Saturday, December 31, 2011

I wanna hold her hand And show her some beauty Before all this damage is done

This year I:

-Got two jobs
-Moved to the Washington DC metro area
-Became a vegetarian
-Visited three new states (Wyoming, Utah, Idaho)
-Heard some great music
-Ate some great food
-Had some great talks with some great people

What more could a person ask for?

Thursday, December 1, 2011

They say california is a recipe for a black hole

I have been on a serious Rilo Kiley kick for at least a week. Blame it on cranberry sauce, which I was making last Wednesday, and it was lovely, had the house to myself all day and just listened to tons of music and cooked odds and ends of supplemental Thanksgiving foods. I love those days, maybe once a month. Silence and solitude and making something out of nothing. Insofar as there is stress in my life, these are the days when it is released, when you might say I channel and release tension from my shoulders into the food I make.

As for Rilo Kiley, they are everything. Sweet, cutting, country, rock, peerless lyrics, great music. Three Rilo Kiley songs:

Jenny, You're Barely Alive

My Slumbering Heart

Portions for Foxes

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

are these sentences true?

-Barack Obama sometimes appears to be naive and politically tone-deaf. This may derive from an abundance of confidence.

-Rick Perry is full of bluster and often seems confused.

-Herman Cain talks a good game, but he suffers from a dearth of ideas.

-Michelle Bachmann spends so much time trying to seem authentic that whatever substance she had to begin with has long since eroded away from constant burnishing.

-Were Newt Gingrich to become the Republican nominee, Democrats would be dancing in the streets.

Friday, November 4, 2011

Winter trains part 3

There might have been a sense of community in the broad atrial waiting area of the station, but it was quickly drowned out by the survival instinct that emerged among comfortable people who are slightly alarmed. Lines formed quickly at the handful of fast-food/coffee places and people scarfed pizza with wary eyes trained on their neighbors, eating as a dog does: quickly and too efficiently to relish the alimentation. Sulking overcoated patrons trudged everywhere to and fro or circled shark-like for the remaining seats on the benches. Smart ones read to stave off impending madness, with ever-more erudite reading fodder glimpsed around every corner.

I was reading Tony Judt with two different frowns. Alternately I displayed my public-transit-has-forsaken-me-never-will-I-see-home-again grimace, and then my furrowed-brow-because-Tony-Judt-is-postulating-a-complex-political-idea-in-clear-and-readable-prose-and-I-am-striving-to-understand frown. I have discussed with my significant other that I ought to stop frowning when trying to understand something or flesh out a thought because the expression is frightening at close range. Maybe I'm often puzzled. I do feel the need to manifest what's going on in my head to the world at large. I furrow my rather prominent but nonetheless brow and try to work out a sentence that might express what I'm thinking.

Monday, October 31, 2011

Winter trains part 2

Our train that was set to depart at 6:25 had not physically reached the station until 6:45. The people turning and sheepishly working back through the Lowell deluge after the official boarding announcement were Newburyport commuters with a scheduled theoretical departure of 6:45. What cheek to think they would leave the station within 10 minutes of on-schedule. Their delay was heard fading as I shuffled the platform with the horde, and it gave me a vague sense of justice served. The perverse mind of the frozen delayed commuter; his misery is actively seeking company, and he condemns those who aren't foundering with him yet.

Monday, October 17, 2011

Winter trains part 1

The coffee came to 1.07. I had the nickel at the ready, expecting 1.04, but the tax had gone up under Democrat control, and I fumbled with two pennies, hastily produced from some pocket.

The coffee's purchase was a thing definitely settled, and in my arrogance I thought it marked me out as a seasoned traveler, beater of chills. With hot liquid input and vigorous walking in the station, I could overcome the dual disadvantage of a pronounced lack of personal insulation and 15 minutes on the platform in sub 10-degree Ipswich already chilling the flesh. This is special cold that can't be rooted out by the heat in most train cars; it is the rare one that can play the role of microwave and re-heat humans who are starting from a refrigerated imbalance, it being hard enough to maintain the warmth of people who enter the cycle at a neutral level. I was unable to get rid of the cold in my feet, which felt like wet soldiers in draft canvas tents at Valley Forge.

