
in great anger and disgust
off he goes almost
bumping into a young
pretty blonde
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
They Don't Need Me
I don't remember the first debate at all. I was high as a kite on pain medication, and some other pills I popped at the last minute. All prescribed, I might add. I've been saving them up. You'd never know I was high and out of my skull. Out of my mind, you know what, I did great. The second debate, I can vaguely remember, when some parts didn't go as well as I wanted them to. That is difficult for me, not being top form. This last debate, I'm going to get higher than I've ever gone before. My body will know what to do, after being so paradigmatic all these years, my mouth and face and body will get the job done. They don't need me. I'm sure of that.
Monday, October 13, 2008
What kind of mission was this, anyways?
Seconds to impact, going in too fast. The scope is hash, probably jammed. Then I'm in the trees. The left wing shears away in a shivering spectacular explosion of carbon and titanium fragments as the jet fuel blooms fiery red and yellow. I can feel the searing heat through my suit when the whole airframe twists.
I come to right before dawn, I see that I am wrapped in part of what remains of the jet. I numbly feel myself up and down, the left side of my face is roasted a bit, a nice 3 inch gash on my knee, but I think it still works. Somehow I get out of the burnt harness, and I extricate myself from the wreckage. I carefully look around. I'm in a meadow. I crashed into a slot-like canyon -- anywhere else around here, I can see I'd have flown into a rock wall. It was like threading a camel through the eye of a needle. What are the odds of that?
And as I'm congratulating myself on this, I see odd shapes all over the field, in the trees, everywhere. They are vaguely familiar, and totally out of place, and I feel subconscious horror. I don't know why. But in the growing light, I have to go and see what these things are. Walking up, I notice how one of my bombs has burst open, ejecting whatever it is all over the forest. Before I took off, I was told that this was a very dangerous cluster type "shock and awe" payload. But there are no bomblets anywhere. As far as I can see, there are stuffed toys. Specifically, stuffed gray bunnies. Hundreds and hundreds of stuffed, cute, toy bunnies.
They sent me to drop a payload of toys. They said it was bomblets, but the bombs were full of plush gray bunnies. Bunnies. Again, to repeat myself, bunnies. My face is starting to hurt like hell, and now I can barely bend my knee. What kind of mission was this, anyways?
I come to right before dawn, I see that I am wrapped in part of what remains of the jet. I numbly feel myself up and down, the left side of my face is roasted a bit, a nice 3 inch gash on my knee, but I think it still works. Somehow I get out of the burnt harness, and I extricate myself from the wreckage. I carefully look around. I'm in a meadow. I crashed into a slot-like canyon -- anywhere else around here, I can see I'd have flown into a rock wall. It was like threading a camel through the eye of a needle. What are the odds of that?
And as I'm congratulating myself on this, I see odd shapes all over the field, in the trees, everywhere. They are vaguely familiar, and totally out of place, and I feel subconscious horror. I don't know why. But in the growing light, I have to go and see what these things are. Walking up, I notice how one of my bombs has burst open, ejecting whatever it is all over the forest. Before I took off, I was told that this was a very dangerous cluster type "shock and awe" payload. But there are no bomblets anywhere. As far as I can see, there are stuffed toys. Specifically, stuffed gray bunnies. Hundreds and hundreds of stuffed, cute, toy bunnies.
They sent me to drop a payload of toys. They said it was bomblets, but the bombs were full of plush gray bunnies. Bunnies. Again, to repeat myself, bunnies. My face is starting to hurt like hell, and now I can barely bend my knee. What kind of mission was this, anyways?
Thursday, October 02, 2008
Chung Tzu Discusses Roy Lic
Now I am with Chung Tzu, who comes by unannounced, but he is always welcome, and he knows it.
"What about Roy Lic?" I ask Chung Tzu.
"What about him?" says Chung Tzu.
"Roy Lic does not exist!" I say.
"He does, and he does not." says Chung Tzu. "But I know there became a possibility of Roy Lic either existing -- or not existing -- when certain people asked about if he existed, or not."
I pour Chung Tzu a drink.
"So, now, what do we do about this potentially existing, non existing Roy Lic?" I ask.
"If Roy is around, let him decide." says Chung Tzu, who downs the cocktail in one gulp.
