Take your time

There's time to drink and time to sleep and time to watch TV. Time for games and time for whores and time for STD's. Time to pick your nose. Time to put things in your nose. Time to replace your nose or put your nose in someone else's business. Time for killing people and destruction in general. Time for squeezing things out of holes. Time for video games and comedy clubs and time to waste on blogs. What am I going to do with all my time?

Good Morning

My consciousness is pregnant
this hung over workday morning,
a spittoon for tornados,
updraft bitter bile
and downdraft bulbous waste.
Converging midst the supercell,
clouds bloat, refusing rain.
A trip to the fridge
follows a commanding piss.
Body dry, the imperative urge to shit
hijacks a coerced attempt to fry eggs.
Grapefruit sweat, vodka belch
skips back, Tivo time
tapping arrhythmias and
palpitations parade the life instinct rub
for the death instinct blues. A drizzle
dissolves the stroke from aquamarine
to water. From the pool, musings
swim, pageant-like to exit dripping
and bikinied.

one: though buried your locks still bind
two: I should have used a map
three: there were memorable conversations
innumerable: memory a shoebox full of milk

and me, biting sperm from my solar plexus, talking through sanding teeth to the man whose bridge has a verse but I, too, am verbose.

The Fluffy Pink Spirit of Valentine's Day

Yesterday, to celebrate Valentine's Day, I had my students bring in and read literature (poems, fiction, lyrics, etc.) concerning the many forms of love. The goal was to share and discuss and, hopefully, argue about the concept and, perhaps, the holiday created in its honor (even if it's mostly from love of money, but I'm not really that cynical). Anyhow, so one of my students brought to class some Romance novels and a genuine appreciation for them. I'm not going into every detail of the sublime hilarity that transpired, but I will give you the spoken golden nugget of the festivities. When, after spending a great deal of time laughing about every detail of one particular novel in which a woman falls in love with a wolf (everything about it was funny: the title, the plot, the writing, the author's pen name, and, especially, the cover. I could not have designed and created a genuinely funnier object if I spent years planning), my aforementioned champion of the Romance novel said, "It's got lots of symbolism. Like, if you love somebody you can't just leave them 'cause they're a wolf!" The moment was so beautiful, I almost cried. Instead, I am going to create yet another stupid list. This time of Romance novel concepts, compiling original titles, pen names, and plot summaries. I'll start the list below.

1) Saffron Night: All for a Human Kiss
The story is about a woman who gets into a fatal car accident. Her guardian angel looks into her beautiful dead face and prepares to escort her to heaven when he realizes that he is in love with her. Conflicted, he ponders what to do. If she is dead, then he can talk to her in accordance to heavenly law as it is forbidden for angels to speak with living humans. However, he knows the act of true love would be to bring her back to life even though it would then be forbidden for him to reveal himself to her. He chooses to resurrect her, knowing that he will have to face the consequences. Sure enough, after bringing her back to life, the Angel police (Internal Affairs Division) arrive to take the guardian angel to Heaven prison. Figuring, "Fuck it," he escapes and flies to earth to follow his heart. He assumes the form of a human and woos the woman.

This sums up the first five pages of the book. The other 300 are basically made up of sex scenes in different settings as the two lovers are constantly on the run from the Angel police. Oh yeah, and there'll be an especially long sex scene after he reveals his true identity to her and they accept the prospect of eternal damnation for a few years of bliss on this earth.

2) Paprika Jones: Court on Fire
This book will make no attempt to hide the fact that it is targeted at African-American women. The premise is simple and, as always, the plot will take a back seat to the abundant sex scenes. The protagonist is a successful sports agent. She is a workaholic and makes it a point to stay out of relationships in order to focus on work. As a result, she masturbates quite a bit and has numerous one night stands. After she sleeps with one of her clients, an extremely popular basketball star, she finds herself thinking and fantasizing about him constantly. However, she cannot let him interfere with her work and rues the fact that she let her defenses down and did something as unprofessional as bone a client. Also, she doesn't like that he is a player and does not trust his intentions. Eventually, she realizes that she too is a player and her mind is opened. There is some cheesy dialogue about "playing a game of one on one on the court of life" and they decide to enter a relationship.

Cheesy Movie Moments

OK, time to get creative. I'm gonna try and collect as many original Cheesy Movie Moments as I can. You'll probably get my inquiry about this soon and I'll post the results here. Awful puns and one-liners are a plus but not mandatory. Feel free to post them here as comments.

