Pretending to Think

Bad Omen Snowmen

2011-07-18T00:33:00.001-05:00

Bad Omen Snowmen

I know Snowmen are Satanic
Crooked carrot noses
Stick hands
Beady black eyes
They hide their Devil horns
Under their Abe Lincoln hats
Across the street one stares at me
Plotting

I know he will bring a legion of his demon buddies
And make a Pentagram of snowballs
On my driveway.
Last year I preemptively protected myself
With a flamethrower
Now the neighbor kid has a restraining order
So I sit in my screened in porch
Watching

I know that the priest who was in line at the bank
Disagrees with my theology
So I disagreed with his face
Hard. With my fist.
Later I fell asleep in my adirondack chair
When I woke up the number of the beast
Was frosted on my window
There is only one suspect.

I know that everyone thinks I am crazy
But they are wrong
Beelzebub is crazy
Rolling up snow shaped people
That is the crazy
Not letting a Veteran of America's Foreign Wars
Use his own mother f---ing flamethrower
From his own mother f---ing screened in porch
That is crazy

Royals Authority Story Contest

2011-06-28T09:48:00.003-05:00

Today I won a writing contest over at Royals Authority.

A Royal Holiday
There is a holiday that is much more sacred to me than the one America uses to buy ties for the people they disappoint. On this day each spring there is a solstice inside my soul that summons forth the summer. That highest of holy days is none other than Royals Opening Day.

As a nerdy non-athlete who made excel spreadsheets containing the batting averages of others, I had very little time to devote to actually playing baseball. Even watching baseball was rare because cable was for rich people and we were off brand cereal folk. I was a preteen anachronism, a kid growing up in the early nineties thinking that Baseball was only to be listened to. My secret lullaby each night was Denny Mathews and Fred White (along with producer/engineer Don Free), but beyond my imagination I hardly ever saw the game.

Read the whole Essay here

The Ballad of Brandon Loving: An Adventurer

2011-01-05T11:57:00.004-06:00

Prologue

On a starless night our story begins
A tale of conquering evil to win
Back the honor of a virtuous maiden
Enter Adventurer Loving, Brandon

Part I

Carrying paint, paintbrush, and sword
He slashed through the forest looking toward
The square bear lair, beyond the horizon
There he’ll avenge her. Tonight he will fight him.

The Square Bear had stolen a personal portrait
That Brandon painted of his love in a corset
The maiden, embarrassed, sat a home in her castle
While Brandon set out to de-square that asshole

He entered the quadrilateral’s lair
And called out deep into the cave of the bear
“Come forth and fight me you hideous beast
I am planning on having a bear rump roast feast”

But no sound occurred so the brave one named Brandon
Donned his head flashlight and went deeper within
Sword drawn, he walked and then stopped to admire
The wall art of cavemen dancing around a fire

He took out his paintbrush and started to paint
His own cave illustration, realistic yet quaint.
Then from behind him he heard a great roar
That shook the square lair right down to the floor

The hideous brown one clawed at his back
Knocking his sword from its sheath down a crack.
Unarmed the Adventurer turned back to face
The bear that possessed the painting he chased

Courageously Brandon leapt toward the art thief
He tackled and smothered the square one beneath
His own grizzly beard. The brown bear surrendered
And told the artist that the painting he’d rendered

Was “Sold to the Boat Goat a fortnight ago
And I’ll give you directions if you just let me go”
Reluctantly Brandon relinquished his beard
And learned that the Boat Goat lived rather near

Part II

In a flash he was off to seek his new foe
Bear blood in his teeth and in his beard-fro
Mr. Loving soon found the water he sought,
But the Goat Moat flowed swiftly so quickly he thought

That in order to find this Boat Goat and his ship
He’d have to be willing to go for a dip.
Disrobing and holding his paintbrush in hand
Brandon dove into the Goat Moat from the land

Using his art supplies as a crude surf board
The Adventurer soon was moving toward
The Boat Goat in the Moat nimbly afloat
On a paintbrush shirtless with paint in tote

He came upon the vessel at the rear
And mounted it stealthily showing no fear
He stared into the eyes of the four-legged sailor
Who stood in the sun despite his fur’s pallor

“Looking for Adventure or Art?” the goat asked
“I’m Looking to kick some Moat Boat Goat Ass”
Screamed Brandon as he took the back of his paintbrush
And Impaled the pale one with righteous disgust

“Where is the painting I made of my maiden?”
The Goat softly whispered as Brandon laid him
Down on the deck, wrenching his weapon free
“I hid it away amongst the Sneeze Trees”