The chill is an unwelcome houseguest, insisting on one more glass of wine after an awkward dinner, and then another glass, reveling in others' discomfort. After it is gone, the hollow remnant of its presence lingers. It can't be forced but by bluntness and boldness. Even this, though, requires appropriate conditions.

The coffee was hot and needed but I had rashly chosen the Dunkin Donuts medium over large at the same price from McDonald's. I was already cold again before the last sip. Sidling up to the rail employee in front of the service window, I wait for other harried commuters to ask longsufferingly about their trains, which are as a matter of course delayed so long they aren't worth asking about (assume twenty-five minutes off the top). Trying to play the cool customer, seen-it-all-before commuter rail veteran of a dozen cold Januaries. I smile nonchalantly as I mosey over with my inquiry queued up in the brain-catapult, but stumbling on the destination (usually Haverhill, now Lowell) I ask the question and get the answer everyone else is stuck with; a 5 or 10 minute delay in theory stretches out to around 30 in the real world.

Sunday, October 2, 2011

NFL network misheard

The broom is off the Lions' rose. Pick sicks. He will go up and get it at 11 feet. Clocking was a little too rude.



Go get it A-1!

For the first time in Lane's history

Friday, September 30, 2011

Found exactly where I left it

Machine-Age Espresso

The changes effected affected us. The coffee machine was taken away to avoid ambiguity and duplication. Coffee is dark, ideally faintly smoky. Medium roasts are said to have subtler and more complex flavor profiles, but this is not universally agreed upon. Coffee is good on ice, but it is not candy and should not be mistreated by the addition of pumpkiny treacle. Coffee can be consumed hot, ideally not boiling.

habitual consumption may contribute to osteoperosis

Coffee is sometimes avoided in the mornings so that I can deceive myself regarding my dependency upon it. Coffee is prepared by the cup in the K cup machine at work. K cup != K Street; Coffee is not a conspiracy of powerful Washington lobbyists.

recent studies suggest that these may be the result of relieving the initial symptoms of overnight caffeine withdrawal!

French cooks were the first to Westernize coffee brewing techniques in the mid-1700s. Coffee is decaffeinated sometimes which is to say denatured and disemboweled, without being too dramatic.

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

Update from @work

-Eating cheaply with rice and beans - very good move. Lots of chickpeas and cabbage, and my favorite, parboiled rice, which has an 'improved nutritional profile,' and is resistant to weevils [boll or otherwise].

-I woke up at 6 this morning and went running on autopilot. Couldn't have even been awake for the first half mile or more. It was good enough, and could become something like a twice-a-week activity. Overtraining could be a risk, though.

-Wrote a list of plausible rejected Jon Huntsman campaign slogans [in an attempt to be funny]. Maybe I'll post them later, if they stand up to increased scrutiny. Or if they make A laugh.

-Plain yogurt, maple syrup swirl. Perhaps not as good as yogurt and honey, but still bears further investigation.

-District of Columbia: 200 range of ZIP codes. Federal Government: 202-205 range. Virginia: 201, and 220-246 ranges. Massachusetts, of course, 010-027 range. Shall I go on? I have a ZIP code map of the United States in my office. ZIP codes are very interesting. It stands for Zone Improvement Plan, if you were wondering.

-Idaho: 832-839 range. Tennessee: 370-385 range....

Monday, September 26, 2011

Rudie can't fail

Glimmering like a slim sequined dancer

Slatted ceiling scatters light

Carapace of discrimination






Sunday, September 18, 2011

We took the long way so we could have another

She spends her money on cigarettes and such, well I love her and cigarettes so much, I love her and cigarettes so much

Sunday, July 31, 2011

Will wonders never cease?