"What about Roy Lic?" I ask Chung Tzu.
"What about him?" says Chung Tzu.
"Roy Lic does not exist!" I say.
"He does, and he does not." says Chung Tzu. "But I know there became a possibility of Roy Lic either existing -- or not existing -- when certain people asked about if he existed, or not."
I pour Chung Tzu a drink.
"So, now, what do we do about this potentially existing, non existing Roy Lic?" I ask.
"If Roy is around, let him decide." says Chung Tzu, who downs the cocktail in one gulp.
Poem -- a. b. c. d.
a.
the bar is busy
i have my spot
words please don't
slow me down
i need you
like a train needs track
b.
a glittering party is
set up at the farsin
mansion as dusk
arrives
i walk by and see
an old man in a tuxedo
standing on the stairs
waiting for everybody to
show up
c.
they ask for the
beer list
& pick
a mediocre ale
d.
roy lic slept
here in this poem
but roy lic
does not exist
the bar is busy
i have my spot
words please don't
slow me down
i need you
like a train needs track
b.
a glittering party is
set up at the farsin
mansion as dusk
arrives
i walk by and see
an old man in a tuxedo
standing on the stairs
waiting for everybody to
show up
c.
they ask for the
beer list
& pick
a mediocre ale
d.
roy lic slept
here in this poem
but roy lic
does not exist
I Know What You Mean
He serves me and later he asks if everything is okay, so I say the food is great but about an hour ago 3 cute girls got on the train for a club in Chicago and I didn't follow them, and I'll never see them again. The bartender doesn't blink or miss a beat, he says, "I know what you mean, buddy. I know what you mean."
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Poem - i never had it/ so good
now here's a
fucking disaster
i go outside
for a smoke
and in the alley
i see a bird
dead in it's nest
the whole
thing fell out of
the tree
and got run
over by a car
wow
my only problem
is to quit smoking
and replace a broken
french press
i never had it
so good
Oct 2008
fucking disaster
i go outside
for a smoke
and in the alley
i see a bird
dead in it's nest
the whole
thing fell out of
the tree
and got run
over by a car
wow
my only problem
is to quit smoking
and replace a broken
french press
i never had it
so good
Oct 2008
Friday, September 26, 2008
Messy, Isn't It?
They say you are a failed writer. They say you never grew up. They say you wrote horrible poetry. You did write some horrible poems. But some of your writing is the best writing I've ever read. I'm sick of words and clever writers who are so good, they can write all day. Some things you write are broken, but I keep them, like I treasure a piece of driftwood -- just a hunk of flotsam, but it can't be manufactured, it is totally unique in all the world and will never happen that way again. Fuck perfection. Fuck being a great writer. Do you think you can actually capture it, the inexpressible thing, without mangling it with impression? Writing words about a feeling to express it, is like taking a flamethrower to a tree. People who criticize you don't like driftwood. They've probably never been to the beach, never got wet in the fog, never hiked anywhere, they don't know how to fish or build a fire, and they hate wool sweaters. People who look down on you live in a city, and they like to argue about world events, and they hate their landlord. Fuck them. I'm sorry you gave up. But I understand. Messy, isn't it?
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Two Fall Vignettes
i.
I see snow shovels, bins of them, today at the supermarket. These things have appeared like magic, optimistically bright orange. Later I am sure we will have bins of metal ones, and they will be colored a special macho red.
ii.
A child does not wait for the light to change. When it is safe he crosses the street, and so ignoring me on my bicycle, I almost run him over. He's a tough kid, I know the type. He might hate his Mom, his Dad, or both. But he still wears a helmet. And he always gets his homework done on time.
I see snow shovels, bins of them, today at the supermarket. These things have appeared like magic, optimistically bright orange. Later I am sure we will have bins of metal ones, and they will be colored a special macho red.
ii.
A child does not wait for the light to change. When it is safe he crosses the street, and so ignoring me on my bicycle, I almost run him over. He's a tough kid, I know the type. He might hate his Mom, his Dad, or both. But he still wears a helmet. And he always gets his homework done on time.