Part III

With those last words his foe was no more
But he was in the same place as before
He began again an adventurous journey
To find the painting of her who was worthy

The Sneeze Trees were located deep in the woods
And were known for strange storage of artistic goods
He knew he had found the place when on high
Mucus and spittle rained down in his eyes

He dug through the piles of discarded wares
Looking for a glimpse of his maiden fair
He found no other art like his photo realism
The Trees seemed to sneeze on Brandon’s idealism

Then under a bush between reprints of Dali
And a Thomas Kinkade light painting called “Polly”
The magical face of his beautiful bride
Untouched by the Sneeze Trees Mucus-y tide

Epilogue

Brandon protected the portrait and ran
Out of the Sneeze Trees and their horrible land.
He returned to the castle and to fair Emily
And they lived happy forever adventurously.

My Politics are Local

2010-11-30T22:08:00.003-06:00

My politics are local
I am the president of my couch
My dog is speaker of the house of it
My wife is my Karl Rove
(My Architect not my fat bald guy)

I am the former Senator of my toilet
I served two terms
I lost a re-election bid to the guest towel
He was all attack ads and malicious rumors
Regarding the alleged use of decorative soaps
He went on to pass some major legislation

I cut my political teeth in the kitchen
Where I was elected to the cutting board
There I learned the art of self compromise
An old refrigerator taught me
That all elected officials are corrupt
He took money from a mold problem

I went on to be mayor of the backyard
It was there I had my first taste of controversy
There was lawn-mower-gate
Then Gate-gate
The 24 hour news cycle loved that one
It eventually blew over
It is always that way in local politics

My wife helped me leverage that office
Into a Governorship of the recliner
We were really making a name for myself.

The rumors of a couch candidacy ran rampant
Soon after, I appointed myself
The toilet Senator, which was Her idea
A timely Elvis-style death left a vacancy
Rec Room conspiracy theorists think
She killed my predecessor
Because she did

All is fair in love and local politics they say
Rather she says they say this
I don't know them well

I am mostly a figure head
A lame duck
The Commander and Chief of the couch
Is much less important than it seems
My main concern is legacy building
I think I will put my library in the basement
It would really help the community

I know being a public servant
Is supposed to be its own reward
But as my dog told my wife
Local politics can be ruff

The Politics of Pudding

2010-10-20T18:29:00.001-05:00

Pure Fascism in its simplicity
A plain Reactionary dessert
Pirates, Mussolini and Cosby: all fans.
The topography of pudding when piled
Is preferred by insurgents
Perfect for nestling deep into,
Al-qaeda has a private lair in some.
A pilgrim more than a pluralist
Quakers enjoy the idea of pudding
But don’t make a practice of partaking.
Pudding prioritizes prison as punishment
Rather than as rehabilitation
Rehab is for pussies Pudding has been known to say.
Along with Minorities and Mormons
Pudding was pleased with Prop 8.
Marriage not being for pathetic pansies.
On immigration the snack believes
Arizona’s prerogative well within its purview
As a proponent of constitutional Originalism
It has been put in Scalia's sack lunches.
While Presbyterian on paper
Pudding is probably an atheist
Plato over Aristotle
Pimp over Prostitute
Punching over Peace
Power over People
Pudding - A poisonous Nazi Pleasure food.

Psalms 64:7

2010-10-11T15:12:00.001-05:00

“The human mind and heart are a mystery; but God will loose an arrow at them, and suddenly they will be wounded”

Psalms 64:7

The forest morning stood still from His stand

And it was good, He remembered.

Fervently he studied the mystery through the falling leaves

Was it good still?

In the distance the brush rustled slightly.

The quiver lightened as he armed the graceful weapon.

Thick callused wrists drew string past cheek.

His tired eyes took careful aim.

Silver tipped shadows broke into the stillness.

Her flesh tore perfectly about the chest; suddenly

Still. Good. Still.