A record of how I have felt at certain strategic points of time along the way. Failing to update the record regularly will be a problem. My duties at times have not been fulfilled. Rest assured, loyal reader, I will write for you again. Soon.

Wednesday, June 22, 2011


Debby Reynolds: A legend in her own time

Thursday, June 16, 2011

flagging (the blog is)

I'm in the District. That is no joke. I'm alive, and I'm happy. There's a lot to see here, and a lot to be thankful for. Miss everyone back home. Congratulations to the Mighty Bs.

Tuesday, May 31, 2011

You know

The blog marches on, never fear. We're moving to DC, but the blog marches on. I ate lasagna tonight. I started watching Twin Peaks last night. I saw Fast Five today. I don't have to work again until the 15th. These are all true sentences. I'm about to start a new notebook. This is every aspiration I have.

I have trouble sleeping. I get sentimental sometimes. Sometimes my heart's just not in the job. I like people better than anything else. I love my girlfriend and my family and everyone. I get scared a lot. I can't sleep anymore. I want freedom. I want Bliss. I like the dark and the cool and quiet times. I still won't sleep but maybe I'll be happy.

Thursday, April 28, 2011

Thou canst tell why one's nose stands i' the middle on's face?

So I went down to my local Barnes and Noble BOOKSELLERS to do a little browsing. I meandered over to the fiction section and made my selection, Jonathan Franzen's latest. I was about to just walk out the door without paying when I felt a strong hand on my shoulder.

It was the hand of Toby Keith.

Toby Keith, clear as day. Toby Keith, wearing a Barnes and Noble-branded cowboy hat, was standing right behind me. He pointed to the near end of the store.

His voice rang out clear and true: Cash register's that way, old hoss. Best pay up. And always remember,

Freedom isn't free

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Very important One-sentence post

Read this, if you would, since JD wrote it, and it's one of the most important things you'll read all day, and you ought to thank me for recommending it at all, for even deigning to come down off my high horse and offer you a link to someone else's blog post.

Saturday, April 16, 2011

I was waiting down at the ancient gate

It's when they've announced they're leaving that you see them most. People are motivated by finality, Jack decided without ten seconds' further consideration. The threat of real action, irrevocable consequences, will jolt them, move them, if nothing else will.

On this particular night he was thinking of, they had been sharing ice cream, which he had done at other times with Brandon and assorted third parties.

At this time the phone rang insistently, but he chose to ignore it.

What was the flavor? It was something like cereal milk, flavored with banana, or something else he couldn't remember. They passed the cardboard cup and shared a spoon, being family or close to it. Or maybe there were three spoons, he could not remember. It was a happy evening, with laughter, and the memory was still vivid.

The girls in the downstairs apartment were an infrequent presence in his life. He didn't know much about them except they had cats and parties and liked to gossip at late hours on the front step. Their voices would ring out clearly in judgement on cold nights when he had already been asleep two hours or more. Those nights were shining and crisp.

Thursday, April 14, 2011

the old way is best

I dreamt I was falling last night. I was standing on a tree branch that Cary took a chainsaw to. I was plummeting right before I woke up, nothing but solid stump under my feet. They arrested my downward progress with a Harry Potter spell. There was meat in avant-garde restaurants

Sunday, April 10, 2011

Fog Dream # 1

Imagine running up Labor in Vain Road, and encountering R——. The road is foggy; it's hard to make out who you're talking to. Lights wink in and out at us through the murk. R—— is trudging in the other direction. She is smiling, but in a pained way and too broadly. She betrays how false the expression is. Her voice is hollow as she tries to be cheery.

"Where ya headed?"

I have slowed to a trot, but I can't stop running, in that I am not allowed to by controlling physical realities in this state.

"I'm getting somewhere, I promise. I'll shoot you an email when I'm done. What are you working on, R——?"

The shrug, the well-remembered half-hearted joke.

"I don't know."

She maintains the image we have of her, even if there are cracks showing, doors left closed for long periods.

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

I used to live in Nashville

I love driving at night by myself. The road stretches out forever, inviting you to stay on board. Just drive on. The driving is the easy part. It's where you've been and where you're going that cause trouble.