God Damned Phone
I thought the phone was in another room, but I see it is here, and it hasn't rang. I didn't expect it to ring, but it still is a shock. I'm surprised, but I don't know why.
the unhorsing of gilbert
dedicated to gona
i.
he fails.
he becomes a real person.
ii.
no more soft night
do you
know someone
who is strong
and invincible?
iii.
every time
you laugh when
you are angry
you become crueler.
iv.
everything is larger
v.
the face in the mirror
who is he?
is he me?
is he you?
i have seen his face
all my life.
vi.
in the bruised
flesh deep down
is the blood &
more testimonies
are
moving unsung
vii.
O flesh
O brain
O body
viii.
as i walked
i thought i saw
a ghost inside the dark
reflections of a
blank window
a car sped up
the street
its headlamps
illuminating me
and making my dark
silhouette
quite sinister
viii.
a good lesson
(one that lasts)
it can take
a long time.
there are no
excuses
for something
that will last.
ix.
dogs lay
in the road &
try to lick the moon
x.
do you miss home?
xi.
can you remember everything?
xii.
at night there are
dark horses everywhere
in the sky
in the house outside in
the trees
looking out
looking in
xiii.
this night i think:
in chinatown it snowed
and everybody came out
to look at such fine small particles
falling indifferently
roof to roof
street to street
the snowflakes formed a thin
thin crust
the snowflakes
dusted red and white puffs of paper
from the exploded firecrackers
of the lunar new year
ixv.
why are we all gilbert?
xv.
the dog
he types
it is a good poem
woof woof
woof woof
woof woof
xvi.
i got mugged
in broad daylight.
the mugger made it look
as if
we were shaking
hands.
xvii.
heart
what
new
-----
I published "the unhorsing of gilbert" in 1992, the work being a series of poems that would pop up in my head, revolving around a central theme, all by themselves. In the writing of this, occasionally I almost drove off the road. When I was done, I had a sweet little pocket-book of poetry that I gave to my freinds. On the cover is a medieval illustration of Lord Gilbert Reginald Falworth being knocked off his horse at a joust in England in the 1400s, thus the name of the collection.
i.
he fails.
he becomes a real person.
ii.
no more soft night
do you
know someone
who is strong
and invincible?
iii.
every time
you laugh when
you are angry
you become crueler.
iv.
everything is larger
v.
the face in the mirror
who is he?
is he me?
is he you?
i have seen his face
all my life.
vi.
in the bruised
flesh deep down
is the blood &
more testimonies
are
moving unsung
vii.
O flesh
O brain
O body
viii.
as i walked
i thought i saw
a ghost inside the dark
reflections of a
blank window
a car sped up
the street
its headlamps
illuminating me
and making my dark
silhouette
quite sinister
viii.
a good lesson
(one that lasts)
it can take
a long time.
there are no
excuses
for something
that will last.
ix.
dogs lay
in the road &
try to lick the moon
x.
do you miss home?
xi.
can you remember everything?
xii.
at night there are
dark horses everywhere
in the sky
in the house outside in
the trees
looking out
looking in
xiii.
this night i think:
in chinatown it snowed
and everybody came out
to look at such fine small particles
falling indifferently
roof to roof
street to street
the snowflakes formed a thin
thin crust
the snowflakes
dusted red and white puffs of paper
from the exploded firecrackers
of the lunar new year
ixv.
why are we all gilbert?
xv.
the dog
he types
it is a good poem
woof woof
woof woof
woof woof
xvi.
i got mugged
in broad daylight.
the mugger made it look
as if
we were shaking
hands.
xvii.
