Sidelong Tower / Glance Left and Up.

Below are a few items from my notebook in the last week. What I really need is for someone to read them and validate my experience. It's cold, it's wet, it's dark; Read on.

***

"Often"

I would probably be better off,
If I hadn't written you -

That weird poem.

***

"Birddog"

-As over-heard and out of context.-

"He was too big,
to have any energy."

***

Gadzuuks! Gadzzuuks!

***

"Each Day"

Legs in the shower;
Things to admire?
See how they change each day.

***

Idea for Valentines Day Card

"I like how you're attractive."

Importantly, the focus here must be on How, not That.
There is a distinct difference.

***

Thoughts on Iconic Drawing of Poop or Cow-Pie/Patty

It might be
That this is actually
Nachos
With far too much cheese.
It obscures the chips
Entirely.

Drawing Here, Absent.

***

From "The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Rings"
Without context, more:

"That's why I ordered the Eagles
to bring you here."

***

Selections, Unnumbered Intentionally:

It seemed Reasonable.

That I am your new God.

But I don't believe in Ghosts.

***

"Weather"

I'd like to be lifting weights right now
or getting sunburn.

***

"The ear
this ahealth
yplac
etobe moralis
ticand patri
archal."

***

How to:
Be A Bad Boy.

To Women:
Your face is ugly and you are dumb.
You should be dependent on me,
finding confidence only
as part for whole.

Result:
Relationship.

At a Job Interview:
I can do it better than even you.
You can't ask me a question that could accurately define my innumerable skills.
Are you even qualified to hire me?

Result:
King of Money.

***

DMK 12/13/2010
Composed and Embellished
Wet and Dark
Accompanied by Illustration.

Memo from Balgor

Balgor the large and obtuse reminds you that without you this company would be fine without you. Balgor requests your hand in marriage. Balgor desires to stroke your hair. Balgor insists on meat. Where is Balgor's meat? Balgor must sleep. Balgor must not be awoken before 11:30. Balgor insists that you work harder.

-B

Short Ones.

You know what's better than being unemployed?
Not having a romantic relationship.
Like, it's better in a hierarchical sense,
Of, things that suck.

That's a haiku, probably.
Rigid forms are for nerds without girlfriends.
I would know.

Express-lane Shit fuck.

The downside of being a white male,
Historically have been few.
Through aggression, we've systematically suppressed,
wrongly,
all different -basically.
But now as we push that aside,
or try we're left with another legacy;
Depression,
Angst,
Molly-coddled youthful discretion bleeds hip, discerning, men
With interests like coffee, and beer, and not expressing emotion.

Oh, yeah. The stoic. You're great.
The BBC was wrong,
And I think I'm paying for it by not having a job.

Irony.

White hot ball of frustration!
I could break down the need for employment,
pair it against social constructions that value monetary systems,
or a puritanical self-worth tied to work ethic rooted in Anglo-Christian hierarchies.
But, shit.
I just need to have sex.
Who needs irony.

Solutions

I wish I was a famed comic author or had a face tattoo.

My family said that maybe if I took more showers I'd have a girlfriend.
It's like, first of all, I took a shower today. Also, I think if it were just a showering problem that I would have solved it by accident already.

The thing about writing is that it doesn't have pictures. I don't think I like to read without pictures anymore.

Bleg!

Gift List

What I'd like for Christmas, and if I don't get it then I'll settle for on my birthday one month later.

I'd like an interview.
I'd like a job, now.
I'd like to be financially independent.
I'd like to be valued by society.
I'd like to go on a date.
I'd like to be in a relationship.

But what I'm actually asking for is,

Loose-leaf tea.
Some books.

But, see I don't really care about reading right now and tea is more fun when you have someone else to drink it with, or you're tired after work and you need caffeine.

So, it's rare that I have really asked for anything I want on one of these lists, but this year it seems like my life would be vastly improved if just one of these happened.

Anyway, if you could give me one of these things I'd love it. I'll do my best to get you all what you'd really like this year.

-D

Undcheb

Most people don't know this about me, but I've got a lizard brain.
Language brain.
Like the crawling skin that lets you put french and german and that sneaking suspicion the guy behind you has a gun so you duck into the store and order a gewurtztremnerine-elatz.
Und c'est une imposiblesement grosse bitten ver gersplunk te amoha ko-nie-zue meht.

Product Descriptions

Button Rucksack

It's raining, no doubt and the fever's set in. "Must I push down these drab walls and walk wide gaits, mud sloshing, galosh wetting, puddle stomping, and get where I'm going only to discover once more that my bag has decided to let in a mighty river and ruin my collection of once perfectly folded origami, leveling into a paper-mache mushterpiece."

Your rage would build considerably less if you invested heartily in a Button Ruck. This Rucksack comes in water-repelling cordura-like fabric, complete with book sleeve.

Your jacket, for those few momentary breaks in the weather, can be stored neatly on the bottom of the bag with built in cinches.

Your tools, and need to have organizeds can sit silently in wait in either the front pocket or the side.

Oh, and you really must marvel at the buttons involved here. Heavens, a little piece may have just landed in your lap.

And as you swing the pack onto your shoulders, you notice how so nicely the straps sit and distribute weight. My gosh, only 843,348,935 more weeks of winter.

Driver's Cap

It's a complement to bicycles and cool mornings, going well with any sweater. The semi-stiff brim will allow for a cocky tilt that tells the world, "I am a jaunty fellow, active and on the move." It looks classy enough from a distance to fool any person not favoring handmade items, and fascinating up-close evoking, "could this really be made by human hands?" It is, and you'll love it.

Wax Lips.

I just had scent memory of wax lips.

ne-am / lvm

My culture is bullshit and
So is yours,
But mine and
we share it of course,
is dominant.

Yours is awesome and
weird and just as violent and
pointless and brutal and
misguided, but
Yours is so much
more eclectic.

Dancing and songs and
The importance of family
and you didn't invent sweaters, so
you get to opt into
wearing them.

And commercialization has come and
not left,
but it's not like every facet of
your culture has been
spewed across the Earth.

It's like I'm discovering
For the first time
and I can claim it's mine, just
Like those fore-bearers of my
culture did, and
continue to do.

If I'm true to my roots, I
guess I'd like to
conquer you, or at
the very least co-opt
your culture, and
corupt it's meaning through
commercialization.

Can it be helped, or
Must I recuse myself from
The pursuit?

My domination tendency has been,
bled out through
the spilling of others' culture.

My cup runneth over
with shit and piss,
And I never really learned to dance
and love.

All I can offer is rugged
Individualism, a culture that
corrupts and
histories of depression,
a mold for the world to grow into,
my perspective shapes collectively shared by
millions.

Ow.

I've said it before, but pain sucks. It's like, every time I'm burned, I'm always like "I know this is obvious, but getting burned hurts."

It's so blunt too. Like, the hurting part is literally the worse part. Bleeding, scabs, etc; these would all be fine if there was no pain.

Like, I skinned my knee the other day, hit my elbow and chipped my thumb too. But guess what? It hurt. It still hurts. That sucks.

Oh, and sometimes it doesn't hurt right away, like the time I got tendinitis in my knee. Just woke up and it hurt so bad. That sucked!

Man, pain hurts.

Honest List

Things I Want:
Sex
A sandwich
Jazz Records
Tuesday Night Listening Parties
Snow Storms

Things I don't Want:
Sunburns
A job
Depression

Things I'm afraid of:
Heights

Other Things:
M************ (Ask me about it!)
Frustration

Things I Don't Believe in:
God
Ghosts
Schrodinger's Cat

Things I do Believe in:
Ghosts
Schrodinger's Cat

Priapism and War.