Thursday, March 31, 2011

wooden shoes

Orange shirts, orange shirts, orange neck ties, orange pants, orange socks, orange cuff links, orange waistcoats, orange shirts, orange shirts, orange shoes, orange suits, orange skirts, orange belts, orange cravats, orange shirts, orange shirts, orange blazers

arming the rebels

Jack stared at the butter. I prefer a cold butter, he thought. Warm butter makes for easy spreading, but it glistens at you. The grease sweats out to the surface. Sweltering butter makes for smaller appetites, thought Jack. The knife traced its course and swiped the butter across the bread. Jack lived on.

out went the candle, and we were left darkling

The credit went to someone else for detail-gathering, reporting, and awareness, all mine. I would appreciate a fruit basket, but 'nice catch' will do.

Wednesday, March 30, 2011

Ask me no questions

Q. Why did it take the French pastry chef so long to get to work?

A. He had to 'croissant' a busy street.

If you don't like my joke, say it to my face. Don't go behind my back and trash me on message boards. You know I hate that. And make sure you keep a straight face the entire time if you tell the joke. That's how it's done, with two apostrophes.

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Look how you are all enjoying it!

This is fantastic:

"Who really has the last laugh in that situation: the guys who spent $5 to write an angry Amazon review, or the author who took the money from a group of people who have nothing better to do all day than get into fights about grammar on the Internet?"

Grammar fanatics always have the last laugh, 'Drew Grant', if that's even your real name, which I doubt. There is no doubt you are a big rat and a snake with poisenous venom.

Sunday, March 27, 2011

you only asked me why

Don't you think that I know that walking on water won't make me a miracle man?

This is a lazy blog post. It has no substance. It is free, though, so I am not to be held liable. I applied for 6 jobs today. I had a piece of banana bread, toasted and buttered. I filed my federal and state tax returns. These are things that I did, but I am not defined by them. Does the number .00 mean anything to you? That's the amount of Social security tips reported on my W-2 for 2010. Impressed? It doesn't show. The Barry Bonds article in the New Yorker was fun to read. They should hire Tina Fey as well, but what do I know? I'm only a blogging savant. Like Dustin Hoffman, but wearing a striped sweater from Old Navy.

If you don't 'get' this post, it's because there's nothing to get, no substance, as I said earlier, you should have been paying attention.

Tuesday, March 22, 2011


There is too much going on right now. I can't focus on any one thing, because there are approximately a dozen things going on.

I don't remember what happened the last three years, or I remember it too well, I'm too close to it right now. The world and its habit of sneaking up on me. The decisions I will have to make soon, and whose consequences I will have to live with. The implications in our conversations, which I like. There is very little agency here, mostly just swimming with the current, hoping to make minor adjustments.

Maybe in this light, I look about four years younger than in this picture, or this mirror. Serious talks that we have had; sometimes I am proud of how serious we are capable of being. This may not be cause for celebration, eventually. Sometimes I can get deep into a subject, and forget what was bothering me. Sometimes, the light comes through, and the realization dawns that there was nothing to worry about all along. It goes dark again, but what if everything was OK, light, no sorrows?

This place is so comfortable. Will I be able to live in discomfort? Couldn't we settle down, be old together. Pen and ink, early retirement, happiness and fulfillment of all these designs and schemes.

The hard part comes next.

Monday, March 21, 2011


Shout out to all my ipad people!

Sent from my ipad, easier to type on than i thought, but it seemz like the apple store employees are judging me, as i'm using them for free internet access

Sunday, March 13, 2011


I have literally been busy lately. Not like everyone who always says 'I've been busy', no, I have actually been rather busy. It is an unaccustomed feeling, like scoring a goal, or writing a timely and relevant blog post. I haven't even had time to see what all my mates are up to on Twitter, Facebook,, the blogosphere; the whole social media universe! Will the cogs of these virtual worlds continue to grind on without my presence and peripheral insight? Only time can tell!