heart
what
new
-----
I published "the unhorsing of gilbert" in 1992, the work being a series of poems that would pop up in my head, revolving around a central theme, all by themselves. In the writing of this, occasionally I almost drove off the road. When I was done, I had a sweet little pocket-book of poetry that I gave to my freinds. On the cover is a medieval illustration of Lord Gilbert Reginald Falworth being knocked off his horse at a joust in England in the 1400s, thus the name of the collection.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Poem - i don't need the help
i don't need the help
but i hope you are reading this
my days are fine
like yours we get through them
i want something more
but if i get it i'll get it
i probably don't deserve it
many people i know will tell you so
but i hope you are reading this
my days are fine
like yours we get through them
i want something more
but if i get it i'll get it
i probably don't deserve it
many people i know will tell you so
Poem - brautigan wrote
brautigan wrote
gee you're so beautiful
its starting to rain
and when i read that
i remembered her
and how it felt to see her
i started to cry
gee you're so beautiful
its starting to rain
and when i read that
i remembered her
and how it felt to see her
i started to cry
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Poem - compelling subtle heartache
compelling subtle heartache
in the great land of america
because we killed all the natives
or moved them where we liked
and we are unconnected to the land
it takes thousands of years
to forge that kind of link
o america some day
you will feel whole again
after 1,000 years has gone by
& every step on the earth
beneath your feet is full of the dead
your old old gone by dead
and your sin taken on fulfilled
-- for David Foster Wallace
1962 - 2008
in the great land of america
because we killed all the natives
or moved them where we liked
and we are unconnected to the land
it takes thousands of years
to forge that kind of link
o america some day
you will feel whole again
after 1,000 years has gone by
& every step on the earth
beneath your feet is full of the dead
your old old gone by dead
and your sin taken on fulfilled
-- for David Foster Wallace
1962 - 2008
Monday, September 22, 2008
The Submersible of Dreams
I'd intentionally sleep with my face towards the clock, so I knew how time was getting on. I could take a peek at any time. The night became an ocean, and my consciousness was a submarine, trolling the depths between dreams and the world of things. It made my side hurt, sleeping that way, but hearing the drunks stumbling their way home on the street at 3 AM was priceless. After 5 AM when it got colder I'd succumb, roll to the left, and pass completely out of my mind. But 2/3rds of the whole night I have covered, in the submersible of dreams.
Friday, September 19, 2008
Ladies and Gentlemen
Ladies and Gentlemen,
First of all, we apologize for the temporary disruption of space and normal time continuation in your Universe. This was due to an mistake on our part in the calibration of our means of transportation. But on this subject, there were some hilarious situations that you thought were quite funny, if your newspapers are to be believed. We avoided television, radio, and the Internets, because we found those communication mediums insulting. We also suggest everyone on Earth subscribe to a most excellent local newspaper, "The Mercion County Clarion", of Mercion County, Louisiana. You will find this newspaper to have a few top notch people who can actually write the news.
Going forward, there may be some residual distortion to space time in parts of New York, Philadelphia, and the 60302 area code. It will be the usual kinds of things you've all doubtlessly experienced before, temporary spontaneous gender switching, minor gravity inversion, speaking in unfamiliar languages, high freezing temperatures, intelligent color, and rapid hair growth. Serious problems like abrupt miniaturization, and/or loss of scale in the relation to one object to another appearing in externally appearing phenominon appearing appearing appearing has been corrected.
In closing, we'd like to thank the President of the United States of America for donating the beautiful State of Idaho. This was the kind of material time share we always wanted to have -- and who would have thought plants could be so funny! And intermittent precipitation of H20 from those cloud objects! Wow! Living in an oxygen based compressed atmosphere is hilarious.
As good neighbors, we promise to keep everyone updated with the latest information as we get busy settling into the State, the North American Continent, and your Planet -- I'm sure you can hardly wait for more news.
Regards,
12w-03-023=-34=--0pc-pkcv-0f
and
89d9h9-0------------0 iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii
PS
Once again, we apologize for that little accident with the Women's Rotary Club at Bent Creek, CO. When they started speaking to us, we had no idea what sound was, and we assumed they were trying to kill us.
First of all, we apologize for the temporary disruption of space and normal time continuation in your Universe. This was due to an mistake on our part in the calibration of our means of transportation. But on this subject, there were some hilarious situations that you thought were quite funny, if your newspapers are to be believed. We avoided television, radio, and the Internets, because we found those communication mediums insulting. We also suggest everyone on Earth subscribe to a most excellent local newspaper, "The Mercion County Clarion", of Mercion County, Louisiana. You will find this newspaper to have a few top notch people who can actually write the news.
Going forward, there may be some residual distortion to space time in parts of New York, Philadelphia, and the 60302 area code. It will be the usual kinds of things you've all doubtlessly experienced before, temporary spontaneous gender switching, minor gravity inversion, speaking in unfamiliar languages, high freezing temperatures, intelligent color, and rapid hair growth. Serious problems like abrupt miniaturization, and/or loss of scale in the relation to one object to another appearing in externally appearing phenominon appearing appearing appearing has been corrected.
