Thursday, August 7, 2008


My ultimate fear is that I will fall into the mundane, regimented life that is every American's destiny. I suppose it is, at the very least, a slight blow to the pride of any adult, male human, but imminent nonetheless. Once we started living for pleasure instead of necessity, it became unavoidable. But I often wonder if even neanderthal man experienced, to a certain degree, the same feeling. Did he fear living in the same cave or region his whole life? Did he wonder what life would be like with a different female? Did he hate the fact that after hunting, building fires and skinning bison, he had no time to relax?
Men were created to be strong, agile, violent and aggressive. Men were not created to sit in an office, or classroom, or stay home with kids. By no means do I feel as though I can't, shouldn't, or don't want to, but it often feels unnatural, foreign and alien. So I strive to be adventurous in my daily tasks; running the occasional red light or exchanging socially non-acceptable words with a fellow man for a cheap thrill. But it leaves me with that same sense of unfulfilled emptiness and desire. This desire which is only partially curved by the smell of a campfire, or the feel of three days worth of growth on my face. I look at my muscles and watch them slowly fade into my frame, swapping residency with fat and cellulite. I have not been true to myself or nature in this life, and can only hope that one day I will feel my heart pump adrenaline in support of the defense my territory or family. I wait for this day with patience as I eat another cheesy poof.

Bread Pudding



Bread Pudding, Bread Pudding,
you ambiguous rascal you,
claiming to be bread
and of the pudding family too,
when in actuality
you are neither of the two.

Your following is cult-like,
with few devoted fans
hoarding your deliciousness,
for no one understands
that your blatant lack of texture
is what makes you so grand.

You are cinnamon and raisin,
you are bread with crust attached,
you are swirls of mushy goodness
that simply can't be matched
providing satisfaction
batch after batch after batch.

Wednesday, August 6, 2008

Nirvana

His shirt is unbuttoned
his feet are bare
His mustache is still military regulation
has been for years.
He drags on a cigarette
holds a bottle of beer
while Connie Francis wails from
the kitchen of his yellow
trailer.
There are stains on his slacks
on his walls
his fingers
the floor.
Stains everywhere
ugly browns and greys
sticky and oily and
smelly
Many times he sat
in this very chair-
wanting
wanting
wanting
a friend
another cigarette
a cat
or one more bottle
of anything.
For years he wanted
more
than this.
More than disappointment
failure,
overdrawn accounts,
foreclosures,
parking tickets,
custody battles,
two week notices,
wives,
girlfriends,
restraining orders,
cuts
bruises
lottery tickets
and lunch meat sandwiches.
He is tired of wanting
and tonight
he will be
happy.

Monday, August 4, 2008

Math, God and Doughnuts


If I have an object which humans refer to as a doughnut and I place it next to a similiar object which humans refer to as a doughnut, then I have objects (plural) which humans refer to as doughnuts (plural). Thats all. We could leave it at that. No matter how many objects which humans refer to as doughnuts are involved, there are still just doughnuts (plural). But humans, being the evolved, higher level thinking creatures we are, took it one step further. "Let's label and organize." we said, like a new girlfriend says of a precious record collection after three days of living in your dingy apartment. "Let's say if you have this many, it is called ONE. If there is another doughnut involved, lets call it TWO." And it went like this, until it spiraled out of control, eventually expanding into a ridiculously complex concept of infinite possibilities.
But math only exists in the mind. There are never TWO doughnuts or SEVEN doughnuts, or X doughnuts + doughnuts squared - doughnuts divided by doughnuts. There is simply flour and water and a little yeast, formed into a shape similiar to the moon with a hole in the center (names of shapes are man made too, so I can't say CIRCLE)
and some starches and a whole bunch of oil. There are SOME doughnuts. Simply put, numbers have been assigned for our convenience.
But here's what boggles my mind. This system we have created which is math,as fake as it is, simply works. It is the only man made concept which has been proven to work every single time, in any combination, for anyone who applies it correctly (which unfortunately discludes me). If you don't believe me, try to make 2+2 equal anything other than 4. Why couldn't we get Pythagoras or Newton to come up with a health care plan while he was at it? Maybe some foreign policy? If anything, anything, anything, worked with the consistency of math, we would second guess it as actually being man made.
So for as much as I hate math, I am also in awe of math. I respect math. It teeters on the edge of being God-esque. It is omnipresent, omniscient, infinite, intangible, and ironically enough, also man made...like doughnuts.

Saturday, August 2, 2008

My Routine

I get up
I take a shower
I take my son to school
I talk to my son's teacher
I like her
I drive to Starbucks
I hate Starbucks
I love coffee
I go to spanish class
I don't like spanish
I sit outside
I watch people
I don't like people
I write a little
I smoke a cigarette
I go to algebra class
I have no interest
I leave early
I go home
I clean the house
I mess the house
I fix supper
I hate that it takes an hour
I eat supper
I hate that it takes eight minutes
I skip dishes
I write a little
I put the kids to bed
I write a little
I go to bed
I wake up
I take a shower...

A Rarity

I see them and hear them
every second of every day.
they surround me
at the grocery store
and the gas station
spewing ashy grey words
and reeking of mediocrity
at best.
what nice weather we're having
the traffic is terrible
have you lost weight?
long time no see
who did the braves trade?
oh these gas prices
and it goes on
and on and on
and on until each one
becomes another and
their faces are like
humming chicken eggs.
some are brown and some
are big and some are extra large
grade A
but they all have the same goo
inside
and their humming is one off key
vibration giving me a life long
headache.
But every once in a while
I see a face
hear a face
and it speaks
a language I understand.
Every once in a while
the humming stops
and the eggs all go away
and I can communicate
with someone
using words
and thoughts.
Every once in a while.

Friday, August 1, 2008

Why?


To signify the piercing pain it took to push through math.
To represent duality of who I am inside, and what people see on the outside.
To prove to my students I am dedicated, stupid, and spontaneous.
Because I don't understand it.
Because I didn't think it through, and made a hasty decision.
To pass my final.
Because, at heart, I'm an idiot.

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