Sunday, March 6, 2011

Civilized Fog

Some people don't understand the value of silence. It bookends talk. Talk would have no meaning if it were not surrounded by silence. When I see the 'Silence is Golden' screen come up right before the movie starts, I smile from ear to ear and relax a little.

Where is that silence and peace when I need it?

Where are those friends and lovers when I'm afraid of how quiet it is?

I will always quest to have it both ways.

Monday, February 28, 2011

Ice cream paint job

My father kept turning things off or changing the channel just as I was getting interested in the programs

I sent the same message twice, but doubted that Nancy would notice

I like to play fast and loose with the rules late in the week

Just sitting here idly querying databases, as one does

The usual end-of-the-month posting binge

Smuggling tires to Norway to make a fast buck; riskier than it sounds

I only eat ice cream when it rains

Slush on the sidewalks is worse than ice; ice can't enter your shoes by osmosis

The chair, another item that doesn't get its due for the huge role it plays in modern life

Don't be dissatisfied

“How strange it is. We have these deep terrible lingering fears about ourselves and the people we love. Yet we walk around, talk to people, eat and drink. We manage to function. The feelings are deep and real. Shouldn’t they paralyze us? How is it we can survive them, at least for awhile? We drive a car, we teach a class. How is it that no one sees how deeply afraid we were, last night, this morning? Is it something we all hide from each other, by mutual consent? Or do we share the same secret without knowing it? Wear the same disguise" - Jack Gladney - White Noise by Don DeLillo

Clouds are drifting across the moon

I put all my books in a box to put them in a concrete cube and underneath more boxes hidden behind boxes I’ll get in one too

I don’t know what I want, but regardless, thanks a lot for letting me stay on your futon.

Pretty sure JD must have quoted this song in a blog post before, but let me be the second to do so, then. I was thinking about what I want a lot today. I think that's natural for we humans, thinking about what we want, and we ought to have, what benefits we most. This goes along with thinking about what we should be doing, what is most seemly for we to be pursuing. If that's self-centered, it's just how we're wired.

Sunday, February 27, 2011

Due at signing

Your real name isn't Jock Sanders, is it? Your real name is Charlie Koren, you're a stevedore from Sag Harbor. Your real name is Randy Tirado, you're an airplane mechanic from Costa Mesa. Your real name is Sandy Wilhelm, you're a retired pipefitter from Piscataway. Your real name is Jim Snider, you're a blacksmith from Pondicherry. Your real name is Wilton Lynne, you're a journeyman plumber from Knoxville. Your real name is Katherine Wittels, you're a magazine executive from Fort Worth. Your real name is Johnny Kean, you're a bicycle messenger from Tuscaloosa. Your real name is Burt Kingman, you're a hacksaw manufacturer from Thousand Oaks. Your real name is Sarah Carter, you're a jeweler from Medicine Hat. Your real name is Marcus Harter, you're a speech therapist from Sarasota.

Sound and fury

In many respects

In many respects

In many respects we aren't so different

In many respects

In many respects soccer is a metaphor for the way people live their lives

In many respects

In many respects they were right to continue in their native language, ignoring the visitor who ate hungrily, but without gusto, like a machine

Thursday, February 24, 2011

Soft & Chewy Candy

The beat goes on. The great job search of 2011 goes on. The chaos in Libya goes on. Other people keep having conversations, and I can't focus on what I'm doing because of how highly attuned I am to their topics. Maybe I should start interrupting. That might not go over so well.

The lady serving me clam chowder today in Ipswich asked if I was okay. Do I look like I'm not okay? I might ask you the same question. Better, I might ask it of your chowder, which often has bits of sand in it. Maybe that's how you know they're real clams.

Can an outside chance of something happening ever be turned into an inside chance?

If this whole enterprise doesn't make sense to you, understand that you're not alone. I am alone with these thoughts. Your choices are to pity me or envy me, which will it be?

