Some catch up time...more to come soon

3/19/09 Happiness

The soft morning glow crept over their nude forms like the ocean’s foamy hands over the graham cracker sand. The sun pressed their sleeping lids gently. Morning stood directly outside, awaiting their presence. The two awoke, the corners of their mouths curling upwards in anticipation of day. Movements still dreamy and thick, they sauntered out into what could only be called paradise. This is what is must have been like for Adam and Eve. The sand rejoiced in glittering winks, the ocean roared in glee, and the sweet breeze tickled their ears and necks. All was well. All was well.

3/20/09 “I’d like to stay in love with you all summer…”

“I’d like to stay in love with you all summer…”

“That’s a nice tune. Who’s it by?”

“Dunno. Dad used to sing it.” She looked out the window and watched a little woodfinch jump hovering around their backyard lemon tree.

“Do you want to talk about something else?” he asked.

She shrugged. He came over and put his arm around her.

“We’ve done this thing for awhile now. We can see it through.”

“It’s only Spring,” she said.

“So he’s got time.”

She looked at her brother and then back outside. “…and after fall, I’ll keep you warm through the winter ooh…”

3/21/09 Desperation

“You’re fucked.” She took a sip of her flask.

“Adele, we’re in a coffee shop,” I whispered.

“Whatever. I’m hung over.”
She looked different now. Her hair was coarser, her skin leathery, but she still wore the same red jungle lipstick and carried the same leopard-print purse.

“Look sweetie, I didn’t say it to be mean, I said it ‘cause it’s the truth. Adele leaned in. She smelled like stale coffee grounds and clove cigarette smoke.

“So what are ya gonna do?”

I half-expected her to add “huh? Punk?” and I think she expected an answer or at least a squeak.

3/22/09 Desperation continued

But instead I took her flask and took a gulp. She raised her eyebrows.

“Ugh,” I grimaced, “Tequila in the morning?”

She laughed, “You know Jose and I have a love affair that lasts a lifetime. Anyway, look girlie, you called me for a reason. I can help you, but you gotta ask. The girls haven’t forgotten your sassy little ass and I’ll tell you right now, I’d take you back in a heartbeat. You’re my girl.”

Her red lips curled, revealing tequila-stained teeth.

“Okay,” I said, “I need help, Adele. Just please don’t tell Marc.”

“You got it, Mama.”

3/23/09 How to run a hotel smoothly

“What we have here is a failure to communicate. The captain paced with one hand behind his back and the other twizzling his moustache.

“I don’t appreciate the behaviour I’ve seen this week. Dropped calls, misinforming guests, and to top it all, one of you leaked all over the lobby floor!

He looked at the crew searchingly. They stared dispassionately back, their beetle-black eyes pulsating to the tune of elevator music that seemed to pervade spaces other than the elevator.

“Understood?”

In a symphony of monotone drone, the silver borgs responded, “yes, sir.”

“Then off to it!” the captain barked.

3/24/09 Sometimes a step

Sometimes,

just a step will do the trick

Small,

but deliberate and well-placed

Yeah. That should do it.

And sometimes,

a fall

might send you back a couple,

--especially if you try to leap.

That’s okay, though

Because you’ll have your laughter

To catch you

And your humility

To spring you back up

But sometimes,

Pride stands in the way,

Silly thing

So will shame.

They’ll grow like brick walls

if you don’t kick them down

when they pop up

Sometimes,

just a step will do the trick

Small,

but deliberate and well-placed

Yeah. That should do it.