The thing about writing poetry is you should keep it in a desk drawer and not tell anyone,
then go to war,
and it gets darker, then the years pass and it gets better
and your kids discover it,
except you didn't have kids or go to war or keep it in your desk,
it's on the internet
and little scraps of paper a
and it's terrible,

and nobody listens when you say what life is about because the dump was your mouth for a while and the trash covers up the gold, and metaphors and language are tools you use to take over the indigenous peoples of the world, and you can't even say the regular things, or do them,

despite being unremarkable.

2.

It's all about self limiting activities
like remembering to try my fingernails.

Meaning

I had a bicycle accident today, which was awesome. Kablam, down and out, rub me raw, road rash, slow time, perceive everything, how to be embarrassed.

Searching for meaning in Godzilla movies. What is our fascination with the gargantuan? Where is our modern day menace too large?

Hugs

Exchanged numbers with my old neighbor Oz. He asked that if I ever find an L-XL cardigan at a thrift to buy it and let him know. We used to talk about Native American history in his apt, and I would be uncomfortable because he had track marks and needle drugs. Also he has a spider-web tattoo on his neck, a glass eye, and a tattoo. Needless to say, he gave me a hug.

Brownsville.

Sitting stoic the steam train meaning thread machine winds up bobbin like while mysteries of the deep play meaning Mamas and the Poppas, but it could be the MOMA was right and the dirty stains will never wash out, gotta find somebody they should treat me like they should.

I've always had a hard time remembering. Getting it right is like watching somebody get it right. Who's driving this thing?

A cartoon behind the eyeballs, partially obscured vision with ocular canals, nose right out and of course the emergency exit, a sneeze.

Life is about putting all the things in the right places and then tipping them over to impress someone, because deconstruction is easier and more natural. Be yourself.

Memo From Hot Dan.

Memo:

So, you may have heard, I've changed my name to Hot Dan. I'm just kidding, but I heard from one of your gods that you were looking for me. I'm just kidding again though, I'm the only one, the only god. But you're still in trouble. Seriously. Like what, you think you're better than me or something. Self-doubt? My god. Oops, I misspoke. I'm God. So, like there was the original doubter, you know what I mean? Oh, you don't? What do they teach you in school anyway? Actually I don't give a shit. I mean, I'm like in charge and stuff. I could potentially do what-ever I want. Make you believe. I could change what a school is. I could make it be a llama filled with children. How'd the children get in there? They were salt. Get the reference? Oh. Damn. I'm back to that me, me, me, I, I, I shtick. My therapist thought it would be better if I tried to make it about something else. That's kind of why I created the world and people and problems and bliss. All that jazz. I created jazz too, by the way.

P.S. I would like to go on a date with any available women between the age of 21 and 29 who are active, fun, and who have a pulse.

-D.

Two Ways at Least.

Cold.
Mornings mean fall and fog.
Half-finger gloves and bike rides.

Cold mornings mean fall
and fog,
half-finger gloves and bike rides.

Cold morning's mean.
Fall and fog half.
Finger gloves
and bike rides.

Self Said.

My life is about how sometimes my guts hurt
and how sometimes my guts hurt because I don't have a job or a girlfriend or because I just ate a bunch of peanut butter and had a beer and maybe that wasn't such a good idea.

It's also about my knee.
How when I sit still it aches and when I move in a very certain way it doesn't.
How being specific in a very wrong way and how being wrong in a very specific way are actually pretty different when you say the wrong thing or be the wrong person.

Sometimes it's about crude notions.
How to kill a raccoon or how to just maim it.
Rat traps.
Or how people I don't know,
I don't care about them,
And I shouldn't have told people that,
ever, or again.
and I did, several times already.

My life is about when I'm ready,
And I'm ready now,
Just kidding.
I don't have that much insight.

Upon Viewing the Lake, Vomit.

Did you hear the one about
Me punching a whole
Basket of apples
Out the window
In your chest
That you call a heart
Attack of the killer
Ants which got
In your sand
Box
And ruined your tiny picnic?

About the Boy who won everything.

At 12 he won his first game of solitaire, ever, and never stopped winning. Coin flips. Rock, Paper, Scissors.

He even won at every basketball game, despite never practicing, despite never having any skill, despite never playing a game.

The Difficulty of Terrestrial/Lunar Missles and Ever Having a Relationship.

The moon is a terrible place to park your car when you haven't been in a relationship, in like ever.

The challenges to even getting a car on the moon are nearly insurmountable, similar to how difficult it is to be a 125 pound, red-haired, freckled, unemployed, misanthrope pigeon-holed never-to-be taken seriously.

It's a real stand-out affair though, to see a car finally get to the moon, and through your telescope you can see it up there, just like you can see me anytime you want, or if you have a friend they can see me too as long as they like books, coffee, art, music, bicycles, or anything.

What was arguably the most difficult part about getting that 1973 Cutlass Supreme onto the Sea of Tranquility was not knowing that much about the moon besides a single geographical reference to the Sea of Tranquility. Had it been Mars, it would have been easy to reference Olympus Mons, or that hill that looks like a face. Had it been the ocean it could have just been given a push out to sea over the Marianas Trench, which is probably pretty big and is most likely in the Atlantic ocean.

Really it was familiar territory, to kind of give it a shot and see what works, and since I wasn't actually driving, just kind of aiming an enormous cannon. Well, you get the picture.

A deluge,

Life is about cramming your gullet full; Not my gullet, your gullet.

I remember that when I was a child, I could fly. Not the everyday up-up and away. Low-flight pass-overs inches above the ground. Human Hovercraft. The body tries to trick you later. Flight is impossible. Maybe it's weight. Children are light. But that doesn't explain it.

My best guess, it's a belief thing, a not knowing any better. A child can accept flight. Sure, they might say, I can fly. And who's to tell them they can't if they are doing it. Like the boy who could only turn invisible when no one was looking. Of course, that boy died when he was struck by a driver at the wheel texting "I'd love to see that show with you, is there a cover?"

As an adult, it's too hard to become fervent about flight. Even the evangelical, it seems, are filled with self-doubt. Useless, to fly 3 inches above the ground. But, I really could fly. The thing is, I know how to fly still. It just takes more concentration. So much concentration, for 1 inch of flight for 1 second, for me, meant that my first self-generated lift left me constipated for 3 weeks. And on the second try I got a nosebleed, which become chronic, and forced the doctors to cauterize my nasal cavity.

Spooling Up.

I don't know what a darning foot does. I thought it had to do with sweaters or yarn, but then I looked in my tacklebox, which is full of sewing supplies -I'm fully stocked, like nuclear attack of the torn clothenings - and saw a foot with that name for my machine.

Darning. I've been watching a good deal of Battlestar Galactica. I'm slightly obsessive, or perhaps have an addictive personality and a heaping pile of free time. Life is about not getting jobs.

Reading gets more and more boring.

Treatise on the Discourse of Sound.

It was first noted and reported that the Genesis album "Invisible Touch" was primed for competition in 1986 by Peter Gabriel and "So."

We can expect from this blatant puppetry,

extreme stop-motion animation,

political satire with aplomb,

and vegetable facial reproduction.

1986.

From which we discovered about ourselves,

it's all downhill from here.
-decline

Sans Grifts.

It gets to be 2 o'clock too fast these days.
And I don't like salt on stuff.
They call it a flavor enhancer,
And I've got too much time on my hands.
Weight lifting.

Spanakopita.

Spanish Language Dissassociation
Technigques
Coksses-bloques.

Technologies for perspirations
and internatiosn.
Trying hard to be a lesbians
Through videostechnologiques.

Mircophoens natures maturation.

A latin beat to beat the meat.
Shitty references to the seventh seal

You don't get angry because you suck
and have opinoins about how to relax
and will one day have a dog that requires
maintenance.

IT's a front of glamour and nudity
that hides your secret desire to fit in.

A boy

A boy
and his dog.

Naming,
isn't owning.

He is
without.

His dog,
is within.

