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A clumsy circle of teenagers,
all sweatshirts and tissues,
stand around a nondescript altar
in an unremarkable church
offering one word prayers for the dead.
Muffled sobs drift through the air
like church candle smoke.
Girls weep into each other’s arms.
Boys glance awkwardly around,
unsure of where they should look
or how they should grieve.
An insincere priest offers words of comfort;
platitudes I would usually roll my eyes at.
But today I stand, head bowed,
blinking back tears,
praying to a god I’m not sure exists,
wishing that I could really believe.
Our father who art in heaven…
What is it about carnivals that brings out the the dregs of society? Is it the fried food? The flat tepid beer? The spinny flippy vomity rides? Maybe it’s the bad cover band singing a poor rendition of “Friends in Low Places.” What makes these mutants crawl out of their hovels and congregate on church grounds? And these aren’t X-Men mutants with cool superpowers. Their only powers are doing meth and having ignorant children. So it was a joy to behold when these stumbling and otherwise ridiculously stupid people tried to do the basic math required to purchase food tickets.
I had a student in my class who failed almost every semester for the last two years. Needless to say, he was going to be retained. I met with dad several times, once in January telling him exactly what his son needed to do to pass. Cut to semester’s end…dad didn’t make him do anything. Also, apparently I “hate” his son, “have no compassion” and “set him up to fail.” By “set him up” he means I assigned work during the school year. So he withdrew his son and put him in public school, where they will pass him.
Here’s the thing about how albino white trash argue: They latch on to a few ideas, barely retaining them in the area of their brain between NASCAR standings and Jeff Foxworthy jokes, and they use those repeatedly, even when clearly refuted.
I can’t believe you took off 100 points because it was a day late.
He had over one month to do that assignment.
My son shouldn’t be failing because of that.
He’s not. He’s failing because he failed every reading quiz, vocabulary test, and missed 14 homework assignments.
It was only one day late.
A group of Thai
Slap down playing cards
Between sweaty, only-ice cups
Punctuating shuffles with high-pitched winding vowels
A black man with dreadlocks
Surfs a well-stickered laptop
Giving pounds to a late arriving midnight revolutionary
Two teen clichés
Dressed a little too scantily for Monday night
Slouch-order monster ice cream coffee milkshakes
A rock-t’d hipster
Grabs a complicated juice
And returns to her giggling-cool friends
To talk boys and boys
I sit at a little pre-fab corporate comfy table
Three empty chairs brooding apathetically askew
Under a too bright halogen spotlight
I’m on display at some boring museum-zoo
A Plethora of Haiku
Spring slender palm trees
bow in the wind like ancient
Mighty blood-stained swords
rust in ancient battlefields-
grass grows over them
A battered child
sits alone in her small room
singing to herself
Silent white birds skim
across the surface of the
frozen black glass lake
Willow branches scrape
against my dirty window
The front door slams shut
Fragile snowflakes melt
on my dirty windowsill-
lonely crystal ghosts
After you walked out
I watched a little black fly
crawl across my window
They found him strangled
face-down in an alley-
his teddy bear watched
Additional Haiku Added to My Previous Plethora of Haiku
The only part of
us I miss is the silence
I wish I had your
love back -- or all the CD’s
I left in your car
Dented trash cans stand
proud in dark, piss-stained alleys
guarding broken dreams
Bare trees claw at the
blue sky, drowning in winter
gasping for spring air
dye their bright yellow stripes black
and get weird bee bangs
Human blood drips from
fangs – no one ever suspects
the koala bear
Pink cherry blossoms
flutter by like butterflies –
one kisses her cheek
People always say that if they were invisible they would rob a bank. But only
would be invisible. Wouldn’t the general public and security guards and bank patrons and security cameras see bags of money floating out the front door? And I contend if people saw bags of money (with dollar signs on them, as per bank policy) they would dive on said bags and immediately begin grabbing wads of bills. Things you touch while invisible, don’t turn invisible people! Use your heads! So you can take that off your list and masturbate in public like you really want.
The internet makes it possible for people all around the planet to share ideas and art instantaneously and without barriers. Never before in earth’s history has information been so readily available. Never before have people been so close. The only problem that arises is that people have nothing important to say. How can such a globally vital tool be so underutilized by everyone. When we should be changing the world and bringing people together we are discussing the comedic merits of the latest Adam Sandler movie or downloading pictures of coked out teen movie stars. Can’t we actually do something?
You know what sucks?
