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Monday, January 14, 2013

We have done with the kisses that sting,
        The thief’s mouth red from the feast,
The blood on the hands of the king
        And the lie at the lips of the priest.

Friday, June 29, 2012

Obnoxious


“Successful” guys can be so—
I’d rather date a bus
boy.  He probably wouldn’t be such a—
Honestly, does anyone really need such a big set of
pecks?
I know you think you’re hot, so not
that my opinion matters, but really I just want to
splatter mud 
on your Abercrombie graphic T, pierce your lip,
give you a really ugly
tattoo—at least it would lend some
character.
No, I really don’t care about your stock
profile, so now, would you mind
wiping
some of the gel out of your hair?
Sometimes, it scares me
that I’d rather date the guy
smoking pot behind the dumpster outside the office, 
than date the guy who actually works
in the office—
I’ve looked at the hospital janitor
pushing a cart of dirty towels down the hallway and said,
“hmmm…” entirely overlooking
the doctor.
As much as I’d love to stare at your expensive tie
across the table,
I’m just so distracted by the cook.
He's back there sweating in the hot kitchen, 
breading chicken,
you know he knows
how to use his hands, how to grip a breast…
perhaps it would be best
if you didn’t order us a second bottle
of the place’s best red, 
let’s just admit this date is dead, so
excuse me while I swoon
to the taxi cab driver’s Spanish music on my way home.
He barely speaks English, and I barely Spanish, but
¿Que te pasa, papi?
The man who pays for a tan
from a bed doesn’t much impress me—I’d rather
a farmer tan rendezvous
‘cause it’s true
I do
think your tractor’s
sexy.
I’d rather a dude
be able to build me a house
than buy me one, would prefer to date
the guy who fixes the car
over the one who drives it, especially if, God forbid, it’s a sports car.
The rockstar in centerstage
will probably bore me to tears, unless of course he introduces me
to the drummer he just fired
for never being on time.
If you’re going to sing your own praises, I can promise you
I won’t be in the audience—instead you’ll find me
in the porta-john, making out
with the long-haired guy who writes
bad poetry.

Thursday, June 28, 2012

So Good

“Sometimes, when we lose ourselves in fear and despair, in routine and constancy, in hopelessness and tragedy, we can thank God for Bavarian sugar cookies. And, fortunately, when there aren't any cookies, we can still find reassurance in a familiar hand on our skin, or a kind and loving gesture, or subtle encouragement, or a loving embrace, or an offer of comfort, not to mention hospital gurneys and nose plugs, an uneaten Danish, soft-spoken secrets, and Fender Stratocasters, and maybe the occasional piece of fiction. And we must remember that all these things, the nuances, the anomalies, the subtleties, which we assume only accessorize our days, are effective for a much larger and nobler cause. They are here to save our lives. I know the idea seems strange, but I also know that it just so happens to be true.” 
― Zach HelmStranger Than Fiction: The Shooting Script 

Tuesday, May 22, 2012

The Crummy Capers of Butter Bottom, Wicked Jagoff Extraordinaire!

Once upon a time, there existed a beautious kingdom known to its magnanimous and moral inhabitants as Yinztown.  All about Yinztown were college students who attended the nearby Yinztown University, studying subjects such as bridge building, Yinzer Communications, and Yinzenomics.  It was a splendid place where the streets glistened with bright and dazzling magnificence, a place where nothing bad ever did-nothing bad ever could-happen.

But one day, all that changed, and it happened faster than you could say "powdered sugar."  That's because a rebel outlier to Yinztown decided that this would be the day she would let loose havoc on the innocent, sleepy village of Yinztown.  She has been identified by many aliases, but most know her as the unassailable, the brutish Butter Bottom.

Butter Bottom lived in a dark, greasy village far from the sunshine of Yinztown, and was typically kept at bay by Yinztown's ever-vigilant vigilantes, the Green Squad, specifically bred to protect and serve only food with substance in its center.  But today would be different.  Because today, Butter Bottom, perched on the outskirts of town, bit into a bad batch of doughnuts.  It goes without saying that doughnuts were a food strictly prohibited in Yinztown, due of course, to their empty cores, an obvious tip off to the doughnut's lacking moral character.  Butter Bottom cared not for the laws of the land, however, and decided to assault the poor, unsuspecting victims of Yinztown in true villainous fashion.

Butter Bottom packed up her notorious Sack of Evil, and set on her way into the town as the wholesome residents were just preparing themselves to begin a new day.  Passing into town inside a car she hijacked from a poor, upstanding member of society, Butter Bottom scoped out the scene: a few bicyclers, some pedestrians snacking on breakfast fare with centers, a member of the Green Squad scrubbing the glazed look of a window to a fabulous matte luster.  Ahah! He would be perfect!