Aftermath / Reflections

Trains.
Leaving town on the steel bridge
vs.
That day coming into town, deck raised. Same bridge
Video Documentation; davismarskrime.tumblr.com

Oregon City,
My pace of eventual pneumatic betrayal,
You seem now faster approached.
Dryer too!

Fighting?
Entropy by any means possible.
Energy expended expended is expected to return dejected,
Not so.

Renewed? Refreshed? Rexhausted?
Zangu / zardoz / salishan.


Long periods of time spent with myself / gets boring but I wont complain
I've been practicing and / I'm considering excelling at everything.

I am
Wont
Forecomplaints

I am without home?

This train goes faster than my bike.

Trackstand; a state of dynamic motion to achieve stability when none is given preference through construction or means of conveyance.


Life is about the dirty places you park your truck that stay dry and make homes for feral cats and their litters each spring.

There is bias in films that says the changes are what we should pay attention to, but it's the things that stay the same.

I've been having lucid dreams that I'm a soldier, spending long hours window shopping memories of ******** laid up in hospital.

In conversation:
It's not where you compose, it's from where.

J.U.:some where

With the rare obligation
comes the inevitable delay
comes cosmic karmic explanation desperation excuses.

-Composed En Route.

Scane.

A hulk a maniac at heart, tonight I'll smash you in sleep. Hulk is best? At being sensitive to your needs.

Yes, I know. I've bred together the 1980's and the comic world with a double stitch, but please leave it be. The poetry of it, you ninnies. The youth suffragism. Leave it at that.

How to Lie and Caught get Naught.

I stopped being able to sweat 3 years ago
When I had a severe allergic reaction
To the Powder inside of a latex glove.

Life is more about protecting the things
You own
Than owning the things you protect
When you work as
A security guard.

I remember that withholding judgment
Is the way to make friends,
But it isn't
It's more about how much money
You got
Saved up.

Word Creation

Did you know, you can create a word?
Albutism.
Like, as in: a feline abutisment.
Or perhaps: I really like this album. So much albutism.

Simply the best.

This is outstanding:

Two Gun Cabnits - $30
Date: 2010-09-07, 6:16PM PDT

Two gun cabnits with lock and keys $30 each or $50 for both will trade shoot me with what you got Call Daryl at 541-221-1789 thanks.

* Location: Springfield
* it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

Asnke

Where's my character enhancing face-scar? Where's my tell-tale limp and cane? Oh, sure; settle for this ungodly perfect hair. But I want more. Palimpsest of archetypes.

Memo for All, Important.

Complaining about girlfriends is so 95xkb/23.
That model robot was obsolete;
Problematic angst issues.
Frustration, angers, battle of algiers;
It was infectious and made us think of Jean Luc Goddard films.
We even opened an institute.

Tee

Soon enough no doubt, it'll be like watching films earn the same compliments as reading a book.

Oh, a movie, a film. Now that's impressive.

Also, you fucked up Astroboy you shits.
Now go and ruin Giagantor.
Another piece of self
Appropriated.

Wood.

Removing that splinter gave me grey hairs.
Not one of those under-the-nail-shitters either.
No, this was an honest little nub,
Buried deep in my index finger,
Head on.

Safety pin digging revealed,
Sweaty back,
Well focused eyes, oh, so stressing.

Feeling well prepared to remove a tooth,
That wood may have replaced a nerve,
And instead I pulled that.
Long enough,
It probably touched my soul.

Ugh, souls.
I meant my bones.

SCUD Misleds.

Earth is the place where all the bad things happened to all the people, mostly.
So you leave and discover, that shit, bad things happened here too.
Then you realize that bad is like, perspective man, and like you know, you just gotta change your perspective man, like that's how it works.

A lot of people write books.

Long drawn-out titles are popular.
Oh, how clever; a statement followed by a non-sequitur.

Well I'd grow my anger beard in a second.
Everyone is a special little story that everyone else doesn't care about.


This one's about a middle class boy of indeterminate ethnicity doing something in a city.

This one's about a trauma that happened to a family, but is actually pretty common.

This one's so unusual; it has poor people and death.

This one's about a rich person and how that sucks.


I'm the quirky brother. Man, I used to wax the floor for fun. I just spent my day waxing a floor. I'm good at this because I did it as a child. I sound like your grandpa, you say? Well, I've sounded like your grandpa for my whole life.

Never tell anyone you're writing a book. Always denigrate your work. This is some trash I wrote when I should have been pretending not to be way into myself, like I actually am.

You can't judge it's quality. You can only say how you feel about it.

Bd3ftH&rsing.

How to
write poetry
and
not
get caught.

A poem.

How to lie; still, and nobody's looking.

Dennis Christopher and Dennis Quaid starred in the cycling movie Breaking Away.
Kevin Costner and Kevin Bacon starred in the cycling movie American Flyers.

Coincidence? I think not.

Especially considering Kevin Bacon, it seems he's separated himself from this one.

But, ho-ho. David Christopher is the missing man in question. Two first names, can we trust him?

If it rhymes, it's fine.

David Christopher, you're history.

Bottom 20, universal best David contest.

The Horo. The Horo.

I'm not a spiritual person. I'm not a superstitious person. I don't even believe in luck, except as a way to describe a series of positive events. The horoscope, isn't based on anything. Chinese year of the tiger, Greek astrological sign Aquarius; I don't care. But I do believe in birthdays. January, it's August and July when I feel like a stranger in a strange land. Heat wipes me out. My steely eyed, cold weather plodding is stifled by the waves of sun. Skin bubbles at the thought of all day stuff. I get sick every summer, to kick it off. All winter though, oxen like energy, voracity. Well shit, can it be matched by anyone. But all these damn January births are like islands in a sea, and like Pangaea we're not getting any closer.

Besos\d+1

expensive cunt
i.e congress
stand alone
fuck up all our share of this doom bringing the damning green smell rusted with dullness brown
without birds metaphoric forever pieced jabwise of found infinite false uplift,
still perhaps,
shit could go, baseless like your mind
do unbias the text of the spine,
only if she's deconstructing
these
hits.

Tesu/b-0

Expansive Curt
W/o context
can both
suck up all the air in the room leaving a looming gray taste dull with sharpness black with wings metaphoric with aplomb bob to find absolute true down,
but maybe
it should be based on appearances
don't judge a book by it's trope,
unless you're building
that
shit.

Earthflight.

When we leave Earth
Everyone will feel the way

I feel nervous, alone, cold, alienated
But we don't really need to leave Earth

To feel connected in that way.

Cold at the Core, Conglomerate Shit.

The moon is arguably the least hospitable place on Earth.
If you get hurt, there are no hospitals.

Despicable.

Pure Lunacy,
unless they discover a need for no atmosphere,
micro-gravity will never
catch on.

Candy.

Ah, gobstoppers.
I've lost the will to push pedal
metal
rubber
1 speed,
5 hills,
4 miles,
30 minutes.

It's good
car exercise.

That excuse'll do.

Priapism of Metaphor

One of the greatest lies I've ever told is that I am the author of "The Gadfly," written in 1897.

A Poem written in line.

Morning Rep.

Hiding its shame,
the sun undressed,
a morning unprepared,
brother a bother overcast.

Rainsly Lewis

Condescending water flight,
I could of done better
and
I'm only 70 %.

Spa che'

The earth is a terrible place to lay your eggs,
space chicken.
Far too watery;
you ain't no water foul.

He Stun

Compact florescent suns won't get as hot, will cost 4 times as much and if you break one you have to air out the planet for a few days; ozone hole, thank you very much.

Prodigal.

The sun is for idiots. /

Just 'gonna burn itself out.

/ 500 billion year lifespan.

Shit, I could do better.

/ Wish you were a blue giant.

_-__----

Blue Monday, Prodigy Son.

His father was an early 80's Bombshell.

Youth Suffragist

People don't believe me when I say I'm a Youth Suffragist. But for serious, I remember being in fourth grade and thinking, "Hey, this is bullshit, I should be able to vote." Wasn't I warranted in thinking that? I mean I was forced to go to school all day, I think I should have a say in that.