People who don’t read
People who don’t write
Service at Wal-Mart
Paying for books
Not finding anything at the video store
Losing at Monopoly
Winning at Russian roulette
The color teal
Broken air conditioners
People who really like rap
$20 movie popcorn combos
People who just don’t get it
Cell phone reception
Not being able to grow a beard
The state of Kentucky
and again Carlos Mencia
You know what’s awesome?
Old school rap
Really big sandwiches
People who get sarcasm
Star Wars movies
New York City at night
The bonus onion ring in the French fries
Buy one get one free
Late night coffee
Buffy the Vampire Slayer
24 hour fast food
Afternoons with nothing to do
Comic book conventions
Having something to say
The Food Network
I love your fuckin’ guts.
Yea you heard what I fuckin’ said
You wonderful, beautiful, piece of heaven
If I ever get the chance
So help me God
You better fuckin’ run
Because I’m gonna massage you
With my fuckin’ bare hands
I am gonna admire the life out of ya
Don’t think I’m joking
Because I will kiss your butt
I will compliment and flatter you
Right in your fuckin’ face
So next time we meet
You better cross the fuckin street
To the flower shop
So I can buy you a bouquet
Because I love your fuckin’ guts
Another open letter to Carlos Mencia
I recently saw a commercial for your brand new season of Mind of Mencia. I must say I thought it was great. In it you look very menacing and throw a microphone right at me! Shattering an unseen fourth wall pane of glass. Very metaphorical and I applaud you in your attempt to shatter the boundaries of plagiarism. And by throwing the mic right at me I feel the immediacy of really needing to be lobotomized with tired hackneyed rehashes of better comedian’s clever jokes. So again, I beg. Please kill yourself.
Someone asked me which I thought was scarier: zombies or vampires. I pondered and I think I have to say zombies.
First of all is just sheer numbers. There are never really any hordes of vampires. No legions. No murderous mobs. There’s usually only a few and they’re wearing frilly period piece costumes. And if I can’t take a bloodthirsty 18th century dandy in a fight, how can I expect to ward off a wave of zombies?
Secondly vampires always sleep at night. So why not just kill them then? Zombies are awake all the time! They’re like crack heads.
Everyone’s unique. Everyone’s individual. Everyone’s one of a kind. And no matter how much we all rail against conformity and being like everyone else, we all fall into the same ridiculous patterns. We make bad decisions just like our family. That thing in our past we swore we’d never ever do again, we repeat it without hesitation a few short months later. That loser we chastise and ridicule, we do what they do. We become them. Why cant we step outside ourselves and see these stupid patterns? Why cant we see what we’re doing is everything we swore we wouldn’t?
Mr. Johnson stared at Jack. “It’s not that you’re not talented son. I know you’re a great kid. I just don’t think we have a position for you here. Right now anyway, who knows? Something may open up.”
“But I don’t understand I’ve worked at this pool for years. Every summer since--“
“Look son, lifeguards have to maintain a certain level of fitness, and I just don’t think--“
“Stop,” Jack interrupted. Cut to the chase, it’s because I’m a zombie and half of my face is crushed in and rotting isn’t it?”
“Yes.” And Mr. Johnson threw up.
Iago cowered in his muddy bunker and took out his last tattered piece of parchment. He plucked a feather from his wing and wrote:
I do not know if I shall ever see you again. Tomorrow we storm the gates of heaven. Even as I see it written here, I cannot believe it. Our forces are strong and some even believe we shall be successful. I hope for our sake we are. I love you.
Iago folded the parchment, kissed it, and watched it sail across the battlefield towards the celestial city he once called home.
I don’t understand people’s obsession with taking photos of things. After the Eddie Izzard show tonight, he came to the lobby to answer questions. There was a girl in front of me who was straining and bending and stretching to get a picture of him. She’d snap a picture, check it, see it didn’t turn out, and snap another. This went on for the whole time he was out there. It’s his job to speak interestingly and she couldn’t have heard anything he said. She’s not in the photo with him, so I don’t get it. Why take crappy pictures?
Last night at the Eddie Izzard concert, I was witness to the sheer stupidity of the human species. One girl was trying to take photo after photo of Eddie Izzard on her digital camera. Not one was turning out because 1) it was way too dark, and 2) her flash couldn’t make it to him and back to the camera. But she tried over and over. Did she think her sheer will of wanting a camera would overcome the physics of photon particles? The flash will never make it back to you! Ever! It just wont! But keep tryin’ baby.
