Plus one Handicap

Ever think about legs?
How they are just crutches, nature's crutches?
A real man walks without legs, without feet or hips.
A real man walks by sheer force of will, but won't be seen hovering either.
Hovering is unjustifiably pretentious,
A clear demonstration of your spiritual oneness
That nobody wants to see.
The walking gets done, it's just a thing that has to happen.
We aren't making some big play
About how accomplishing movement without phsyics
Is impossible.
About how a logical fallacy is at play.
It just gets done.

Washing Itchy

Tom's Natural Toothpaste, flavored with Cinnamon and Clove. So, after years of conditioning, with minty freshness as an afterthought to toothpaste, now I'm left with only a mild food flavor. Overwhelmingly, I am able to tell that my mouth is clean and the so-called "freshness" has been replaced by a state of nature.

And for years my Dad has always proclaimed the benefits of face-washing. I've come to agree. Slap some mildly medicated soap in the hand, have a wash cloth ready as well, and Oh, Henry!

And shaving. Oh, to speak of my arbitrary facial grooming. It feels so nice to keep a landscape and topiary at the ready, for nimble finger fingering.

Something emerges each day a little more sur mon visage.

A Promise.

I made a promise at some point, to try and document those ticks which echo in my head, beg to be spoken aloud, ad nauseam.

Today, for some reason, it's "Professional John Stamos."

And yes, that's typical.

Forte of Titles

Always do I ask,
"A peeing-up competition"
And follows,
"But how?"

Simple, really.
We'll use that fence.
It's wooden,
Should do the trick.

You pee up, I pee up.
Then we check

"How high did you get?"
I got to my chest.
"I got to my shoulders."

Or we can play the other way,
First one to their own mouth wins.
And they always think I'm being facetious.

That sounds like loser talk to me,
and lucky too.
I've finished,
with an end rhyme to pee.

Bronto-Burt

I remember being dissapointed when we, the siblings, got Kirby's Avalanche for SNES.

That's the Super Nintendo Entertainment System for all you plebeians out there.

I always thought Kirby was so cool. He ate things and turned into them. If only that were me. I would be a carrot, and probably a half dozen cookies.

P.s. I have a sweet tooth (which is clearly now the name of my new band).

But this mistaken game, better. It was better than possibly Kirby's Dreamland or some such title. Extra Esoteric. Extroteric. I think I went to high school with him (obligitory old person joke).

Can I be the new meme now? I want proliferation.

Ever play Monster Rancher 2 for the Playstation? They always said, "Don't be willful," which is technically a logical English sentence, but nobody speaks like that. Wierd.

My life is shaped by rock and roll. My like is faced by Rolf and Kermit. Extroteric!

Stranded on an isle of Stress and Relief

Exuding some sort of verbal plumage the conversation I just had with a teaching program at my alma mater just went.

That's all. Maybe it was eloquent, well spoken. All of this is possible and more. But to be honest, knowing that your voice is being thrown out of a tinny tiny speaker 7 hours North of your current location, that's unpleasant. Knowing people are taking "notes" about what you say, unpleasant. Trying to hear two people through an even smaller speaker as questions rattle off your corpus callosum, unpleasant.

Also, I am not sure why my capability to spell corpus callosum exists, while my faculty to understand anymore than that it is in the brain does not. However after using my powers of the internet I discover that this is some sort of connector between the hemispheres of the brain.

Ta-da, unknown knowledge surfaces like a magic 8-ball predicts the future.

End it on a failed simile, finish strong.

January 25, 1986.

When I think about the date January 25th 1986:

I think that maybe this is a very special day. Something that perhaps supersedes national, international, or religious Holidays. Perhaps something more primal binds us together on this day, in the midst of winter.

And yes, this day is my birthday. But to think that their isn't a certain ring to that day, that would be foolish. It already sounds like an epic date.

And no, I am not stroking my ego. Tying this universal day of celebration and reverence of all things with the colors orange, white, and gold is not self-centered, it's simply coincidental.

And yes, as recompense for overlooking my birthday, which only happens to coincide with this new holiday by perchance malfeasance of the galactic sort, I do suggest that February be dedicated entirely to me, D. M. K., born January 25th, 1986.

But again, this is coincidental.

You have some you lose some.

I had some witticisms to impart, unfortunately I drank a home-brewed 90 Shilling Scottish Ale, which means that my 130 lb narrow frame has forgotten this month's installment of "Most Astounding Amazements Part IV."

Luckily, I can always invent a word,


Brontopleaseous.

You're in luck, it seems to be dinosaur related!

Day 7

Transition from natural to skeptical,
each day a little more one than the other.

Is it justified?
The decency is so questionable,
or so it seems.

The transition of skepticism,
becomes everyday a bit more questionable.

Dopples

Kevin Bacon and Kevin Costner star in American Flyers (1985).
Dennis Christopher and Dennis Quaid star in Breaking Away (1979).

Invoke the rule of cousins, all hell is about to break loose without some ungodly explanation.
All explanations in my universe are ungodly, be tee double you.

Day 6

I'd say it's a faux-pas.
My generation doesn't do it.
Forwarding humorous emails.

They'd say, "They're funny,"
In reference to the emails,
Then loudly chortle, while insisting this one must be read aloud.

Day 5

Heard her poetry.
Surprised to see she was so old.
Didn't lack that youthful immaturity,
but in a bad way.

It's Saturday night and you're old.