Then there's Warshington DC. No taxation without representation. Well if that were true then I still wouldn't have a vote. Income tax? I'm on the poverty line with two degrees. No voting for the poor and unemployed.

So it's like, let the childers vote. I promised 8 year old me that I'd feel that way, and that's one dude I can't lie to.

Handsomely Done.

Mugs,
Grizzled and Cut
From Steel
And Brass.
Iron filings,
Peppered Soul
Lording Precosious
Puberty Silently Comes,
But Years of Wonkyness
Feel Forever Milked.

Wiener Thower.

Wiener thrower - 58 (downtown)
Date: 2010-07-30, 8:28AM PDT

I saw you throwing your wiener at me! I ate it then crapped my pants. I hope to be assaulted again in the near future, but next time I'll be ready!

Offended

Would you be offended if I said "I got a _______ for _____?"

I'm offended that you didn't let me.

So I guess we both win.

Fake Haikus

Sunday is a day
Like many other days hot and sticky
Tumbleweed mines.

I'd rather don
A top hat reacts to swoons
Replenishing laughter.

Soda Bubblegum Pop
These flavors have to stop
Aluminum Rot.

Corrugated Filthy Rainstorm
A burden of rusty drops falls freely
Subjugating Freely.

Cars and Cardigans

Driving North, is much preferred, but takes longer in a car, always, than you'd expect.
Having the windows down is much preferred, when alone, when screaming, when yelling.
But I'd prefer if instead, I was accompanied, always.
Probably 31 ideas were replaced by the drone.
Don't let the sound of your own wheels drive you crazy.
Fucking Eagles.

Middle Walkers

It's like, when the aphorisms show that some binaries come to a head, in this case it's fashion and those who choose not to engage, I think I'll be forced to join a side, and it won't be fashion. I see pictures. Smug pants and petite hairs taking leisure shits on our senses. No job, no money in this world, they say. No need. Something something reference some enlightenment thinker, blend that with some eastern spiritual corruptions. "I've reached the pinnacle they'll say," never admitting those brown feelings of rust and gore and raw-rubbing-seizure-metal-taste. "Can blend at will, will reference laconic verse for pleasure, will fill your cup with empty water, do the diaper trick and flip it over," nothing spills out, but the spilling is what's important. So I'll choose the regulars. The unaffected masses, corrupted of their own accord. Mold makers. Quiet rejection artists, who value art for the time waste that it is. Whose radical honesty means that lying and keeping quiet are the parts of life that make life worth living and the most honest thing is to do that over and over again and only say how you really feel when you really feel you should, and that the greatest transgression is being photographed without a lie on your face.

Sic.

Chronic Absenteeism.

I wrote this without clothing, which is one way to start a discussion on how sometimes I think of colors as speeds. Brown is the speed of dirt and Grey is very slow moving. Brown can move quickly, and usually does. Red isn't a speed, and that's not because of stop signs. Brown is actually a smell. It's metal and you taste it in the back of your throat. Metal is a color that's not gray. Gray is a time on stopwatch that's been stopped, but it doesn't matter what time. Time is the color red. The red represents all the communists, and if you're reading this you're a communist. Communists smell like bread for some reason that has to do with cartoons. Reasons smell like green turds that you get when you're sick. You aren't a color, you're an idiot that I love. Love is a thing I don't want to color in, and have a hard time expressing. Expression is a thing that comes out all brown all over, and you wash it away with a hose and sometimes there's a diamond inside, but the diamond is only useful because it's rare. Rarity is a color best represented by a high sound and a low sound played simultaneously. Vibrato is a great way to loosen your teeth. Sanskrit is some shit your dog made up. I'm having a great time not having a great time /updown,.

The Degreed Lament

Oh hey, what.
The first with two,
That say
I'm better than you
At things like
Fucking Poetic Line,
Which I never really valued anyway.

Words like P*@$%#@!
And Sch#*!@#$ty
Might as well be dirty
When they leave you
Without a job
And hyper-critical.

So I value shit
Like Sandwiches
And Pants
And Not wearing Pants
And too much Japan
The internet
And Visual Media.

My religion is wasting time
And feeling bad
And Drinking Coffee
And talking about that one time
A thing happened
and it was like
a Million other people's things.

So hey,
read the other day some story,
and since it was written
I valued it more than if I were told it.

And oh,
I can't remember your name.
And I have pretty good anxiety.
And I hate having anxiety
Because that's a thing that people get,
and if I have it,
then I'm like everyone else.

Degreed Lament.

Spills are coffee with water and particles of coffee
is a metaphor.

Sundays like Mondays is a simile is a metaphor for an undecided amount of time.

Denim is Involved.

I had a dream last night where I did some prisoning,
but now I'd rather think about how short the trees were
and how even the grass was
and how the sun set every night like clockwork
on some lakes that everytime looked like a painting
everyday.

There weren't any dangerous animals either,
and if you walked as far as possible into some woods
without coming out the otherside,
you'd find some stonewalls
and some old foundations,
and maybe some graves.

Everywhere you go,
Somebody went there before you.

Completion.

Do you eat cereal by bringing the spoon to your mouth,
Or by bringing your mouth to the spoon.
So many forces of magnetism at work there,
that the moon moves closer
everyday.

The seas rise like global warming
But it's moonfault mostly
Cracking electric thingies
Sproinging wildly
For some reason not invented
in this Fiction.

Sleep Walken

Somnambulautonomy.

Mornings

Some mornings waking up means puffy eyes and a head ache,
but it was either that or shut the windows,
sweat it out,
and still
head
ache.

Oh. Massimo. Suave.

Fake Mustache Guy

---

Date: 2010-07-04, 6:05PM PDT

---

To the guy who bought every fake mustache in the toy machine at the Winco on Barger. Fucking grow up, retarded ass. How fucking childish is that? Buying all the fake mustaches and offering them to people for free isn't funny, it's creepy and sick. You look like your at least 40, so act like it. You had your fun, now grow the fuck up and be a man. Nobody thinks that stupid shit is funny, you pervert.

• it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

PostingID: 1825807991

Impressing the Sun

Think about the sun,
someone said.
It's 8 minutes away,
at the speed of light.

It's a ball of fire,
which is only sort-of true,
and it's that far away.
It can still burn you.

Make a man a fire.
He's warm for a day.
Set a man on fire,
He's warm for the rest of his life.

I like the idea of the sun
Getting bigger and bigger
and swallowing up the Earth.
All the burgers get burned.

Found Footage

Fat rats, good for eatin or petting

---

Date: 2010-07-02, 9:22AM PDT
Reply to: sale-vgqst-1822464619@craigslist.org ^{[Errors when replying to ads?]}

---

I've got some white rats that started off as pets, but just keep multiplying. Times are tuff so anyone who wants a free meal can have at them. If well seasoned and cooked right they are mighty tasty. I prefer either the slow cooker with a can of beer dumped in for flavor, or on the bbq. They don't have any diseases. Don't judge, a meal is a meal, and meat is meat. Or you could just keep the little critters as pets. Ask for Ray-Ray 541-337-2063

• it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

PostingID: 1822464619

MD, Professional Advertisement

Early Morning
Michael Dorn-ing

Zagnu
My Dad said,
or Wrote.

It's a Candy Bar.
It symbolizes Nuts.

Cat brings home.

effing ginger - w4m

---

Date: 2010-06-24, 12:57AM PDT

---

“Oh hey, how was your weekend? Yeah, mine was fun too…”
How can I tell you it was spent completely pining over you?
Watching my phone for that call, that text, that one invite
Anything to get me through this long, boring night
Time spent here is wasted, I want to get up and get out
These days, anything you is what I’m about
We could be so good together, just give me a chance and you’ll see
You’ll forget all the others once you have me
You’re so fresh, funny, cool, cute and clev-ah
Make me your girl, c’mon mista hipsta, I dare ya
I’ll make you dinner, massage your back, sing you a love song
But I can’t wait forever, so please quit taking so long

• it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

PostingID: 1808159334

Systems Failure.