1) An astronaut movie: Two astronauts are left after a deadly explosion on a mission to save the earth from some impending doom. One astronaut panics, and balls up fetal to cry. The protagonist, a hard-nosed and courageous astronaut with a troubled past, says, "Dammit Fred, are you an Astro-NOT or an Astron-ARE?!?!"

"Rough Rough" says the Dog

Lying parallel with the page,
horizontal gazes between wand strokes,
and for every poem I write,
this is the one,
and floating on the surface like
an orange seed in juice swallowed,
it winds toward expiration,
never excreted. Lingering
like an ectoplasmic scent, unedited,
through translucent numbers, unabridged.
It is the lazy man's poem.
It is my poem. The poem of the undedicated.
The anthem of ennui. The fruits of dry land.
The decay of salted muscle.
The poem that means something to no one.

The dogged parcels of my thoughts,
consolation trophy wise, trumping
constellations of certificates of participation,
agonize the burrows in my face, level
with the ground in ways that count.
I want to birth a monument for you,
ablaze, enduring, but want.
I cannot scoop this mudslide with
my spoon. I have small words and inertia.
May they gain momentum and drive forth
the chameloened words.

Honesty

Apparently, honesty is the order of the day, even in light of things like manners, consideration, and tact, so I am going to be honest.

First of all, I am becoming increasingly more annoyed with people using their so-called expertise (citing their credentials) when trying to impose their opinions on me. Scenario: if, at my own birthday party I feel compelled to listen to a particular album while I get my drink on, let me fucking have it. Here's a newsflash: being in school to get a degree in music and/or taking .music theory classes does not mean your opinion of music is more informed or valid than mine. If you truly believe this then you should only watch the movies that Roger Ebert recommends. After all, he is the most qualified man in the country as far as film criticism is concerned. Now, I am an Ebert fan. I read his reviews on a weekly basis and have missed him since he begun his convalescence. However, I don't always agree with him. As a matter of fact, I have often strongly disagreed with him. The point is, taste is subjective. Whenever you unabashedly insult someone's taste (yes, especially even as a guest in said person's house on the day said person is sending off the most miserable year of his life), you can't try to pull rank by citing your profound knowledge of music. If you do, you forfeit all rights to expressing your opinions concerning literature around me unless you have a Ph. D or unless your Master's degree is from a more prestigious university and your grades were significantly better than mine. DO YOU SEE HOW FUCKING RIDICULOUS THIS IS? But I haven't gotten all the sarcasm out yet. After all, isn't music at least half about the lyrics, the written, VERBAL message? If that's the case then Denise and I were the two most qualified music critics in the fucking room because our Master's degrees in literature trump the degrees in process and the occasional music theory class that were vocalizing the law on Saturday.

Other observations from which I will create general laws:
1) Don't blindly follow your girlfriend/boyfriend's lead. Be an individual.
2) Don't get pissed off at your friends for telling you when you are out of line.
3) Take a good, long look at yourself before you point that goddamn finger.
4) Appreciate patient people. Do not take advantage of them.

Sorry if I've made anyone uncomfortable but I'm not into the whole passive aggressive thing. Plus, Newton was on to something with that Third Law. To every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.

Eulogy

I hope I don't offend anyone with this, but I feel compelled to say that when you write "In Loving Memory Of..." on your car or truck with stickers, it means literally that the vehicle in question is a tribute in locomotion to the memory of a human being. While I know that there are probably some kids out there who thinks it's romantic or tragic to have lost a loved one, I am going to be a humanitarian and give the majority of said sticker eulogizers the benefit of the doubt. I do believe that these people hurt and wish to somehow "sweep the chimney," but it just weirds me out that someone would dedicate a car. I mean, if you accomplish a great deed, or give to charity, or otherwise positively influence the world in tribute to a formerly living person, well, that's something else altogether. Maybe it's some kind of confessional drive. I don't quite understand it. I saw a huge banner today on a delivery truck. One of those big polluting trucks that deliver the jugs of water to businesses. Please, if I die young (and I've noticed that most of the said eulogized usually do) do not dedicate a car to me. Unless it's a really fucking amazing car. And then you have to make sure you get freaky on the hood...in my memory.

One of those random surveys that Abel and Jesse like so much

Prologue

1. Where did you take your default pic?
I don't have one. To be honest, I'd rather be on the viewfinder end of the camera.

2. What exactly are you wearing right now?
If you must know, jeans and NWSA polo because I am at work. Otherwise, my response would be similar to Abel's. I find clothes oppressive.