I keep a revolution in my satchel

2010-03-17T21:37:00.003-05:00

I keep a revolution in my satchel
It’s small and bearded
Very Che Guvaray
I found it online
But they sell them at Urban Outfitters
It’s black and bespectacled
Very Malcom Xy
Yippied and Big-Nosed
Very Abbie Hoffmany
My revolution is gorgeous
Bite-sized and balding
Very Mao Tse Tsungy
It’s great for parties.
Blood red and Mustachioed
Very Joseph Staliny
Mysterious and Militant
Very Vladamir Leniny
All dreadlocked and doobied
Very Marcus Garveyy
While not televised
It has a killer iPhone app
Out of all the places to keep a revolution
I keep the power of the people in my purse

Insomuch Sandwich

2010-01-30T21:42:00.003-06:00

“I love you,” said a man to his sandwich. The fingerlessly gloved man, seated in the corner nook of a public library, spoke toward his bulging pants pocket. The secret felt warm and cheesy on his leg. Its smell wafted up from under the table. He had, moments before, completed a wall of reference books along the outside edge of the peanut shaped table. Some were casually opened, so as not to rouse too much suspicion from the librarians most of whom could be said to be less than sandwich friendly. To a passerby, he supposed he might appear as a tortured graduate student, one that happened to have cold hands, diligently and precociously seeking knowledge yet unknown to internet search engines. His plans being much more visceral than knowledge he thought this the perfect cover. He looked however much more like a balding drifter with a pocket full of something sandwich-shaped.

His eyes dilated. The moment was immanent. He reached the ungloved tips of his fingers into his hip pocket and carefully removed a smooshed but radiant beef on rye. Its onions were red and its tomatoes even more so. He set it softly on the fake oak covered table. The sandwich was as thick as the thighs of an Old West burlesque dancer. The mayonnaise could be seen exploding from a hole in the brown bread like an oily whipped egg volcano.

One of the open books caught his eye. It felt awkward that he should become distracted by these pages now. He had spent the morning casually going through the motions of constructing his cover, mentally fixated on his beefy future. With it inches from his lips he had lost concentration. “. . . Insomuch . . .” leaped from the page into his cerebral cortex, hurdled thoughts of the sandwich like an ex-Olympian shoplifting; that one word satiated his senses.

He turned away from the splayed knowledge container and toward the lust of his flesh. He felt exposed seeing it there on the tabletop. His pocket was empty and cold. The sandwich seemed different, less lusty somehow. Immediately his vision was overtaken by another book, “. . . insofar . . .” it read.

These words were as smooshed as any pocket roast beef on rye. It appeared to be a typo, a ménage a trios in print. He dug through his strewn reference books for a Collegiate Dictionary. He had used it for the foundation of his fortress. The man was careful to lay its closed spine faced out, feeling that the word collegiate fit nicely into his cover. As he slipped it out, the imitation leather binding brushed the moist skin of a tomato. He franticly flipped to the I’s disregarding his tabled totem.

There they were, authenticated. The shattered skeptic turned back to the tilting tower of cheesy, mayonnaisey meat, in existential crisis. Suddenly, in a mystical vision, he saw that the sandwich needed something more. Why not remove the spaces? WHYNOTREMOVEALLTHESPACES!?! Wasn’t that the mysterious joy of pocket sandwiches? The pleasure he received by pocketing was not just its convenience or its secrecy; what drove him to love was its smooshedness.

He lifted the huge dictionary high above his combed-over head and climbed up onto the corduroy cushioned seat. He wore the light fixture now like an upside down funnel hat. A primal scream shook dust from his hat. With the force of a rioter slinging rocks at the system, his naked fingers brought the entire English language down onto his beef on rye.

When the librarian tackled him, a tear tinged with mayonnaise ran down his check. A tear of joy. Spaceless joy.

Isaiah 11

2009-12-01T22:59:00.004-06:00

I've been playing outside ever since forever

I'm pretty good at it

And my mommy always says

"Don't go near that snake hole"

And I didn't. I never did.

But then

My Daddy said that ever since the stump of Jesse

Got a new branch on it,

It means little boys can play over there,

By the snake hole.

So I did it. I did it yesterday.

I'm pretty good at it.

Mr. Cobra and I are pretty much best buddies now.

He's a really good hugger.

We played tickle fight

And mustache

And he shared some of my ice cream cone.

I'm pretty glad about that stump branch.

Isaiah 11

Colorless Green Ideas Sleep Furiously

2009-11-27T12:05:00.002-06:00

I am taking a Linguistics class this semester and we were talking about syntactic clues in Language. We were given a sentence and asked what we could determine about it. I loved the sentence. Supposedly it is meaningless but I found it profound; poetic even. It inspired the following.

Colorless green ideas sleep furiously
In empty beds beneath the calmly florescent gazebo
Dreaming themselves blue faceless smiles
Mindless thinkers swimmingly still
Dawn quickly awaits.

