When I first bought my house it was a strange feeling. Up until that point I had not owned anything of truly significant monetary value. I can only describe the feeling as one of density. My whole world became filled with a whole other level of responsiblity. At the same time there is also a feeling of great pride in owning a home.
I wanted to do so much to improve the house. In my mind I had already built a whole new addition, a second bathroom, a studio and an office to work on my great American novel. This was my great adventure. My journey to the new world. I was a colonist. This my property. My land and I was going to build my castle.
So I started planning. I began my DIY lessons. Needless to say, they were short lessons, and I failed them all. The first lesson you learn about home ownership is about money. What I mean by this is that when you rent a house you are not responsible for ancilary costs. These are costs like fixing a drain or getting some crazy rabid squirrels who set up shop inside your roof to leave. These are the type of costs a landlord would normally cover. This is the first and often the last lesson.
Sunday, September 30, 2012
Thursday, September 27, 2012
Captain Suitcoat
Woody Allen-esque, you would be
I would describe you as much as you
could be described
gangly, tip tap tappy
scribbling notes, jarring me, us
my type of crazy
ready for a joke
darker the better, bomb ass
humor waiting in the trenches
and just full of wit, too much, maybe
interesting
I know you hate trees and rain
in poems, makes you want to punch your own
card
I could laugh at you
instead
I will laugh with you
Have I met you?
I am you
I would describe you as much as you
could be described
gangly, tip tap tappy
scribbling notes, jarring me, us
my type of crazy
ready for a joke
darker the better, bomb ass
humor waiting in the trenches
and just full of wit, too much, maybe
interesting
I know you hate trees and rain
in poems, makes you want to punch your own
card
I could laugh at you
instead
I will laugh with you
Have I met you?
I am you
Sunday, September 23, 2012
Facial
The razor itself is approximately 3 inches long. The handle is surrounded by a sort of approachable green plastic, semi transparent gel. Running up the middle of the razor is a white center piece with 6 different sized/shaped holes inter spliced up the middle. The head is white as well with three thin blades and a moister strip. The moisture strip is designed to keep your skin from drying out. This is clearly a woman's razor.
I mention that it is a woman's razor because I cannot grow facial hair. To explain, I can grow what might be interpreted as hair on my chin and upper lip. These spindly almost plastic like follicle growths dot my face only when I forget to shave. It looks just awful. It is patchy and can best be described as a sad prepubescent mess.
It would be fine if the hair did not grow at all. That would be OK. Instead I still have to shave like every other man. I cannot escape my strange facial fur. If I go any length of time without a shave I will not grow a beard, but instead a grimy mess of fury falseness. This leads people to give me odd concerned looks, and to ask questions about whether or not I am alright. No sir, I am not alright, look at my face.
I do not purchase razors as my only protest. Yes that is right, I protest my lack of facial manliness with my refusal of currency. This, I have come to realize, has exasperated my lack of man-li-tude. Now I must shave my very feminine face with this very feminine razor.
I hate how democratic the green and white colors are. They seem to say "hey we can work this out buddy" or "should we talk about our feelings?". A man razor would tell this razor where it can go with it's friendly approachable color. It can go right to hell!
Give me a chain saw blade to shave my face, and then we can separate the men from the ones with tiny alien facial tentacles.
I mention that it is a woman's razor because I cannot grow facial hair. To explain, I can grow what might be interpreted as hair on my chin and upper lip. These spindly almost plastic like follicle growths dot my face only when I forget to shave. It looks just awful. It is patchy and can best be described as a sad prepubescent mess.
It would be fine if the hair did not grow at all. That would be OK. Instead I still have to shave like every other man. I cannot escape my strange facial fur. If I go any length of time without a shave I will not grow a beard, but instead a grimy mess of fury falseness. This leads people to give me odd concerned looks, and to ask questions about whether or not I am alright. No sir, I am not alright, look at my face.
I do not purchase razors as my only protest. Yes that is right, I protest my lack of facial manliness with my refusal of currency. This, I have come to realize, has exasperated my lack of man-li-tude. Now I must shave my very feminine face with this very feminine razor.
I hate how democratic the green and white colors are. They seem to say "hey we can work this out buddy" or "should we talk about our feelings?". A man razor would tell this razor where it can go with it's friendly approachable color. It can go right to hell!
Give me a chain saw blade to shave my face, and then we can separate the men from the ones with tiny alien facial tentacles.
Thursday, September 20, 2012
Ekphrasis
to complicate with great
virtue in attempt
to look without
yet within us
the painting sees
a deeper more
more, more
but ultimately less
need for closure
virtue in attempt
to look without
yet within us
the painting sees
a deeper more
more, more
but ultimately less
need for closure
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
Most Prized
Olive loves her new shoes.
Loves.
I cannot get her
to take them off
when she must go
to sleep she will fight
with all the vigor of
a gladiator
she will hate us
in our parental tyranny
when she wakes her
first word
"shoes?"
Loves.
I cannot get her
to take them off
when she must go
to sleep she will fight
with all the vigor of
a gladiator
she will hate us
in our parental tyranny
when she wakes her
first word
"shoes?"
Sunday, September 16, 2012
Color Blind
50% of men they say
Genes always ready to screw you over
So I wear primary colors
instead of plaid pants and orange
barrel t-shirts with purple
socks
I love your silver car
it's green
Why the red shirt?
it's purple
Genes always ready to screw you over
So I wear primary colors
instead of plaid pants and orange
barrel t-shirts with purple
socks
I love your silver car
it's green
Why the red shirt?
it's purple
Saturday, September 15, 2012
work
grind......................................................................................
.............................................................................................
.........................................blink.............................................
.............................................................................................
.....................................................................................slump
.............................................................................................
.........................................blink.............................................
.............................................................................................
.....................................................................................slump
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)