3. What is your current problem?
Ha!

4. What makes you most happy?
It's lame to try to always try to find the "most," "least," "worst," "best" of everything. A lot of things make me happy and unhappy. Be more specific next time and you might get an answer.

5. What's the name of the song that you're listening to?
Again, you are assuming I'm listening to music right now. If that were the case, it'd be something like "Paper Rustling as Students Puzzle Over Essays." I don't know. I've been listening to a lot of Destroyer lately.


6. Do you ever watch MTV?
Not if I have another option, like kicking myself in the nuts.


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Chapter 1:

1. Middle name:
Not Applicable.

2. Nickname(s):
Besides the obvious two, Abel calls me Phoenix and Melissa calls me Mint Julep. Everyone else pretty much employs the standard.

3. Current location:
Planet Earth

4. Eye color:
Currently under debate. The leading candidates are green, blue, and blue-green.

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Chapter 2:

1. Do you live with your parents?
In the sense that they are alive and so am I. We do not, however, share a residence.

2. Do you get along with your parent(s)?
Very well.

3. Are your parents married/separated/divorced?
Married.

4. Do you have any Siblings?:
Older brother and younger sister (plus a few random pets).
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Chapter 3: Favorite...

1. Ice Cream:
Something with chocolate in it.


2. Season:
Winter, but not this fake-ass Miami winter.

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Chapter 4: Do You..

1. Write on your hand:
Only when I want to remind myself to do something.

2.Call people back?
Almost always.

3. Believe in love?
Of course.

4. Sleep on a certain side of the bed?
The left side. Been mine for years. If I'm not sharing it, I like to go diagonal.

5. Have any bad habits?
Breathing, thinking.

6. Any mental health issues?
You should see my file. It's a fat one.

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Chapter 5: Have You...

1. Broken a bone:
Never.

2. Sprained stuff:
Frequently.

3. Had physical therapy?:
No.

4. Gotten stitches:
Nine so far. Six on my forehead and three under my right eye.

5. Taken painkillers?
Excedrin's great for headaches. Body aches: Ibuprofin.


6. Gone SCUBA diving or snorkeling:
You can keep it. I have an aversion to sharks. I'd rather be on the beach with a drink.

7. Been stung by a bee:
Who hasn't?

8. Thrown up at the dentist:
Does this really happen?

9. Sworn in front of your parents:
Who hasn't?

10. Had detention:
Yep.

11. Been sent to the principal's office:
Yep.

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Chapter 6: Who/What was the last


1. Movie(s):
The Illusionist.

2. Person to text you?:
Let me check. Jesse.

3. Person you called:
My mom.

4. Person you hugged?
Denise.


5. Person you tackled?:
Don't remember.

6. Thing you touched?
The keyboard as I typed this.

7. Thing you ate?:
A salad. Yeah, exciting, I know.

8. Thing you drank?
Water. More excitement. Ask better questions.

9. Thing you said?:
I'm not done saying things.

Leftist

Saw two good movies this weekend: Crank and The Illusionist. It's funny seeing them in the same sentence because they are really very different. Nonetheless, there are some fundamental similarities. I guess that's our lot: to be predictable in our pursuit of satisfaction. Unfortunately, I'm like Mick, or at least how Mick claims to be because he seems to do pretty well for himself. Random thoughts: I think I'd like to get a campaign going to renew the integrity of the passing lane. She's been whored around way too much by Mr. But-My-Exit'll-Be-On-The-Left-In-Ten- Miles and Ms. I-Don't-Like-Having-A-Car-In-Front-Of-Me-Even-Though-I'm-Going-The-Same- Speed-as-Said-Car. It seems like most people don't even know what a passing lane is. Let's put an end to Left Lane abuse. And another thing: someone tell me who lied to everyone and told them that a slight drizzle can make your car spin out uncontrollably, so you should drive 5 mph on the highway. Point him out to me and I'll send Jesse to hit him in the nuts. And what the fuck is so interesting about that cop giving that driver a ticket. Goddamn rubberneckers. Anyhow, getting whacked in the nuts hurts and I'm going to make it a point to never let it happen again (mental note: wear a cup next time you go drinking with the Slow Turn). Oh, one more thing. This keyboard is broken and some letters (especially c, v, m, and x) don't work periodically until I whack the key repeatedly for a few enraged seconds. I sometimes give up and copy/paste the letters I need but this blog interface doesn't let me do that. This blog, for example, took me like 20 minutes to write as a result. One last interesting observation (to me at least) this blog's spellcheck doesn't have the word "blog" in its database.