In closing, we'd like to thank the President of the United States of America for donating the beautiful State of Idaho. This was the kind of material time share we always wanted to have -- and who would have thought plants could be so funny! And intermittent precipitation of H20 from those cloud objects! Wow! Living in an oxygen based compressed atmosphere is hilarious.
As good neighbors, we promise to keep everyone updated with the latest information as we get busy settling into the State, the North American Continent, and your Planet -- I'm sure you can hardly wait for more news.
Regards,
12w-03-023=-34=--0pc-pkcv-0f
and
89d9h9-0------------0 iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii
PS
Once again, we apologize for that little accident with the Women's Rotary Club at Bent Creek, CO. When they started speaking to us, we had no idea what sound was, and we assumed they were trying to kill us.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
My Son's Cellular Ambition
My son's cellular ambition is to take over my cellular ambition. I don't completely understand this aim, and neither does he, but he is, in fact, only 2 years old. And I must say, I do not hold it against him. I do know he fervently wishes it, because many times when I am sitting here, writing, smoking, reading, or drinking a beer -- he sidles up to me humming & hawing. He'll press his little body against the side of me, slowly, gradually, inquisitively -- all the time talking and holding a toy or his bottle. He keeps at it like a cat, pressing against me until I have to shift my great big bulk, compared to his. With enough pushing and wiggling, the job will be done. Every son does this to his father, it is inevitable that a son tries. And the blessed dads decide to give way.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Poem - tonight you are not here/ with me alas
tonight you are not here
with me alas
but pretend we are together
& observe the moon
see how perfect and
bright it is & never lonely
**
heute sind Sie nicht hier
bei mir leider
aber vorgeben wir zusammen sind
& Beobachten den Mond
sehen, wie perfekt und
hell es ist & nie einsam
with me alas
but pretend we are together
& observe the moon
see how perfect and
bright it is & never lonely
**
heute sind Sie nicht hier
bei mir leider
aber vorgeben wir zusammen sind
& Beobachten den Mond
sehen, wie perfekt und
hell es ist & nie einsam
Monday, September 15, 2008
100 Years Old
I want to be nice, so I tell people I meet they're going to live to be 100 years old. But I'm wrong all the time.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Poem - what about the cigarette?
what about the cigarette?
the cigarette is a liar
the cigarette was at
marie antoinette's funeral
the cigarette fell on
the moathouse floor
in beaux in the 11th century
the cigarette was behind
napoleon's left ear one mile
from the gates of moscow
the cigarette pushed a lever
that dropped an atomic bomb
on nagasaki
what about the cigarette?
the cigarette has no compassion
it waterboarded prisoners
in the philippines with the
japanese navy
it was pro ethnic cleansing
in croatia in 1989
it kissed marolyn monroe
and just walked out of
her apartment smiling
the cigarette was the one
who shot precisely from
the grassy knoll
what about the cigarette?
with its cold dead eye
with those mean hard hands
with its calculating brains
&
how it will do anything to get its way
the cigarette is a liar
the cigarette was at
marie antoinette's funeral
the cigarette fell on
the moathouse floor
in beaux in the 11th century
the cigarette was behind
napoleon's left ear one mile
from the gates of moscow
the cigarette pushed a lever
that dropped an atomic bomb
on nagasaki
what about the cigarette?
the cigarette has no compassion
it waterboarded prisoners
in the philippines with the
japanese navy
it was pro ethnic cleansing
in croatia in 1989
it kissed marolyn monroe
and just walked out of
her apartment smiling
the cigarette was the one
who shot precisely from
the grassy knoll
what about the cigarette?