I wrote up to three jokes on the train today, while closely monitoring the conversation happening in the seat next to me. Are they worthy?

The battery level monitor on my computer is lying. It also defiantly notes that it is (plugged in, not charging). Why should I even offer you the pleasure of direct connection to current? It is wasted on you, voltaic pile of garbage.

Scrabble in Hausa.


This is a poem I'm working on eventually:

This was the fear they scooped out of Admiral Ackbar's head
It had concessions made to it
It was real, like xenotransplantation or peach trees

Don't steal it.

A Fat Free Food!

"True love is priceless. For true love we pay a price. There's nothing can keep me from loving you, not fire, not ice." -B. Harper

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Sometimes a blog is just a blog

For the next month or so, you can find me in the gym or applying for jobs. I'd like to schedule some eating, but there may not be time. I will probably have to find time to sit in unexpected places in my room, in chairs, contemplating. I'm just that crazy. Crazy like a fox. An Arctic Fox. In a snowstorm. In the Arctic Circle. Where am I? Behind that snowbank? You won't know. Because I'm white. And I blend in with snow.

Thursday, February 17, 2011

So, out went the candle, and we were left darkling

King Lear references doing anything for ya? I tried to pitch a King Lear plot with the genders switched to my mother in the car on the way home from Montreal, but I don't think it took. Call me crazy, but I think King Lear is a winner. It's what all the kids are talking about these days.

Then, I prithee, be merry; thy wit shall ne'er go
Ha, ha, ha!
Shalt see thy other daughter will use thee kindly;
for though she's as like this as a crab's like an
apple, yet I can tell what I can tell.
Why, what canst thou tell, my boy?
the middle on's face?

Monday, February 14, 2011

Make some new amends

Feeling sorry for yourself is so easy. It's a trap. Displacing responsibility for problems that are yours alone to solve offers false comfort. It's shirking, at its core. We must refuse to engage in it.

Thursday, February 3, 2011

nature disclaims in thee: a tailor made thee

Why do people hate him, Doug?

-Drink hot water with your lemon.

--Veins popped out on the backs of her hands, straining against the artificial resistance offered by the rowing machine.

---I remember air conditioning, heavy pots of leftovers, lazy warm nights to trickle out on the streets, and independence to burn.

----It was touching to hear him ask how she might be consoled, and I answered to the best of my knowledge, which was that there isn't really any answer.

Monday, January 31, 2011

Consumption's claimed his life and we dare not miss the sight


word for word

"Good evening ladies and gentlemen, this is the 7:30 pm train to Lowell, making the following stops in West Medford, Wedgemere, Winchester Center, Anderson, Wilmington, North Billerica, and Lowell. This is the train to Lowell; if you didn't hear it, we don't go there, and it's still not too late to get off."

Sunday, January 30, 2011

Free persons

Rupert will dive face-first and headlong into snowbanks sometimes, to test his own mettle, and the snow's. I'm afraid sometimes that I don't take enough time out for reflection, the moments where you sit in a darkened room and consider deeply. There's no time horizon here, just a general anxiety. What will 2017 be like? Don't let me be consigned to the scrap-heap of history. Every minute is full of getting and spending.

If I tend to wear scarves around the house, it's because I'm cold and want to be warm, nothing personal. Two clocks in the same room, second-hands each one second off from the other, so there's always ticking. I feel that I get more done when there's less scrutiny. Ben Franklin once wrote...or was that Zachary Taylor? I'm always forgetting which pigeonhole to put an acquaintance in. Did you read this? It was like an art project for a second-generation fruitseller.

The profession of scrivener no longer exists, she said. Even the walls were downed in light-brown hair. Would this be a successful enterprise for us to embark upon? The key turned in the door, two flights down.