Apologies.

I broke a little recently.

Kind of like they put the wrong oil in my windshield washer fluid reservoir.

As a result, brain gone wrong, feels wrong.

Told some people that it was frustrating not thinking very well,
they said that it's probably what normal people feel like.

I'm a genius by the way. Unrecognized of course.
But on another note, I saw my IQ score in 4th grade on a school document.
That's not supposed to happen.
Makes all sorts of complexes. Makes you think you're smarter than you are. Or that your not living up to your potential.

But I'm a lot dumber now. Seriously.

Aches

I've been feeling problematic lately. Sick probably.

So I watched The Fly.

That made me feel better.

I'd like a massage.

Getting Lost in the Grip

Re-birthing ceremonies are all about beating an adult inside a canvas bag, but the metaphor still works, when I come out the other side of a year it's a re-birthing ceremony. I don't know who that other person was. He looks the same, and has a better haircut, but I don't know him. If we met we'd be friends, but not besties.

One thing I think I'd like to do is pork Zooey Deschanel. Sex Sex Sex Sex Sex.
That was crude and not even that true. I like to imagine she's dumb and makes really bad choices. It makes it easier to break off our fictional relationship. She probably has a stupid diet and no concept of money anymore. She probably thinks all sorts of esoteric music is really good, well guess what, my esoteric music is better. Way better.

Bad boys get the girls, and I own four bicycles. Bicycles are like the efficiency's way of telling the world that I'm a dork. I wish that nerd thing would come back into fashion; you know, where nerds are the new cool. Thing is, I'm a border-liner. Can't be pigeonholed. I'm way to big. But I can put my fingers into like four or five pigeonholes at once and then not go on a date for a long time.

Radical Honesty

There was a sadly disappointing radio program about radical honesty. Sadly disappointing since I need to express my passion for this idea. But it's like I couldn't be radically honest. No way.

That would mean sharing my numerouso penduloso explicat and my privat seulen, probably would implicate feminischen gretschmar verboden lichenseinstag.

Nope.

The New Gods

If a band calls it quits, was small time to begin with, and seems to only exist on myspace, then are they ripe for the taking?

I'd like to be The New Gods.

Which is not a reference to Kirby's New Gods.

Does a band have to have multiple members to be a "band?"
Does it have to have songs?
Do songs have to have lyrics?
Can some songs be dances?
Can other songs be silences?

Is reading a book alone a band?
Is sleeping and not reading a book a band?

Truth for Art / Art is best when it's a Lie.

I'd like to alienate you,
Because of your religion,
But then I start thinking about Alien Nation
With Mandy Patinkin
And how that's a girl's name.

Remember how they drank spoiled milk?
I can't even drink regular milk without really bad gas.

Prayers for the Awesome

God is an albatross with white studded wings that like a fringed jacket from the hit TV show "Blossom" would have been worn by that Joey guy, except this is an albatross and not a jacket, it's wings are just studded like his jacket would have been.

Jesus puts his all-parts in our everywhere and then we feel everything and some of the things were better left un-felted, like the felted walls of 1970's basement that flooded every winter and consequently was ruined and smelled like terrible black mold after a single year making the children sick and it's also probably the reason they all have asthma now.

The Holy Spirit is one part water, one part vermouth, and it tastes terrible but we tell the congregation it's actually some like salve so they don't drink it anyway they put it on their foreheads and like only this one little snot-nosed kid Scott Masterson has figured out that he could probably get a little buzz off it so he's always trying to get it to run into his mouth, like he jogs his head to the side at the last instant and gets a drip or two.

Amen.

Iteration

Something I've mentioned before that speaks to my compulsions, and I'm saying here now as I need to use the bathroom, which speaks even more to my compulsions is that I've got iterating terms in my head at anytime.

"That's the name of my band" is something I've been saying for years. Is it even that funny? Is that why I'm saying it? I'm just wired for naming bands I suppose. Now I'm creating fictional headlines all the time. Headlines for life.

Here's another thing, any compound word that ends with "line" is always turned into "lion."

Headlions

Thanks

Seriously, thanks to people who came to Subversion Gallery last night and contributed to my performance by being awesome audience members. Thanks readers who've supported me in person, it really means a lot!

-DMK

How Do You Spell 'Hate?'

So, how do you spell 'hate?'

I'll give you a hint. It's easy. It starts with an 'h.' It ends with an 'e.'


It has eleven letters.


Give-up?

H

O

R

S

E

P

E

O

P

L

E.

Which brings me to the real point:

When I was, oh let's say 8, my sisters and I got coffee mugs from a well intentioned uncle. There mugs had Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer on them. That's cool, I thought, so when I unwrapped my mug, I was furious to find the WWF stamp emblazoned across the exterior. Arguably, this is a way cooler mug. Actually, I love this mug now and was pretty bereaved when I chipped the lip a few years ago. But back in childhood flashback zone, I was pissed. I was a pissed little bratty kid who wanted a damn Rudolph mug, so I indignantly went upstairs to compose a hate letter to my uncle- So gracious. Except, being 8 my spelling and writing skills were pretty poor. I went to the top of the stairs in my house and yelled down to the living room, "How do you spell hate?" This phrase has cause a fair amount a ridicule in the last few decades, and deservedly so. They didn't tell me how to spell hate, and think there was probably some crying after that question.

Pure childhood frustration precipitates an angry letter,
Young boy found to act like old man.

That would make a fair newspaper title.

Variation in the Variegation
Lead to highly problematic
Problems
Among the the the the the the the the
Transmission of the the transmission
Also, we wrecked our transmission
Phone the wrecker
With your Phone.
It's not real? Not really?
Good, I was worried it might be a
Phony.
A mighty goodly ruse.
This is getting
Worrisome.
It's really reddening my rosy complexion,
I'm complected completed.
Mine god, avoid these jokes at all cost
They're too costly to not avoid.

Not a void?
A real thing.

Republicans

There's this term associated with republicans, or I think -I'm not sure, "Neoliberalism" that says that people who buy into that ideology are "radical individualists." This is unfortunate. I've always identified as a "radical individualist," but the only archetypes I've got are assholes from each side of the political spectrum. So you got the "no compromise in defense of personal ideals" Ayn Rands; bunch of turds. I mean you can read about how Ayn Rand did that in her personal life, and how she seems like the type of tightly-wound librarian who was never happy and didn't want to see anybody else happy either. Then you've got some Earth-First type people, "No compromise in defense of mother-earth," which is really just as bad. No compromise? Anytime someone begins with "no compromise" it seems like there's some weak shit going on. Then you've got the love it or leave it radical individual; American flags, eagles, the works.

Why can't we have a selfish, normal, human radical individual. I am who I am. I think some things are dumb, and others are great. I'm not going to change that much, but I'll change in the right ways. I like to do things myself when nobody wants to do them with me. Most people are wimps in comparison to me, but only because I value different things. My life is extremely isolating. That's the downside to all of these I suppose.

-David

Cartoon

I was telling some girl some stuff about cartoons the other day. She said, "Ask me any question about late 80's or early 90's cartoons; I can answer it." So, I did. Who's dog was who and the like. She was pretty good at it. Then she's like, "Oh, what year were you born?" My answer, 1986. Then a series of huffs, and guffaws. "My, gosh." She might has well have said, "An infant, comparatively, I was born in 1984."

It's like hey, I'm at most 2 years younger. That doesn't amount to much. Who cares. But then again if you care, I care, since that's such a dumb reason to push someone aside.

We could have been cartoon lovers.

John Stockton and his Clutch of 10

Readers, please.

Click the buttons at the bottom of these posts with the term you think bests describes the content.