Each member of the Green Squad of Yinztown was specifically created in a test tube to exhibit certain characteristics, each of which seemed deliciously exploitable to an outlaw like Butter Bottom.  Not only did they have bright green chests that could be easily tarnished with a dash of powdered sugar or cinnamon, but their heads were expressly developed to be slick and free from hair.  That way, anyone in need could easily spot the sunlight bouncing off the heads of one of Yinztown's saviors. Plus the Green Squad was far too busy keeping the streets clean of bad guys and confectious diseases to worry about fixing their hair just so.  Yet this apparent safety feature proved to be a scrumptious weakness for Butter Bottom-she could smack forbidden doughnuts right off this Green Squader's head, and he had nary a single hair to cushion his precious cranium from the attack! Haha! Oh the mind of an evil genius, rotted through with sugars and custard.  The Squad would be no match for Butter Bottom's decaying and festering evil.

Butter Bottom grabbed a handful of powdered minis, perfectly fitted for throwing in fast succession, and then, she waited.  The Green Squad member she had eyed up was totally involved in his task of window de-glazing--a perfect target.  Butter Bottom laughed an evil laugh, and as the smell of sour milk further tainted by stale doughnut crumbs wafted through the air, took aim.

Boom, boom, POW!  The Green Squad member turned, caught off guard, to make a flailing effort at self-defense, but his attempt proved to be full of holes.  The poor upstanding citizen driving the car at Butter Bottom's behest shirked in utter dismay and shame, but there was nothing she could do but drive--Butter Bottom had her by the doughnuts.

Other members of the Squad hurried onto the scene, and though she put up a good fight, they eventually took Butter Bottom down by exploiting her one weakness: obesity.  Butter Bottom tried her best to outrun the Squad, but her pudgy body undulated to and fro, full of jelly, and she had absolutely awful aerodynamics.  It is rumored that Butter Bottom was heard to shout "Calm dahn! It's just a couple a doughnuts, yinz guys!" This is, however, unverified as of this time.

Butter Bottom was taken by force to the only jail cell in existence in Yinztown.  It was a left over from the town's crummier days before the Green Squad had taken over, and it proved quite suitable to house Butter Bottom.  All of her doughnuts were seized and they made her watch as they crumbled each and every one, slowly and painfully, into a vat of bleach.

What was the fate of the poor upstanding citizen with the car?  Well actually, no one is quite sure.  She has not been heard from since the incident, but it has been rumored that each of her car's wheels were replaced with doughnuts, marking her shame for the world to see.  Apparently, she simply could not bear the disgrace, and moved out of Yinztown altogether to live out the rest of her days on the Equator, the center of the earth, the only place she could ever again feel whole.

The Green Squad member who was so viciously attacked had apparently, in his state of such distress,  actually been corrupted by Butter Bottom and had developed a taste for center-less foods lacking entirely of nutrition.  It is said that he helped Butter Bottom to escape, but the story has never been verified.

All that is known is that a few weeks after the incident, Butter Bottom simply disappeared from her cell, with only a glob of jelly left in her place, the only real evidence that anything awful had ever even happened in Yinztown at all.

*Note--the jelly was quickly wiped up, so actually there is no evidence whatsoever and the event has been entirely deleted from the history books, leaving a gaping hole smack dab in the center of Yinztown's history.


Wednesday, May 16, 2012

Guest Star!

I Do This for Me 

I yawn & breath 
to speak & see 
to know & find 
to search this world 
for peace of mind 

I yawn & breath 
to act & be 
to hold & seek 
across the plains 
for the authentic me 

I yawn & breath 
to know love 
to hold love 
to be love 
before this life's' last sleep. 


-by my good friend, Tisha Farris <3

Monday, April 2, 2012

Blue.


The cold steel ducked beneath his skin as if to hide from the news.  Feelin’ blue, she sits by the phone, leavin’ home he told her he’d do it alone.  The doctor’s voice doesn’t crack with the smack of the word cancer, jaded breath still flowing, in and out, bada-beat bada-beat, his heart throbs sound, doesn’t pound like the sound of her baby’s.

The talk of the clock hits hard as a rock, every tick that it tocks makes her heart wanna stop as she sits absent-minded, alone.  The phone sings, her mind rings…hello?

More tests, let it rest, with quickened breath, she protests, there’s no way that this could be true.  He cries on the phone, feeling sick, and blue.

Bald is beautiful, especially on babies, and him.  He says to she says and she says to he that when waters get rough, you just have to swim, both silently fearing his body won’t win, while calm doctors measure the life in his blood, count cells—red, white, and indifferent…

Her bare knees hit the porch, scrape raw against splintered hardwood, paint ragged and weathered—it peels to reveal the rough interior, while above rainclouds grumble and growl.

The owl takes flight
each night to hunt the blue jay,
who still manages
to sing
somehow.

Sunday, April 1, 2012

How Do People Make History...?

My opinion...they push boundaries.  They challenge peoples' perceptions and norms and whatever it may be that they've always taken for granted.  They make people mad and they make them uncomfortable.  There is outrage, there is resistance, and then, this anomaly, this huge individual with the unyielding bravado becomes the status quo, and everyone forgets that they ever wanted to forget her.  And this is just the time when she must shake things up again.