3/25/09 Wriggly Wriggly Wriggly Poo Song

Wriggly Wriggly Wriggly Poo

Squiggly Squiggly Squiggly Poo

Giggly Giggly Giggly Poo

Diggly Diggly Diggly Poo

Piggly Piggly Piggly Poo

Biggly Biggly Biggly Poo

Miggly Miggly Miggly Poo

Iggly Iggly Iggly Poo

Wiggly Wiggly Wiggly Poo

Figgly Figgly Figgly Poo

Higgly Higgly Higgly Poo

Jiggly Jiggly Jiggly Poo

Priggly Priggly Priggly Poo

Tiggly Tiggly Tiggly Poo

Stiggly Stiggly Stiggly Poo

Bliggly Bliggly Bliggly Poo

Psyggly Psyggly Psyggly Poo

Spriggly Spriggly Spriggly Poo

Chiggly Chiggly Chiggly Poo

Ziggly Ziggly Ziggly Poo

Thiggly Thiggly Thiggly Poo

Driggly Driggly Driggly Poo

Pliggly Pliggly Pliggly Poo

Griggly Griggly Griggly Poo

Liggly Liggly Liggly Poo

Catching Up On The Last Week Or So

March 30: "Writing"

What comes out of my fingertips is what comes over the airwaves and comes into your eye sockets. Where it goes from there is all a matter of synapses. Nerve endings? Memory banks? I don’t know and I only care a little. What I’m worried about is the specific connection between my fingertips and the non-biological cavern in my brain where original thoughts are spawned. If the connection is unimpeded, the transfer between the cosmic and physiological reactions pure, then the writing process is complete. You, the reader, are inessential. But of course, I’m still happy that you are there.

March 29: "Song For The End Of The Day"

The toad says grub grub grub
The toad says grub grub grub
I sit in my tub tub
Down in the suds suds
Listening to grub grub grub
 
The moon goes down down down
The moon goes down down down
I wear a frown frown
My head spins round round
While the moon goes down down down
 
The wind says sigh sigh sigh
The wind says sigh sigh sigh
The earth can’t lie lie
Or give another try try
My mind says sigh sigh sigh
 
Goodbye goodbye goodbye
Goodnight
Goodbye goodbye goodbye
Goodnight
 
Grub grub goodnight
Sud sud goodnight

Goodbye  

March 28: "Jules Verne"

            I opened a heart-sized chest in a Chinatown tourist shop, and inside I found Jules Verne.

            He was resting against the end of the box, reading a tiny copy of Chuang Tzu.

            He told me all the human beings – writers, thinkers, inventors – I look up to are also waiting, just like him.

            After we discussed for a time how to find giant crystals in the earth’s core, I gently closed the chest and walked into the street.

            That’s why I lift every mossy rock; why in every field of dandelions gone to seed I look for Albert Einstein.

March 27: "Odds"

            Two jet airliners collided high above the Midwest on Tuesday.

            United Flight 291 and Virgin America Flight 48 struck head-on at an altitude of 30,000 feet, instantly destroying both aircraft. An estimated five hundred total passengers and crew were on board.

            “The chances of this happening are astronomical,” said United spokesman Barry Clark in a statement released late Tuesday night.

            Dorris Greenwater, a resident of Topeka, Kansas, described the explosion. “I could see two contrails getting pretty close up there, then a bright flash like a camera bulb, then nothing.”

            Crews are combing the state of Kansas for fallen debris.

March 26: "Towns I've Been In"

Aberdeen, Anchorage, Antelope, Astoria, Bakersfield, Bellevue, Bellingham, Bend, Berkeley, Billings, Boise, Bozeman, Butte, Capitola, Coeur d’Alene, Cooke City, Corvallis, Dubois, Federal Way, Fresno, Friday Harbor, Gig Harbor, Gilroy, Hayward, Kent, Key Center, Lakewood, Los Angeles, Las Vegas, Medford, Missoula, Moab, Mobile, Monterrey, Moses Lake, New Orleans, Oakland, Ocean Shores, Olympia, Palo Alto, Playa del Carmen, Pocatello, Port Angeles, Port Orchard, Port Townsend, Portland, Puyallup, Redding, Redwood City, Renton, San Diego, San Francisco, San Jose, San Ramon, Santa Cruz, Salem, Salt Lake City, Sausalito, Seattle, Shaniko, Sitka, Spokane, Tacoma, Tri-Cities, Vancouver, Victoria, Walla Walla, Washington D. C., Weed, Wenatchee, Yakima, Yreka.