with its cold dead eye
with those mean hard hands
with its calculating brains
&
how it will do anything to get its way
Monday, September 08, 2008
Poem - new york
we are all just
passing through here
stock brokers
cops street preachers
bums tourists
devils saints and
sinners
"i'm in new york
for god's sake"
5th and w 33rd
the only cost
for that cigarette
is a story you're
happy to tell me
in the form of a
diatribe fable &
cautionary love-
song
passing through here
stock brokers
cops street preachers
bums tourists
devils saints and
sinners
"i'm in new york
for god's sake"
5th and w 33rd
the only cost
for that cigarette
is a story you're
happy to tell me
in the form of a
diatribe fable &
cautionary love-
song
Thursday, September 04, 2008
Poem - i asked
i asked her
if she was in my
memory the
right way she
is not
we let time
do away with us
and we don't
care now to
fix anything
if she was in my
memory the
right way she
is not
we let time
do away with us
and we don't
care now to
fix anything
Poem - now it/ is raining
now it
is raining
wet deck turns
pale silver
tree leaves
are just turning
fall is
almost here
is raining
wet deck turns
pale silver
tree leaves
are just turning
fall is
almost here
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Poem - something is wrong when the toilet will not shut off
1.
something is wrong when the toilet will not shut off
something is wrong when the toilet roars like a lion
2.
etwas ist unrecht wenn die toilette nicht etwas ist
unrecht abstellt wenn die toilette wie ein löwe brüllt
3.
qualcosa è torto quando la toletta non spegnerà
qualcosa è torto quando la toletta rugge come un leone
4.
algo é erro quando o toalete não cortará algo é erro
quando o toalete ruje como um leão
5.
что-то неправда когда туалет не отключит что-то
неправда когда туалет взревет как львев
6.
기술을 가진 이 생활의 신비는 신비 결코 정지하지 않
을 것이다
something is wrong when the toilet will not shut off
something is wrong when the toilet roars like a lion
2.
etwas ist unrecht wenn die toilette nicht etwas ist
unrecht abstellt wenn die toilette wie ein löwe brüllt
3.
qualcosa è torto quando la toletta non spegnerà
qualcosa è torto quando la toletta rugge come un leone
4.
algo é erro quando o toalete não cortará algo é erro
quando o toalete ruje como um leão
5.
что-то неправда когда туалет не отключит что-то
неправда когда туалет взревет как львев
6.
기술을 가진 이 생활의 신비는 신비 결코 정지하지 않
을 것이다
Great Sex Ever on a Boat
They came into the room shouting about how they just had great sex!!! The best sex they had, on the Boat, because the Boat was so comfortable. I didn't know about the Boat. I didn't know they had sex. I didn't want to know about the Boat, or about them having sex, or how it was the best sex, ever, on the Boat. She sat down, or rather piratically laid on the couch, spreading her legs like a man. He wanted to play cards.
I told them hell is other people. They laughed.
I told them hell is other people. They laughed.
Monday, August 18, 2008
Poem - he will sit by the bank of the river
he loves
joan rivers
the 14th century
twist ties and
peanut butter
he thinks about
fire
the upanishads
modern air conditioning
and jack phelps
he sees
the music of the spheres
HD tv
clicking balls with bells in them
fingers ticking the ivory
his dreams
will be just like reality
his hopes
are interchangeable with his fears
he will sit by the bank of the river
in his head
and wait for the body
of his enemy to go floating by
joan rivers
the 14th century
twist ties and
peanut butter
he thinks about
fire
the upanishads
modern air conditioning
and jack phelps
he sees
the music of the spheres
HD tv
clicking balls with bells in them
fingers ticking the ivory
his dreams
will be just like reality
his hopes
are interchangeable with his fears
he will sit by the bank of the river
in his head
and wait for the body
of his enemy to go floating by
Cursing
I kept waiting. When you didn't show up, I cursed you like a pirate. I was full of lustful curses. I was pathetically cursing, all alone. Being alone encouraged me to curse. I cursed long and cursingly, because it was absolutely futile to curse. I cursed because nothing was wrong. I cursed because everything was right. I cursed because I belonged where I was cursing you, and you belonged where I was cursing you. I cursed like a baby, a spoiled brat, an idiot, a fool, a troubled young man, a zealot; I cursed like someone who can't appreciate anything. I cursed because I was cursing. I cursed because it didn't help cursing, and I knew it. I cursed until all cursing was out of me. Then I had a beer and felt sorry for myself. Then I pulled my shit together and I was basically okay. I had shit to take care of in this big, beautiful, stainlessly clean world. But I have no freinds. Oh, fuck, I know that isn't true. How my freinds (and loved ones) put up with me, I do not know. I do not fucking know.