Give me the good shit preacher man
Show me how to take a hit preacher man
Tie that strap around preacher man
I wanna learn how to get down preacher man
Break open my vein preacher man
I don’t wanna feel the pain preacher man
Pump that stuff preacher man
You know I like it rough preacher man
I can feel it burn preacher man
I want another turn preacher man
I think I’m gettin’ high preacher man
I think I’m gonna die preacher man
And you won’t hear a sound preacher man
When they put me in the ground…
The recent discovery of ice on Mars has blown my fucking mind. What if they find some kind of living organism there? It would be the biggest discovery of our time. The Vatican would have to call an audible and start making some new shit up about how our planet is the only one with life. I can’t wait to hear that. It’s always so awesome when they have to ad lib explanations when actual science and hard facts steps on their fantasy stories and tall tales. How is anyone still buying into that shit? THAT really blows my mind.
Live your life like you’re a comic book character in the 40’s. All primary colors and rough lines. Wake up pretending that today was going to be nothing special even though you know deep down you were going to have an adventure. Narrate everything you do, while you’re doing it, like it just occurred to you. Wear something else under your clothes. Fly. Sneak off and do something special and come back to have your friends ridicule you for never being around when something amazing happens. Make people want to say “oh” followed by your name, all swooning and grateful.
I say I’m into art
so people will think I’m deep
I say I’m into books
so people will think I’m well-read
I say I’m into wine
so people will think I have a palette
I say I’m into cheese
so people will think I’m a gourmand
I say I’m into opera
so people will think I’m cultured
I say I’m into politics
so people will think I’m informed
I say I’m into traveling
so people will think I’m worldly
I say a lot
So people will think I’m better than I am
Because what I am is very little
I think the term "falling in love" came about because love is akin to falling through some random hole in the ground that turns out to be some weird space portal that takes you to alternate reality where everything is fucked up and everything you look at seems so much better than the world you just left. It’s a world where some repugnant, gypsy cunt from the third world, who normally would be the exact kind of skank you would rail against as a piece of shit, looks like the dream girl that you’ve been waiting your whole life for.
I don’t understand why we as a country, supposedly the best on earth, filled with morbid obesity, lack of healthcare, a ridiculous educational system and horrible environmental standards continue to use our tax dollars to fund baseball stadiums so a group of brain dead, ‘roided up, otherwise completely unemployable prima donnas can play a children’s game in the middle of the afternoon. We still have soldiers in Iraq and Afghanistan. Anyone remember this? But we’re wiling to forget about it as long as we can watch other people hit a ball with a stick and run around in a circle?
My friends have tried to explain to me the appeal of professional sports but I just do not get it. “It’s about having pride in your city and their team.” But our teams have no players from our city. Some company paid for them to come and play games in our city so we can watch them. I’m supposed to cheer for some huge corporation just because they have a branch in my hometown? Am I supposed to cheer if Wendy’s beats Burger King in the third financial quarter? Or if Wachovia out-earns Bank of America? Who gives a shit?
I see it. You see it. We all see it. Come on, we all see it don’t we? Of course we see it, it’s a huge elephant in the middle of this little room. How could we not see it? But no? We’re not going to talk about it? We’re going to make chit chat, exchange pleasantries, carry on as usual? As if this gigantic elephant is not sitting right here in front of all of us? Ok then. Let’s talk about the weather. It was hot today. Very hot indeed. Yea it rained here a little. Not too much.
Maybe instead of spending all our time plugged into our iPods and fiddling with our iPhones some tech-savvy wunderkind could start drawing up specs for an iBeauty, a little device with an alarm that would beep at random times to remind you to stop really enjoy the things around you. Or the iNow, a little contraption that could compile and erase everything in your future so you fully live in this moment. Or the iConnect which would supply you with instant access to genuine interest, to let you develop real meaningful relationships with people and instead of vapid binary ones.
He slumped in the booth and unscrewed the light bulb above it. The cold steel from the briefcase handcuff bit into his pale skin. He had blood on his shirt, lipstick on his collar (amongst other places), his nose was broken, he chipped a fang and he had a human finger sticking out of his lapel pocket where a crisply-folded royal blue silk handkerchief had been (he gave it to the guy to stop the bleeding, a sick joke of course). When his no-ice scotch arrived, he dropped the finger in, smiled and raised his glass, “Happy Birthday to me.”
Ok so I can’t think of anything to write so this is my cop out entry in which I use 100 words to overly explain the fact that I just can’t think of anything interesting or cool or witty to write. I know I shouldn’t do it but nothing will come. I feel guilty, but what can I do. I gad some ideas. I was going to write about Mars, because it’s a current interest. I’ve written enough about that gypsy bitch in the next building. I ate pro sports, yada yada. Next time will be better I promise! Done.
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