Also, a SNES hint for playing NBA jam: Always put John Stockton in for 3 pointers when you really need them. He's got a Clutch rating of 10. Pretty B.A.

Synchronic

While there may be times, most times, when I struggle for any sense of synchronicity, there is a fine line where I can do perfectly. It's these moments of disequilibrium that allow for an oscillation, more wave-like than disordered that allows for the repeated acts of physical juggling that appear most impressive. And while that's nearly impossible to understand, what I mean here is the following examples taken from everyday life, starting backwards.

I make a phone call, "Hey Mom, Mom's day. Happy Valentine's Day. Happy St. Patrick's Day. Ha, funny son." Person walks by window. It's my nieghbor. Wait, it's a friend too; same time of arrival. "Get some coffee? Go on a bike ride?" Sure, whatever. "Bye Mom." Take the tuba, first time in 6 months playing. National Tuba Day, last Friday. Someone tells me this. We get coffee. See a guy from around town. Talk for a while about playing jazz. Someone I recognize, it's a friend's sister, a friend from high-school, in Connecticut; this is Oregon. Go to the river. Play music. Other strange instruments, bagpipes and parade. Rain comes, we flee to a gazebo accompanied by vagrants. "I have a flugel horn," and he does have one. The other has a mandolin. We talk about Close Encounters of the Third Kind, we play the songs from it. It's thundering, it's a lightening storm. I've got a large piece of metal, so we choose to wait it out. That's it.

Disequilibrium certainly seem accurate, describes my life. Strange though, my days lately. More to come.

Impossible

Something about the distance between myself and Indian cinema made the cliche, horrible monstrosity of gender drama bearable. Pyaar Impossible used that male gaze pretty well. Some of the more classic up the legs / descending a staircase / silhouette on the beach moves that Hollywood burned, literally, into film. Well it's more of a exothermic chemical reaction, like burning --and true some theaters, film production studios and the like burned, so yeah, they literally burned it --into our consciousness. You can't literally burn consciousness. You can't literally consciousness, mostly it can't function in a sentence this way --that's why.

Making students write This I Believe essays is like, ultimate irony I guess. Judgment on beliefs really, as something good, solid, tangible. I believe? I don't really.

I know. I can. I do. I am. I believe? Only as a matter of intellectual diddling. Nothing of import do I believe.

I wish. Oh, ya. I certainly want. I need. But believe? Not really.

I skeeze. I wince. I coffet. I mince. I buffet. That's the 'b' I need.

Entrepreneur

Sometimes, while watching Yojimbo I think that maybe I invented things, and people just don't know.

Like the microwave. Yeah, I invented one of those once.
Like a fist-full of cash. That's all me. Totally invented that.
Salt and Pepper as a pair? Co-author ship. Me and Jim Whitley.

Jim Whitley. Just made him up. Pretty great guy though. Got me my first job, dishwasher repairman.

Like the idea of repairing things. First to do it: Me.

Oh come on Yojimbo just bring in the big guy with the sword for horsemen. The Best Parts.

Germs.

I never pick a flower, probably out of some absurd obligation to not kill things that I think are beautiful. Mostly selfish, it seems.

Ran over a possum on purpose once. Sped up to hit it. Thought it may have dodged the wheels, then thump. Midway down the car, and it was gone. I don't feel bad, but I wouldn't do it again.

Put flowers in my hat sometimes. Wonky. Something people say nowadays in reference to something I don't know, or care to find out, unless it gets me a girlfriend which it won't.

In a 3 minute walk between here and there, when I'm by myself, I've written a novel. Then, I can't tell anyone. The change of scenery makes it disappear. Mediums in transition I suppose.

Suggested a guy pour some stuff on a caterpillar the other day, watching it writhe and mime screams of bloody murder I realized that it was really my doing, double. Seeded and didn't stop.

Imagining my leg is in more pain than it is, or that maybe my leg will be broken at some point in the future and I'll have a story to tell about that. It makes me famous; but I want to avoid it.

Logs.

Something about chaps and how if you wore them backwards they'd only protect you from snakes as you stepped over a log.

Revertis Al Buentia Con Flasvor.

Inspired by They Might Be Giants, The Far Side, Calvin and Hobbes, Ren and Stimpy, Rocko's Modern Life in that order but from now backwards.

Anyway I've been listening to The Music Man a lot recently a few months ago. "Montgomery Ward sent me a bathtub and a crosscut saw."

I heard this interview with MS and TP with TG recently in a car and since I've seen all their faces everywhere recently I won't say directly who they are, but let's just say that at least one of them like musicals a fair amount and it has effect the cartoon with which he is a co-creator.

My domination of the English language impresses even you noble reader. One day, when I'm quoted widely you'll say "That man was the paragon of man. That man, Noble Satiris." Your quote won't be that widely retold, admittedly dorky.

Oh, yea dramatica.

Amniexity?
It combines anxiety and amnesia.
I forgot that yesterday, in the throes of such a fit.
Get in bed for 20 seconds,
then get out and finish planning.

It's amazing how well taking my pants off serves to get the brain working.
Huzzah.

Grr.

I thought I'd outline what how I really feel right now, instead of having some sideways talk.


I don't want to be teaching or in school anymore, and it's really pretty unpleasant. What I would do instead, is unclear. This is I guess, scary. But that's not really the word. It's unpleasant. It's unstable.

Whenever I have to plan for teaching, I don't feel passionate. I feel frustrated. I've got good ideas, that turn out pretty well. People tell me, "I'm a born teacher" and that makes me feel like I'm trapped.

Classes, I can sit through about 30 minutes. It feels like wasted time, stuff I already know, already have opinions on, and the right kind of opinions at that. Taking time to do classwork; reading, paper writing, feel impossible to carve out. I'm not committed to it.

I started writing about things I'd rather be doing. None of them are teaching. I'm writing this instead of planning lessons. I'm in debt, I feel obligated to finish, frustrated by the lack of jobs, and frustrated more by the fact that I don't want those jobs. Even in the best, most aligned with my own beliefs, schools that I've seen I can't stand the administration, the expectations, the atmosphere. I don't believe I have the authority to teach students, or even care to teach them.

I want to do stuff with my hands.
I want to go on a date.
I don't want to teach.
I don't want to go to school.

Those are my distilled feelings at this moment.

Question

A mistake people make when judging others is that they allow their own value systems to take precedence over another value system. Take me for example, it's my forum after all. Severe haircuts, not a popular choice for older generations and consequently they lead to direct questioning; "Why did you do that to your hair?" Etc.

But to be fair, my own system allows not for suits, commuter culture, and acceptance of modern architecture. I will not abide the polished, the consequently dishonest, ephemera of contemporary life. For me it's community and bodily enjoyment. Sacrifice doesn't come from plugging away at an unhappy job for 30 years, it comes from sweating.

So when life becomes something I'm not into, I make a physical change. Not that I value Ayn Rand, she is problematic, but compromise and being complicit with things that don't sit well just seems like a poor way to start the foundation of a career. I cut my hair and at least that tells the world that I walk both paths, that I can do your job just as well and that I refuse to do it. Arguably though, this is a poor choice.

beaucoup dépend de la neige chaque nuit

Ya, the french;
So much depends et all.
The re/whee, Will CarWil.

But like, Joyce, "The Dead" and blanketing?
It's so far off.
The snow,
so much depends on the snow each night.

The dampening of sound,
The lightening of night.
A surprise!

Being born I guess
Getting out some paper
Walking around.

Coveralls likely,
Warming nest walking around and sledding;
It doesn't go down into buttcracks on slideoffs

Tricky saucers.
Still though,
In the boots.

I don't think the French sled.
Probably go down hills
on plates.

Cracking, splitting, little jabs.
Plastic does it too,
Sometimes.

Wisdom of the ages though,
all they talk about,
symbolize.

Snow?
Few years since
I've really been down in the mud.