March 25: "Speckled Fingernails"

            My fingernails have always had flecks of white in them. Today I found out why.

            I went in to donate blood, and when I was strapped into a chair, I could see my blood draining through a clear plastic tube into a baggy by my left foot. Every few seconds, I noticed, a patch of chalky white blood would move through the tube.

            The nurse was worried, for obvious reasons.

            They did tests in the hospital all afternoon and finally called ten minutes ago with the results.

            The white liquid in my veins that condenses into my fingernails?

            “Genetic miscalculation.”

March 24: "Unfortunately, The Bench Is Destroyed Too"

“Dude that bench has our name on it.”
“Word! Pristine pizza eating spot.”
“Man I’mma eat this shit in three bites.”
“Wait, yo, what the fuck?”
“What?”
“Check this plaque man.”
“What. ‘In loving memory of Blake Lundy and “Corkscrew” Bailey.’ Yo, shit man.”
“That’s fucking us.”
“What the fuck is our name doing on this bench?”
“You asking me that? Dead people are supposed to be on benches.”
“Well, we aren’t dead, it’s some sick joke.”
“Dude, this a omen. A sign.”
“Whatever man. Let’s nibble these slices.”
“I got a bad feeling.”
“You’re hungry. Cheers, to greasiness!”

METEORITE

March 23: "Things"

The trail through mossy gullies
The beach with its dried band of seaweed
The fences with wobbly corner posts
The ponds, each with its own disposition
The trees and their rings
The porches and patios where people grill and chat
The mountain that rests across the bay
The bridge across the lagoon
The barn with its smell of chickens and dusty machinery
The afternoon sun going over the hill
The tideflats out under shallow water
The birds that call and soar
The houses where people end up in the evening
The forest that wraps like a scarf around the farm

Conversation

“My mouth is like a vacuum.”
“Is that so?”
“A hugeass black hole vacuum.”
“You’re not sucking me in.”
“Well you’re clearly to big.”
“Calling me fat?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Look, just because of your freak show mouth – “
“My what?”
“Your crazy sucking mouth – “
“Black hole vacuum mouth is a good thing!”
“Good?”
“The best possible thing!”
“OK, explain yourself.”
“It doesn’t suck like a vacuum, it inhales, ingests.”
“You’re talking about food?”
“Picture a steak hovering between us.”
“Man you’re falling off the beaten trail. Levitating steak?”
“I’d be done before you swallowed one bite.”

Today:

I’m disappointed I’m disappointed I’m disappointed I’m disappointed I did things today and for each thing I did I remembered that I’m still disappointed I’m more sad and despairing than disappointed because I looked forward to it so much and all of a sudden I can’t because of one tiny detail I’m disappointed and sad and lonely and though I still have friends around me I’m disappointed for each thing I do I get sadder and more disappointed and yes I am angry too like why me I’m disappointed disappointed I’m sad and lonely but it’ll be OK I guess.

Start Writing...

Sputter me sideways and grind the pattern down
I’ll mutter my guidance and mind my business
Trying to end this or is this pretentious
Mention the jealous get kicked in the gut
Who wants what, pick your type of gamut
Can’t see it or scan it, scheme it or slam it
But accept the famine and begin to vanish
Looking like lambs or new hands on the job
New bookies to rob like cookies and jars
Your getaway car’s like a fallen down star
I’m calling the game so complain from afar
I’m training my ears to ignore musical bars

A Return From Travels

            He sat on the roof of a squat skyscraper, waiting. It was a brilliant day, and the air conditioning boxes around him whirred happily.

            Right on time, the five-foot door opened and a young woman, dressed as a secretary, came crunching across the roof’s gravel.

            “Welcome home!” he shouted, jumping up to embrace her.

             For several minutes they stood in the sunlight, catching up with each other.

            “Was it a good trip?”

            “Well I was the only one in the elevator!”

