I the sit here the and the don't know why I sat here and the the present tense makes me wonder what I
There rhyme is there but makes no sensse I can't make sense of these shivers like convulsions like i will realize water like i'll make an error in type.
I sit here and the and the I don't know the words I shiver the I lie the the like the most like the bedaz like the delete shivers of an unsure author I
and the the the the and the wave of yes the wave of yet the yes what what were you talking about
its gone
its 11:30
my right eye is twitching
twitching is now a verb i don't understand
the the the
there is a part on reread i don't unders
tand leave it
yeas the the it will makes ense.
30 October 2019
27 May 2019
i hunt flies
i hunt flies.
in a dark room i
shine a flashlight a
gainst the wall
the light it
needs
the long shadow
of a toothpaste
the tool in my hand
i wait
for it.
if it is tired
it will die easy
its yellow guts explode tiny and
you can scoopit up with
the swatter.
it
it
it
it
it is my death
in a dark room i
shine a flashlight a
gainst the wall
the light it
needs
the long shadow
of a toothpaste
the tool in my hand
i wait
for it.
if it is tired
it will die easy
its yellow guts explode tiny and
you can scoopit up with
the swatter.
it
it
it
it
it is my death
11 May 2019
If you need a mothers day sonnet, use this one (specific to mothers of Eleanors only)
Each morning when my wife she does awake
To frantic Billie barks and climbing child,
She puts the hat of mom upon her pate,
And calms the dog and gives our kid a smile.
Each afternoon she picks up Eleanor
From school, and brings a new joy ev’ry day:
Like trips to parks, a car or, something more
Than is expressed in my poor, rote wordplay.
And in the ev’ning, after supper time,
The mother hat, she wears it until sleep
By calming Eleanor with song or rhyme
E’en when I make jokes about poop and peep.
All this to say I envy how she wears
The love and faith in family that she bares.
x
This mountain of grated cheese
I sat here, slowing falling through the parmesano reggiano, like an olive lost in a history of grey tribute bands. At the top of the pile, the cheese felt soft and pillowy, like I was on top of the world and the world was soft, pillowy cheese. Does it matter that this cheese was aged?
Like does aged cheese transmit the horrors of its times?
( will, 16 years from now , cheese transmit this message spray painted on the back of a high school entrance billboard:
"
Build the wall #MAGA
"
but 'Billboard' is not the right word. Maybe 'marquee'?
Not the right word, but painted with 'right' words, am I right????
Maybe that painter kid ate Mussolini Cheese and was infected with the same strand of hate that has passed through the guts of those Germans and what not.)
Anyway, back to the story about cheese mountains:
The pillows of whiteness envelop me. Sharp and nutty. Tangy. Wielding patio torches.
Like does aged cheese transmit the horrors of its times?
( will, 16 years from now , cheese transmit this message spray painted on the back of a high school entrance billboard:
"
Build the wall #MAGA
"
but 'Billboard' is not the right word. Maybe 'marquee'?
Not the right word, but painted with 'right' words, am I right????
Maybe that painter kid ate Mussolini Cheese and was infected with the same strand of hate that has passed through the guts of those Germans and what not.)
Anyway, back to the story about cheese mountains:
The pillows of whiteness envelop me. Sharp and nutty. Tangy. Wielding patio torches.
26 April 2019
For the record
In 2008, I posted the list of music to the right. In 2019, I stand by every single one of those songs.
Either they are good, or I have lost touch with that which is good.
Either they are good, or I have lost touch with that which is good.
Hey Jeanette Winterson, I can do that too
They say people who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones. But maybe people who live in stone houses shouldn't throw glass. They should throw parties.
It's 1999 and there are beers on the wall. The stone walls not mended, the mended walls not stoned.
"Another brick?" she asked.
"Another beer," he said.
She opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle. An IPA from Stone brewing.
"Throw me a Stone and I'll give you a rock," he said.
"Zub Zub, are you askin' to marry me?" she said.
"Only if you got a heart of glass."
"Blondie didn't invent fate," she said.
He smiled.
"Gimme a glass for this Stone and let's party."
It's 1999 and there are beers on the wall. The stone walls not mended, the mended walls not stoned.
"Another brick?" she asked.
"Another beer," he said.
She opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle. An IPA from Stone brewing.
"Throw me a Stone and I'll give you a rock," he said.
"Zub Zub, are you askin' to marry me?" she said.
"Only if you got a heart of glass."
"Blondie didn't invent fate," she said.
He smiled.
"Gimme a glass for this Stone and let's party."
Saturday Morning
Middle aged men in tights mounting their
bikes in the morning adjusting their slick sunglasses their guts
protruding through lycra
manicured goatees in the morning we're riding the three bumps
fuck us fuck this middle
aged men in tights with gels to drink bells to ok ok that one
he got gravel leg
he got a
tear
bikes in the morning adjusting their slick sunglasses their guts
protruding through lycra
manicured goatees in the morning we're riding the three bumps
fuck us fuck this middle
aged men in tights with gels to drink bells to ok ok that one
he got gravel leg
he got a
tear
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