The Train Carrying Jimmie Rodgers Home

Trains have this certain majesty that you can't deny. They're long and sleek, though they lumber. Trains have the quality of being undeniable, too. You couldn't easily stop a train, unless it wanted to stop itself (giving the train agency here, but you understand what I mean). They represent ordered grace, militaristic in clean lines of gray and chrome. Not low and rounded like the subway cars; broad and tall, noble, with long miles to go before they'll sleep in rail yards in Woburn, Melrose, Fitchburg, and Lowell. The engine's thrum and steel wheels bumping over rails accrete into a heartbeat that the train has. Long, low, falling-away note of the horn gives finality to the journey, like the trip a president's body takes home by rail. Sometimes the train will shudder, shivering, maybe in the icy damp. We spend so much time with it, we'd hope to consider it a friend.

Thursday, January 27, 2011

Floating around in my head

*Charm offensive
*Deadly chimpanzee
*Teetotaling in the New Year
*Buzz Bissinger words
*Cover-up letter
*Providential protectorate
*Airborne toxic event
*Jack glad-hand
*The mark of a snow-blower

Tuesday, January 25, 2011


-It's been a while since the last slightly lazy bullet-point post.

-Letters could be a really productive way of advancing my writing. If nothing else, they provide plenty of practice. Also, nearly every good writer wrote good letters. Also, they still feel special to write and send, and pretty sure it makes people feel special to receive them.

-Question: do I write best on trains, or is it more that I write only on trains?

-Trains are collectively a monolith. They have ever been and always will be.

-Listen to Orwell on writing; he was very good at it.

-These very words may someday be worth their weight in gold, except that internet words can't have any literal weight, so it will have to be figurative.

-My instinct told me don't lay it on too thick. You want to say nice things, but that can be taken too far. I've made my point, that I'm a clever fellow, that I can reference Shakespeare and Bogart almost simultaneously. Don't push your luck.

-The person whose job it is to choose the style of bench at Central Square-Lynn.

-Invasion of personal communications by business communication modes.

-Todd Barry: genius. G-E-N-I-U-S.

Saturday, January 22, 2011

This is my favorite coffee cup in Medford

This is my favorite coffee cup in Medford. It has a narrow base that tapers outward to a wide mouth at the top. It has a stylized leaf inlaid on one side and is devoid of any design on the other. The inside of the cup is black. The outside is faux-aged stone-gray beige. It is almost never washed, and almost always contains coffee. It sits on a woven yarn coaster on my desk.

Monday, January 17, 2011

I Ate My Father-Pig

Imagine wrestling the Asian Black Bear. It is strangely human, and tries irresistibly to tousle your hair with its claws.

Saturday, January 15, 2011

Dens-Laps Re-Coded

-They drew first blank.
-Confusion rings when the duck flies over the glass.
-Let's disgust this.
-The pits just keep on coming.
-Oh, I think Mosby's gonna be plain soon.
-That bowl is flaky.
-Brood, you love tree brinks.
-I have grew in the fiddle of the ice.
-Big heart, get to our flame here.
-Crawling rave by Noy-Verte.
-Burning their second flower play of the period.
-Tike Wean looks to the heavens.
-Pour but.
-Is when me lathe it away at the hew line.
-We will give us cheesy buns on the get.
-Laughter the mop of the puck.
-Pat sings the iron.
-Crumb the league office din Toronto.
-We can never tell if this buck completely flosses the toll line.
-Huck grew.
-I'm milling blue hoe up to fifty.
-If the Russian gores fear, he ends the maim.
-Fooling to stay hero.
-Won't flurry about mitt.
-To fled further gown the bench.

Monday, January 10, 2011

Yet another short post about trains

-I am the pointed sweatshirt hood of the hardscrabble Lynn youth. Slightly starched, and improbably towering, I have become an entity unto myself, shark-like and telling of dozens of seamy dives and two-room tumbledown apartments I have seen, you haven't

-I am the train tunnel into Salem—dimly lit, always nightbound. Too ramshackle for the gleaming cookie-cutter housing complex not 100 yards away

-I am the shining water at Beverly, bright expanse, unfrozen, spared by brackishness. Boats bob, ready for pleasure or lobstering. See the mirror of the sun, with an orange sheen flashing flat across the wavelets