            Eventually he said, “Shall we go?” They grabbed hands and leapt up, up, and up into the atmosphere.

A Tipping Point

            I think a great tipping point in a person’s life is how they react to the realization that they are the only human being on earth. When one realizes that everyone else around exists in a state of non-existence, two emotional options emerge. Either great freedom or great desolation. Is this revelation inevitable? I do not know, as I have experienced it myself and know that others are not real and knowable as I am. And I do not know either what my reaction has been. I try to forget the revelation, but at times freedom and desolation overwhelm me.

For Spring

Speckled brown and pink, the egg did not know what to think.

Should it hatch here, so the world can rejoice and cheer?

Or should it sit and wait—the best surprises always come late.

But it could not ponder for long, for it sensed something very, very wrong.

Its nest was shaking, shake-a-lake-a-laking.

As a something drew near, the poor, helpless egg almost cracked in fear.

But no worries, little one! It’s your sister, her life has just begun!

So now you’re spurred on to make this hard exterior gone

Crick-crackle-pop! Stretch peek blink. Hop hop hop.

Breaking News from Station 5!

The world has died.

That’s right, folks. As of 3:32 pm today, Eastern Standard Time.

It was a tragic, but beautiful event as she collapsed into herself, furrowing along the equator, steam rising in bellows as oceans and oceans disappeared into the crevice. While it is impossible to report on any sound, witnesses commented that they imagined a crunching noise to accompany the crumbling structures that once were inhabited by the very people of the space stations. It is a devastating report we have here, but she lived to the ripe age of 6.5 billion years.

Back to you, Tom.

Play on a Desk

Sunglasses: Hey baby.

Keychain: Oh please.

Sunglasses: You’ve got the keys, but I’ll open your lock.

Pencils: Ha! Is this guy serious?

Sunglasses: No joke girl,

Wallet: Enough!

Sunglasses: I’m sorry man, didn’t mean anything by it.

Wallet: I’ve told you to stay away, now you’re gonna get it.

Sunglasses: You serious? Shit, bring it man.

[Wallet picks up Sunglasses and carries him over to Pencil Sharpener.]

Pencil Sharpener: Gzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Sunglasses: AHHHHHHHH

Speakers: “We are here with nothing to do today
Its something we can’t explain
And tomorrow, where will we be tomorrow?
What will we see today?”

Keychain: Wallet?

Exams in Spring

This day is so warm that it glows and exudes carefree. It smells like wednesday arvos in high school when we'd all buzz off to the beach and go surfing in sandy wetsuits, paddle out beyond the sharp, cool breakers and feel like life was too fun to be fair.

Now i'm sitting inside; learning many things.

But my window's open and i can smell the sun and the birds are cuckling gently and the quiet sounds of keys jingling and doors creaking and loose chatter somewhere outside the window are comforting and loving and life is simply too good.

Let's

Let’s go to the sea,

--you and me,

to revel in delight

us creatures of the night

Let’s fly to the moon,

whilst whistling a tune,

in frantic orbiting wheels

like twirling orange peels

Let’s plunge into earth,

feeling its laughter and mirth

to celebrate the soil

for its hard work and toil

Let’s sweep into the breeze,

so fast so no one sees

accompanied only by the leaves

From naked trees that grieve

Let’s stand here and be proud

Saying, we are human and we are loud

We use our minds to ponder

And at times think and wonder

Thought Trail

Boobs. Rhymes with tubes. Of toothpaste. My toothpaste is minty. And fresh. But then I can’t eat sour things after I brush because they’ll taste icky and bitter. But then again, you’re not supposed to eat anymore after you brush your teeth. I should brush my teeth. My mouth tastes like garlic. Garlic is so good. It’s so pungent and prominent. It’s like, hey I’m garlic, hear me roar! And it’s like that in everything it’s in. It’s pretty incredible. Like the incredible hulk. But not the first movie. That sucked. The second one was better. That’s what she said.

