When I was younger I had a skewed idea; if you wanted to really hurt someone, you went after their heart. I was a sweet kid. I used to sing into my radio. It had a record button. I dated this girl Samantha F******. She asked me one day if she could hear me sing. It was probably the first time I shared something that personal with anyone. I gave her the tape. We happened to break up. I forgot about the tape. She did not. I must have done something to upset her, cause I come in to Continue reading The Tape
Monthly Archives: January 2013
Three
A cafe. A couple sits at a table.
W: But that’s just it—how can we break away from what’s established if we don’t undermine the powers that teach?
M: But to what end?
W: We’re looking for a beginning not an end.
M: We can’t bite the hand that feeds. It isn’t right.
W: I’m curious as to what you think. I’m curious to hear how you’re mind works.
M: We must bolster the one’s in power.
W: I hear what you’re saying.
M: Engage them in conversation.
W: Which is what we Continue reading Three
Five Year Old Poem
Relaxing in the sun;
Not having friends [is bad].
Make sandcastles,
Surf in the water.
(A poem by my five year old son)
The Girl Who Ate Green Beans
The girl who ate green beans
As you can see
Is having a minor catastrophe.
Her major complaint is the sun in the sky is too far.
Too far?
Too far, she screams: irate and immobile.
Her fury an anchor—no smile to detect.
In fact, she thought, as she scarfed
down an apple, which brought up a minor cacophony.
Which took her through an alley Continue reading The Girl Who Ate Green Beans
Again (you)
In a series of attempts to record all strains of behavior…
I accidentally shot you in the eye with one of your nerf guns and after hugging, kissing, and crying, I asked if you needed to go to the hospital, and you said yes. I asked if you saw blurry and you said yes. I showed fingers and asked you to say what you saw, and you said the wrong Continue reading Again (you)
Jeff: a story
When I was in the third grade, Jeff was the poor kid. I’m not sure why I start off that way, because it seems that I’m implying we had another poor kid in the fourth grade, which is not true—I had just changed schools. Jeff could have very well still Continue reading Jeff: a story
She’s Still Alive
My mother used to embarrass my brother and I when we were kids—just by being loud, or provocative, or just being herself. When she passed away, my brother was really broken up about it—we were sitting on the couch, in our house in Florida. We were on the back patio, which was really beautiful—enclosed with french doors—that looked out onto the ficus tree and lake: (which had alligators, Continue reading She’s Still Alive
Is this Paris?
So take me down to Paris then,
Take me to the corner.
Green can meet and blush;
All the secrets kept can rush out while we eat.
Oysters and spice,
Won’t it be great?
We’ll know the maitre d and wife,
Won’t it be great!
We’ll have our favorite seats, Continue reading Is this Paris?
Tea
My Citrus tea tastes statistically like Earl Grey. Though this doesn’t mean I won’t drink it; it does mean I can’t with clear conscience offer it at a cocktail party. I could, however, offer it to a friend who may (or may not), have recently smoked pot, and during the ‘come down’ phase. I think that would be acceptable—statistically.
Structured Daydreams 