Da(ve)y 4

Do not fear me,
tertiary planeteer,
but on this earth
we've yet to grow our yearly mustache.

Da(ve)y 3

Getting on the bridge,
and struggling in the middle.
Clammy, sweaty, and uncomfortable; the fear of heights.

All too poetical.

Listening to french pop, Coeur de pirate, well it's all been a little too poetical around here.

Feeling like, risk and reward are missing.
There is a disconnect in for me, and no sources of authority are telling me what I am doing wrong. Was there not a time when just having the want was enough to secure a place doing, thinking, being. No more it seems.

Tres despondent. Plus grotetique.

Rice balls, hot tea for dinner; A single beer while reading at a cafe alone in the afternoon. These are not solutions, but they are solicitous. Feeling bohemian, a mooche. These are the truer reasons for losing sideburns, must be earned.

Treading water. Solitaire.

I hate the smell of Selsun Blue. Sticks with me all day and mediates the dandruff, a production pubescent.

Da(ve)y 2

It's a shame, Radical.
You've shied from your divergent denotation.

Da(ve)y 1

A single line when 3 will do.

Unadulterated Walking.

If my hands weren't so cold, I'd type a volume on my skill at walking.
I'll be the first to admit, I have some lope in my gait.
A semi-loper.
It gets easier every year,
To walk,
To lope.
Must be all that practice.
It is my
modus operandi.

Yet there was spoken a word of complaint among the group, despite the warnings

Yet, there was spoken a word of complaint...

Opinions of complaining are low.
To keep this outside the realm of complaint, I submit that the pragmatism of comparison between a place traveled and a place lived is fruitless.

Finding frustrating, and personally insulting the place in which I reside, whether on the whole of my town, my state, my country. To judge the weather, the landscape, the place and value it less than that of another region, small minded, incorrect, false, rude.

Travel, on the whole is valued for being different. Difference on the whole is valued for being new. Familiarity, is not valued, is taken for granted, is water.

Gruit is a type of beer, beer is something I know. Drinking Gruit is different, new, unfamiliar. Is valuable. Beer is valuable.

Acai berries are different, new, valuable. They were. To some, they are now familiar, not valuable. Consumer society, eating up experience and forgetting the value of sameness. There is value in both, there is value where you place it. Others put value in things you do not.

The Fish was this big...

To be a font of knowledge, I do not deny is a hobby-horse of mine. Pretentiousness I do not lack, however I swear I will never be "working on a novel," or have any sort of novel in the batting cage.

One rule of battle is, do not write a novel.

Another rule is, do not tell anyone you wrote a novel.
Wait until, on the very off chance it is at all, published. Then tell the family, tell the friends. Throw a fancy wine and, or pork-party. Don't invite the family if it's a pork-party. Do invite the family if the pork and party are not joined at the hyphenated hip.

For the record, I am not writing a novel.
My penchant for falsifying language with the dapple of a word/frump is benignly over valued by Wall Street analysts. It was topical references that got us into this mess, and it's topical references that are going to get us out. Cast us doubt. Float us Clout.

Echo.

The First

Lettuce go walking, the waltz singsong solitaire.

The first line, of a poem to be written en contracontinuim/contracontinuatum.

Finishing The Grapes of Wrath, it's like no one else has really read it. Nobody, in all their tell of that book, mentioned the ending.

Suspicious.

Edward Abbey does it for a man, and not a people in The Fool's Progress. Less tact, less fact, less universal. Noncompre. The man's magnum opus.

Alternative Spellings

Pance
Dants
Ance
Frants
Fantsy
Rance

Sorry, these pance aren't really made for dantsing.

And for the record,
Debone : Bone :: Irregardless : Regardless

He shares

I oncet drew a pitcher: "The hand that shares, cares."
And grapsing, clutching, a fistful of hairs; These are all themes included.

Sharing "Testiculate," and consequently implying the oblong nature of shape, of life, of the pairing of minutiae.

The epic brown, now that sounds like a cult movie.
And the cold, windy, winter (windher) has come at last.

Surprise. Stuck in a snow storm.
It isn't much, but more than best handled at night.
Still, everything is much smaller in the west, comparatively.
Becoming stranded, impossible, where once every turn is an old fence, or dwelling.
But here, perhaps no one has ever stood.

I am the first to pee.
Encountering a note; "Meet here, 7:15 pm, for a blowjob."
And the talkative man who came into the bathroom like a scene in a movie,
Right on cue.

I've got to get going.
Strange, Sad.
Me, a filthy person really, I wouldn't touch half the things in that bathroom,
or let someone touch half my thing in that bathroom.

Was he fishing?
All night he waits,
Updates his note at the for the appropriate times.
A new scrap of paper, 7:15, then 7:45, then 8:10?
Perhaps he recycles
his tax returns
and his receipts.

He saves the slips,
and uses them again.

Title of the Beast

Experimental Language of Questionable Quality, Assorted Alliteration.

that was a title,

and here is another,

Questionable Experimentation of an Assorted Asinine Quality.

The Gadfly

The Gadfly and me,
We only have a superficial grasp
of the other.

Suppose it's some sort of Horsefly,
all bites and shooing-hand-waves to which dodging comes quite naturally;
Evasion through discursive angles.
The intentional upward tornado,
my favorite.

To him, the hand-fly lingers.
Wingless warm tethered beast,
connected to size beyond comprehension.