CB v CB

If Charles Bronson
wrote poetry
like
Charles Bukowski
acted
in Death Wish 3
they'd still
be making Death
Wishes.

Rather 8

I'd rather be in James Joyce book club in which we imbibe some debauchery, and also drink scotch.

This is just straight to the point. Needs no clarifying. It will happen, soon.

Albatross.

Albatross. I immediately associate two things here: Albert Ross and Jessica Alba. Now that I write that second one, I understand the association -the keyalba. A. R. is obvious. One of those repeat, repeat, repeat. My iterations. Recently it's been fatbaby. In the past, dolphin or actually just the concept of dolphins. This was on the tip of my tongue for a few years. Never really said it though. Thought about making one out of papermâché, inviting unknowing friends over for a party. They find the dolphin takes up most of the space.

They rejoice; they discover; the dolphin filled with beer and sausage bursts.

This should have been a Rather, but it's really too negative. Rather is a positive experience, a redirection. Like an appositive, it redefines. It's not left-branching though. Was reminded of coffee + toast = $2. Simple, elegant, rather do it.

Instead of that role, teacher stalks my life. Blarf. Put that nose down. Grind it off. Now you're a teacher and you hate it, but you're good and you're me. People say, 'you're born to do it' and they're talking to me, and I'm thinking about how much I'd rather be doing something else. 'Put more energy into it' was the comment from a 12 year old. No, I'd rather not.

Fallow

Pope-ing
Some words can't follow the trend
Rope to Roping
Dope to Doping
Mope to Moping.
But Pope to Poping.
That's not the write sound,
Doesn't follow the rules.
Leave it to the Pope to break the rules,
Least likely character
Seems like there should be a latin phrase for that.
Bet the pope would know it.

Splitz Ab

I guess if I were famous, like writerly famous, they'd look back on my life at some point and remember some features of my life. Some writers are known for their epic writer's block, alcoholism, reclusiveness, OCD or some other idiosyncrasies. For me, I'd suggest it be my headaches. Not migraines, weather driven, sinus steered hilarious axes to the brain that make me mutter "please go away" and occasionally reference a god I don't believe in (for being a jerk).

Much like the rain that drives these headaches, and the feeling after a good cry of exhaustion, these headaches leave me tired and thoughtless, but fresh. During the schism, the bags beneath my eyes feel deeply etched and heavy, like they were extended all the way to the ground, dragging along the ground as invisible anchors. Here's the thing though, I have a poker-face. Perhaps, you'd call it a poker-face of mediocrity: never well-rested entirely, never dead-tired. People have said to me, "The thing about you David, is that you always look the same" and this always comes when I feel the most tired, when my head is splitting down the middle, and when I have horrible gas. When my hair doesn't stand-up 6 inches about my head, that's when people think something is wrong, that I'm tired, that I'm depressed; the only time this really happens is when I feel that yearning to be clean, and spend that extra effort washing my hair.

Yep, I don't wash my hair. Just add water. Rinse, Rinse, Repeat.

Dippers.

I'd like to imagine that my decisions were unique tonight. That they led to an understanding, an appreciation of things more subtle.

The moon was like a fingernail in the sky, but hung as a friend put it another day "like 2001," meaning A Space Odyssey.

Orion, the only constellation that I know that isn't a dipper was up there too. And coming back on what we call the "expressway for bikes" were those two heavenly bodies.

Heavenly Bodies, a Sliver Moon. That's a pornographic sky.

You're asking yourself, what did you wear dear auteur? Oh, of course that than little jacket, scarf, and hat number you folks are always raving about.

I like to think of the bike hat, the red one, as a sort of hunter's cap for cycling. Kind of like the biathlon in the Winter Olympics, the one wear people race around on cross-country skis and fire at targets. That would be cool to adapt for bicycles, but I feel like maybe a bow and arrow set-up would be more appropriate.

Using apropos is so French.
Winter Olypics, so Canadian.
Bicycles, so venduum.

End on a strong note, end on a unique note; Don't use a real word.

Rather 7

If you know me, you know that my deep yearning is to make something or other. I'd always rather be sewing, or doing some carpentry, or building a boat, or baking a pie, or any other constructive activity.

Create, Create, Create?

Well maybe it's that sometimes life just gets a little critical. Breaking things down all day, looking at at culture and society through an x-ray; isn't it just nicer when you can say "I made a hat." That's it. A hat you can wear when it gets cold. Also later maybe I'll add some ear flaps to that hat. Then even later maybe the hats got some buttons and snaps. Then some pockets are added, and it's reversible. Then maybe the hat has tripled in size and it's a sculpture of that selfsame hat. It doesn't really matter what it is, just that something is, has, and was made.

'Ye gods, that's what I'd rather be doing.

Astroboy, We Meet Again

Astroboy, We Meet Again --in deep contemplation.



So, what I see here is similar to what I've written about earlier. Osamu Tezuka, the creator of Astroboy really had some interesting issues in mind. This episode had to do with robot-equality and programming; Can they go against it? I'm fascinated by the robot world. Astro has parents and a sister who essentially act like people. In fact, the robots seem to be accepted at this point in the series as equals. Humans are really the only corrupt people, robots just tend to get caught up in the madness. Strangely thought, I find striking parallels to the idea of "the noble savage," where robots are viewed to have so much unrestrained power, but that all are essentially good at the core.

Dreams

What isn't a dream
is waking up at 5 am
on the dot
at 23 minutes after the hour.

Hey it was 5:23 am
give me a break, bro.

That neighbor guy,
you know the one
who reads in a chair
with an obscuring plant
always.

Always.

He was up too,
up to
reading in that chair.

Night Person

I'm not.
I was going to
-had this genius idea-
start a habit,
drawing before sleeping.
Sounds great, right?

Too tired
the little sleepy Johansen's,
mein ohren,
uhg.

Won't happen.
Maybe morning doodles are the real idea,
Sub-species subspeciation.
Write down the dreams?
It's been done.
Missing so much, writing that shit down.
Better to just collect those eye-guys,
Jar 'em up.
Can that stuff.
Sell it to kids who can't sleep in the uh,
City of Light.

Fuck.
Parisians.
New Yorkers don't need it,
City that never sleeps.
I've been there,
There's totally sleeping going on,
Behind closed doors.

Fleeing Catsmouth, NH

I feel like a childhood feeling of disassociation could lead to looking up at the trees, seeing a cat climb higher, and higher, then seeing the cat disappear into the sky; the thought here being, clearly this cat must be going home.

It's confirmed that this is indeed the case as another cat repeats the same procedure, followed by yet another cat, and then a final cat.

Limericks (For the Liar)

You put it in a pile.
You say, "No need to worry."
And it's clearly not a Björk song,
but you point up and say,
"Is this Björk?"

Les Hommes Romantique.

I just, like I'm live blogging this just, just had an encounter with what appeared to be some vagrants, perhaps homeless, men.


Also, aren't those commas just killing you?

Les filles disent: So Artful!

Les Hommes Romantiques disent: So Daring!

Est le grammarian seul dit: So Wrong!

Live blogging live blogging, it seems.

So I approached the stop-sign, and as usual came to a stop as the two vagrants walked across the street. Some head nods of sorts were traded in the typical man to man method, and even more typically man to man miss-communication was had, in which the homeless gentlemen thought it would be more appropriate for me to run the sign than to have me wait at the stop.

I insisted otherwise by stopping, they then insisted or at least one of the fellows insisted that I was "forcing him to cross quicker than his cantering pace." While he didn't phrase it that way, I was compelled to undertake his meaning. Was it true that my lack of action, of stopping in fact was a manipulative effort to compel his hastened progress across this intersection.

Our actions, apparently can do so, yet I said "I'm not making you do anything." To which much muttering and stiffly guarded beleaguering was exchanged, and I then hastened my pace as the exchange came to a close. We all maintained our civility, despite an event which could have easily become discourteous.

