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.