Friday, August 08, 2008
THINGS DON'T WORK - SWAT Team Runs Amok
I posted a new entry over at THINGS DON'T WORK, about SWAT teams going nuts at the wrong place, at the wrong time. Happens all the time. It would be funny, but usually pets (and people) get killed. This time it was the Mayor of Berwyn Heights, MD that almost got blown up. Oh, the SWAT team shot his dogs, for fun, and made his mother lay in the blood.
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
What I Saw While Sitting on the Steps of the Chicago Art Insitute One Afternoon for Several Hours on a Breezy Day
- tattered tourists
- fantastic tourists
- lost tourists
- found tourists
- cell phone gabbing tourists
- tourists who shouldn't be wearing what they are wearing (yes, that kind of tourist)
- upset looking tourists
- incredulous tourists
- snapping pictures of things that are above 5 stories or more tourists
- "rebel" tourists
- "young" tourists
- "old" tourists
- hooker tourists!
- pointing tourists
- advice mongering tourists
- tourists showing their cleavage in other tourist's faces
- tourists in big bug-eyed sunglasses
- tourists with babies
- babies with tourists
- parents unsuccessfully wrangling toddlers, even though it isn't that hard tourists
- tourists wondering what i am doing
- PROUD TOURISTS
- determined tourists
- tourists with foldable chairs, tables, bikes, sunshades, beer, metal detectors
- tourists that sit too close to other tourists
- grinning ebullient tourists on rental scooters (please o lord, let them not be killed)
- honking tourists
- joking tourists
- a barefoot tourist!
- partially clothed tourist
- the "hey, how are ya doing?" tourist
- the "yeah! yeah!" tourist
- clapping tourists
- shorty short-short spank me now tourist
- fantastic tourists
- lost tourists
- found tourists
- cell phone gabbing tourists
- tourists who shouldn't be wearing what they are wearing (yes, that kind of tourist)
- upset looking tourists
- incredulous tourists
- snapping pictures of things that are above 5 stories or more tourists
- "rebel" tourists
- "young" tourists
- "old" tourists
- hooker tourists!
- pointing tourists
- advice mongering tourists
- tourists showing their cleavage in other tourist's faces
- tourists in big bug-eyed sunglasses
- tourists with babies
- babies with tourists
- parents unsuccessfully wrangling toddlers, even though it isn't that hard tourists
- tourists wondering what i am doing
- PROUD TOURISTS
- determined tourists
- tourists with foldable chairs, tables, bikes, sunshades, beer, metal detectors
- tourists that sit too close to other tourists
- grinning ebullient tourists on rental scooters (please o lord, let them not be killed)
- honking tourists
- joking tourists
- a barefoot tourist!
- partially clothed tourist
- the "hey, how are ya doing?" tourist
- the "yeah! yeah!" tourist
- clapping tourists
- shorty short-short spank me now tourist
Saturday, August 02, 2008
you will not recognize/ the holy man
you will not recognize
the holy man
you will think he is
a dishwasher
or a peon or
a homeless person
because of this
you will find him
offensively unattractive
no obvious merits
will come to your mind
when you look at him
you will behave badly
around the holy man
you will be prone
to exaggeration
because he irritates you
you will completely
reveal yourself to
him in this way
all petty faults
you want to keep secret
things about you
that no one should know
and when you do
finally recognize
the holy man
it will be profoundly
humbling and
embarrassing
you'll feel shattered
the holy man
will smile
he'll never hold it
against you
it was all you
not him
suddenly everything
will be alright
you'll look upon him
with great devotion
but he'll tease you
about it from time
to time
the holy man
you will think he is
a dishwasher
or a peon or
a homeless person
because of this
you will find him
offensively unattractive
no obvious merits
will come to your mind
when you look at him
you will behave badly
around the holy man
you will be prone
to exaggeration
because he irritates you
you will completely
reveal yourself to
him in this way
all petty faults
you want to keep secret
things about you
that no one should know
and when you do
finally recognize
the holy man
it will be profoundly
humbling and
embarrassing
you'll feel shattered
the holy man
will smile
he'll never hold it
against you
it was all you
not him
suddenly everything
will be alright
you'll look upon him
with great devotion
but he'll tease you
about it from time
to time
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