La Bisu.

One things I'd really like is a commissioned action/oil-painting of myself and Edith Piaf, in which we are holding hands and doing one of those awesome heel kicks in different directions.

Our back would be in view, not our faces and it would be obvious that it is Edith Piaf due to post-it notes attached, or should I say attaché-ed to the painting.

"La Accordianissement."

Verdains, j'ai perdu.

The Go, Perched Precariously

I like when printers go, perched precariously
on a milk crate
they wiggle like a cat
that probably got stuck in a box for a good reason
and that the box on a milk crate perched precariously unlike a cat spits paper inked.

Radio and TV

Sometimes my radio will play the TV station's audio on the a.m. dial as it clicks out of the right mode. It's from the 70's and it's made by GE and I saw one just like it in Good Morning Vietnam and I bought it at a really awkward estate sale where the people were unwilling to sell a lot of things that they had put price tags on and which I had to borrow a dollar to purchase.

I had a dream last night where I waved to someone I knew, which was the extend of the dream. I don't know who it was, or where I was, but I was probably on the street and I'm pretty sure a tree was partially obstructing the view, not the view of the persons face but of the street. I'm pretty sure my brain didn't actually put a real person there, though, just the idea of a person. And I'm pretty sure it was dark like nighttime, but during the day in terms of setting. The road was shiny and wet, but the grass was green. The sky, I don't know, I don't think it was there either.

Sometimes out of the corner of my eye when I'm tired, I mistake things for a mouse or something, but then it's like, oh wait I have depth perception, that's a wooden spoon real close.

ABS

I think I'll start posting choice "Missed Connections" from craigslist here occasionally, as they happen about a block from my house. ABS = Adult Book Store

The ABS on 6th last week - m4m - 47 (eugene)

---

Date: 2010-02-01, 1:43PM PST

last tuesday about 5:30 you passed me and went in the last booth on the right. I was about to go in a booth and you motioned me to come down and in the booth with you.You are older man. You were dressed in a white dress shirt. You were very sexy and hot

Rather 6

Listening to "Girl Music" from Childhood

If I'm listening to music, which occurs pretty often, you can bet that it will be something typically me. It's going to be some esoteric bullshit that really only I like, not recent, not popular, and not even intentionally counter-culture; it's just what I like.

But, I'm likely to rather be listening to "girl music" which I was exposed to non-stop as a child. Mostly this was due to my older sisters, my musical influences being only them, as well as my mom and my dad to whom music was something different entirely. Needless to say, I prefer female solo vocalists. When some people might find Tracy Chapman, Sarah McLachlan, or Norah Jones a strange choice for a young man, they might be surprised to find that I jive with the music. An addendum though, a testament to the different sort of attachment with this music, I know none of the words; Probably since I heard those songs at such an age that it wasn't about words, just melody.

Rather 5

Wearing a Belt, Tie and Button-Down Shirt of my own Volition

So while this isn't about complaining, this sequence of Rathers, it is about what I'd prefer to do. Lately, it's been necessary to wear "professional" clothes, which may seem to fall in line with the topic of conversation here -Wrong.

What I'd Rather be doing is wearing a belt, tie and button-down shirt only and only when it's my own decision. To differentiate, days in which I'm not so spiffed up would like include an untucked button-down shirt more ostentatious than the professional wear, and certainly no belt; possibly suspenders. But it's the choice to wear these nice clothes to the grocery store, the cafe that makes it a more powerful and fufilling move. Societal conventions turn this costume into a uniform, and uniforms are no fun.

The reason we change words is to provide deeper meaning for a separate purpose. A costume equals fun. A uniform equals no-fun. Clothes are a neutral. It's like calling a book a text-book; The text signals to us that it's boring, otherwise it would just be a book.

Rather 4

Viewing Comic Art

As a passionate reader, English Majored, life-long bibliophile you can bet I like text in nearly any form. But- if you see me reading, you better assume that I'd really rather be checking out a comic book. The pictures and words combine to make an organismic excelsior of tapestratic benevolence which shines down, in hand-crafted witty narrative, to ignite the mind and do the thinking work for you. It's like the 4th dimension has been invoked; perhaps time is standing still, on the page.

An addendum though seems likely important. The section of the newspaper titled "Comics" and often referred to as "The Funnies" is not on the list, rather, it is this section which perhaps should be referred to as "The Ironics," since I've rarely had a laugh since Calvin & Hobbes and The Far Side took a bow.

Rather 2

Trying out this Rather idea once more, see as follows:

Local Business Man

I've often suggested that a good idea for a business might be Coffee + Toast = $2, in which people would be hard pressed to get anything besides coffee with a side of toast for two dollars. It's a joke, admittedly, but not an unserious consideration to be made in a town where coffee and cheap eating are in high demand, ergo collegitatus.

Whether it's some version of this streamlined coffee shop or the esoteric brewery, being a local business man is something I would rather be doing with my life.

Rather

I had an idea today involving something of little importance, blogs. Probably my 5th incarnation, The Sharp D. Kline shares some considerable similarities to the past excuses to indulge my writing urge. While goals and unifying themes have existed in a way which provides some cohesion, I've been debating starting a new Blog, titled Rather.

Below I have included what could serve as the first posting on a blog whose goal will be explicitly, to declare what I would rather be doing. I find that the motivation for most of my writing is an outlet for stress, or as a venue for sharing ideas for which I have a passion. Rather will be a positive source of activities with which I can steer my life, and hopefully share with reader-friends.


Rather:

Bicycle Riding

On most days you can assume that if you were to see me and I wasn't riding a bicycle, I would rather be riding a bicycle. Aside from a few points in my life where physical discomfort limited my riding possibility, bicycle riding has always been a source of freedom and exercise. As a 7th Grade student in rural Connecticut I rode my bicycle to school for almost an entire school year; what's more surprising is that it wasn't until recently that I remembered. Bicycles are like neckties, some people love them but forget what color they are wearing.

Today, in lieu of other choices, bicycle riding was the outlet for stress and the method of transportation. Had I ridden in the car to carry bags of groceries I would have no doubt been beset by frustration, anger and the radio. Instead my routine included a tour of the local waterways, which after a week of rain were full-up with riparian narrative.

Eugene Tweed Ride

Everything Old is Carl Sagan

Whether it's the miconathic jaw, which is arguably a word, or the unkempt demeanor, it seems likely that Carl Sagan would have something to say about it, which is to say the extent of the disconnected thoughts here.

But Cannot

Things I remember from childhood but cannot possibly are things like Gigantor.
Remember the one where it's evil Gigantor.
I taped over a littler Ducktails at the end.
Wasn't Write Protectec.

I remember Joe Camel.
There was Peter Paul and Mary.

Worst Prots

The Worst Part about your arms falling off is the rivals they form, but you don't have arms anymore.

The Worst Part about legs falling up is that they carry the rest of you with them.

The Worst Part about hair is the left side because of the cowlicks on the right side.

The Worst Part about Christmas hams is a poorly formed joke involving a middle-aged woman's thigh which is both self-referentially and part of a repetitive process poem.

The Worsted Part of the sweater is wet and rubbed part from the past returned.

Die Worscheftengingen Porten verscheft die abuletin grosses beusminees.

How to Be when You can and Will.

Nudespaper Head-lions:

Upon Discovering an Ornately Decorated Acorn Boy Realizes Future In Acorn Decoration A Reality.

Activist Judge Mugs Meekly for Mild Mannered Mormons Shirking Civic Civility and Severly Severing Ties with Acting Company and Cameo Capability.

Can Kevin Clean Cats?

All Swells that End Swell; Local Wave at Peak, Will it last?


Creativionism:

Later That Evening Bronson and Clyde Bore Down, Splitting Granules with Hay-Bobbers and Sending Shockwaves Throughout the Community of Hillpark-Hydes Drive.