Courteous Bite Back

Lilly was really a sweet girl. She didn’t know how she gleaned a reputation for being the opposite. Well, here’s how it happened. Lilly was walking down the street after volunteering at the hospital when she sneezed. She was uncertain whether the old man on the bench said, “god bless you.” She didn’t want to offend, so just in case, she said, “thank you.” From then on, she resolved to always say thank you after she sneezed in public to reciprocate anyone’s politeness. However, this ended up making people think she pretentiously expected people to faun over her bodily functions.

CALLEGE

I love: Drinking. Beer. Cheap. Keg stands. Chug. Red cups. Ping pong balls. Cup pyramids. Women. Sex. A la carte. Upside down. With two. Parties. Late nights. Later mornings. Saturday nights. Friday nights. Thursday nights. Occasional Wednesday nights. Fuck it, Tuesdays and Mondays too. Sunday sleep. Daylight’s for pussies. Hookah. Pot. Dorms. Chiclet lights. Bunks. Stained carpets. Home at break. Generic music. Dining halls. Trays. Buffets. Late night grease fest. T-shirts. Jeans Sneakers. Branded sweatshirts. Nicotine with alcohol. Blackouts. Hangovers. Sports. Football. Tailgates. Hotdogs with mustard and onions. Cheers. Screams. Bikes. No helmets. Class? it’s cah-lege. CALLEGE. Live it, bitch.

The Diamond

            Son, we were born when your great-great-grandfather was as little as you and found a diamond under a leaf. It was on the side of a cart path and he carried it home in his cheek. He kept it there for the next seventeen years and never told anyone. Once he was sure he had swallowed it in a thunderstorm, but the next morning there it was again. The coroner was the first to discover it, under the limp tongue, and the moment he set it like a fragile seed into the young widow’s palm, she knew she was pregnant.

Bread wars

You know the difference between a piece of pre-packed pita and a hunk of plastic-wrapped naan? Everything. One’s thin, crispy-yet-soft, conveniently pocket shaped, and delicious; the other is a useless slip of defecated pseudo-bread that’s better used for slapping disobedient prostitutes limply in the face than stuffing down one’s throat. Pre-packaged, whole-wheat, cold, spongey naan soaks up all that is good in this world and grinds filth into it. It shits on angels. It spits on saints. It is the starchiest fucking antichrist ever baked into existence. It crashed the stock market and caused AIDS. But there’s no pita left.

What Happens On A First Date

            Under your skin, a layer of parachute troops crouches. Your entire body, toenail cuticles to skull skin, is hyper-dialed-in to every bit of inconsequential contact. The parachute troops do a jumping jack spasm any time skin meets skin and then spin like a dog chasing its tail in longing. Your noodle does a million things trying to stay calm, reign a discombobulated body into confidence, and float iceberg conversations. But every time she stumbles up against your arm, epidermal chaos makes a willy-nilly rush into the bloodstream firing sidearms and trying to start Mardi Gras right then and there.

Quickie Poem

Clap on, clap off
Life like Bernie Madoff
The twisties and turnies
Go tap tap tap tap tap tap tap
At my doorframe
“I want more fame”
Or
“I got more game”
Sellers selling snacks and shacks and syrups
People telling me where to attack
Where whacking the system
Will spare my system
And who kissed them?
The paraplegics
The wary medics
In short, the ones you see pacing the sidewalks
When hiding your face
Is saying mission abort
But the moral of the story is still more
More more more more more
Stores, floors, seashores
Tapping down your door

Future

Two similar adults sit in a pitch-black room. One is deaf; his name is Arimel. The other, Nostradamus, hears the metal-on-metal chink a cocked firearm and footsteps approaching.

Arimel is clueless. But Nostradamus knows. The only difference between the two is their perceptual abilities, yet one can much more accurately predict the future.

If you disengaged your brain’s heuristic shortcuts, which increase attention and speed but ignore perceptual details, you’d become holistically aware of a situation: its context; related events; probabilities. This increased clarity would be nearly a sixth sense. Like a gut feeling, you might even see the future.