December 2009
17 posts
Watch the Skyline for me.
Frozen spaghetti and chili Subzero block of sustenance, 3am commercial break from reading and smoking, Homecooked by a machine in Rochester that will never know my name. I dreamt of falling asleep next to a girl and doing horribly wonderful things to her, things that make Christians blush. Instead I fell asleep with frozen spaghetti and chili. You win some, you lose some.
“Taking Down the Tree” Low.
Sleep.
Some nights, I embrace Sleep. I relish in it, my escape. I change into sleepclothes and prepare the blankets and brush my teeth and turn off the lights and all these things that signify the end of the day. And in my sleepclothes I submit entirely and declare the night my victor. On these nights, my gradual descent into unconsciousness is welcomed and applauded.
Other nights, nights not much...
In this winter there will be none saved.
I hate the cold.
I loathe it. I abhor it. And although the is no person or no thing I take more pride in than my home state, a stiff winter wind makes me want to abandon Indiana like a battered lover leaving in the night. I look at descending mercury and see only abuse: torn skin, tearing eyes, desperate cries for relief from an aggressor so ubiquitous and unrelenting that it shakes me to my...
These moments are events in my life... →
Boneless Chicken Meal
A man at a bar offered me a pickled egg from a jar. He wasn’t an employee, and there wasn’t a menu.
They danced like dissected eyeballs in obsidian liquid, without identification or purpose and I told him that I’d never tried pickled eggs but I wouldn’t turn down free food.
I fished futilely for the oblong spheres in their dark, encompassing sea of brine, remarking that...
And what we once were is gone.
And what we once were is gone. Distant memories they end up now Trickling steadily through holes we never saw; After embarking with handfuls of hope and preparation, We can grasp now only at single grains; Yes, we have pictures but they are flat, Yes, we have words but they are no longer our own; Yes, they are here but we are not. And what we once were is gone.
And what we once were is gone....
Pomplamoose - Mrs. Robinson
We are all marks.
We are all marks.
We deny it. We say that we are thinking people, that, at the end of the day, we let our brain win and we know what is true and what is not. We tell ourselves, and each other, that we are completely in control of ourselves and that no one’s going to pull the wool over our eyes. Not today.
We are arrogant. We say that we are too smart for tricks, too mature for games. ...
Clarity
I cannot write with clarity right now. No, clarity has left town for a while. She’s visiting somewhere far away from here, someone’s who’s in a position far from mine.
But I can write about the simple things. Standing on the radiator to warm your feet up at night. Drinking Coca-Cola and smoking cigarettes. Standing in your room and thinking “I just might clean...
That Guy Sure As Goddamn Hell Doesn't Know Anyone...
I helped a man named Steve McKinney With his groceries outside Pay Less. He was in a motorized wheel chair And told me he weighed two-eighty. He didn’t. I’m a professional chef and I’ve worked with the past three presidents And Oprah is coming to do a special with me And I’ve got a couple cookbooks on the way, he said. That’s exciting, I said. Thank you. I drove away and it all Sunk in, a kid’s...