I am no musician

2009-10-12T23:49:00.003-05:00

I am no musician

shouts a man into the night

angry as a trash can

filled by firelight

Stalin is his comrade

rhetoric his kite

lofty in the heavens

pandering and bright

I am no musician

crones a beatnik from the stage

empty like a row boat

leaky with old age

wisdom is his mentor

Solomon his sage

poisoning the future

from his current cage

I am no musician

pines a hero of the past

pretty as a widow

from a lowly caste

Gandhi is her savior

loneliness her fast

tying up her mourning

to a slave ship's mast

Let the Peace of Christ Rule in Your Hearts

2009-08-26T16:13:00.002-05:00

It is a Tuesday in my heart
Early November in an even year
And Peace is running
Like a river more than a candidate
Dripping with potential
He’s damned upstream but ready to be let.

It is Evening in my heart
On the West Coast polls just closed
And Peace is losing
Like a sunset more than a boxer
The darkness is imminent
His fiery shafts stretch as the purple pushes.

Democracy fails in my heart.
Fear of corruption grips the populace
And Peace is missing
Like a rainbow’s end more than a runaway
Ethereal and distant
He’ll return one day with Revolution

Reformation, I say

2009-08-08T23:53:00.002-05:00

I am all for Tort Reform

Those Bastards

All their unbridled torting

It is time, I say, for a reformation

Martin Luther (not the King) style

Can a cowboy get a 95 theses up in here?

And also Land Reform

I am all for that

(If one can be all for more than one thing)

Those Fascist Hippies

It is time for a reformation of the land, I say

Can a bus driver get his 40 acres and a mule?

Oh and Health Care Reform

That, I am all for

Those Greedy Dentists

I say socialize my medicine

Like a homeschooled girl at a reformation picnic

Can a doorman get a vaccination?

And also, Immigration Reform

All that, I am for

Those Apple Pie Haters

Ship them out, says I, reformation style

Castrate and excommunicate

Can a Calvinist get a green card neighbor?

Likewise with, Campaign Finance Reform

For that, am I, all

Those Scientists

Close the books and throw away the key

Into the depths of reformation hell, I say, I say

Can a cobbler get a corruption charge?

Finally, Welfare Reform

Am, for, that, all, I

Those Crocodile Sweaters

Take it all back and reform her

I say, row by row, I say, color coded, I say

Can a preacher get a reformation up in this piece?

Ridicualistic

2009-07-27T06:21:00.005-05:00

F___ realistic

I'm Ridicualistic

Pragmatic as a mystic

I'm Ridicualisitic

Like Manna's logistics

I'm Ridicualistic

Abrahamicly eccentric

I'm Ridicualisitc

Paradox is intrinsic

To Ridicualisitic

It's not about riches

It's Ridicualistic

Take privlege and risk it

You're Ridicualistic

Beyond Ritualistic

Get Ridicualistic

Spiritually artistic

Is Ridicualistic

Sillytheistic

So Ridicualisitc

Complexly simplistic

God's Ridicualistic?

(This is a sort of rap done by 13illy which is my rapping name inspired by church yesterday)

Poetry Gig Monday Night 9pm 18th and Oak

2009-07-05T16:55:00.006-05:00

Howdy Hey its time for more shameless self promotion

Come out and see me do some Silly Spoken Word tomorrow night at a new venue. It's free fun times and what else were you going to do on a Monday?

Where: scionLab @ 18th and Oak behind Grinders

When: 9pm Monday July 6th

What: Stress Free Monday's - Poetry Night

Cost : FREE!!!! (5 bones for a bottomless cup)

I'll be doing twenty minutes of silliness so bring your friends.

Karl Marx and Adam Smith at a Carnival

2009-06-30T14:12:00.003-05:00

Karl Marx wears linen pants

Adam Smith wears a sash

Both men wear moccasins

Because everyone likes moccasins

Karl Marx eats cotton candy

Adam Smith eats a candied apple on a stick

They share a funnel cake

Because everyone loves funnel cake

Karl Marx rides the carousel

Adam Smith rides the roller coaster

They both giggle as they rock their cart on the Ferris Wheel

Because everyone loves the Ferris Wheel

Karl Marx pays to kiss the bearded lady

Adam Smith pays to arm wrestle the strong man

They both sneak into the Siamese twin exhibit

Because everyone knows Siamese twins are just two liars taped together

Karl Marx plays Duck Pond

Adam Smith tries to knock down bottles

They both want to win the giant stuffed Panda

Because everyone wants a giant stuffed Panda

Karl Marx picks the wrong duck

Adam Smith misses all three bottles

They both lose

Because everyone loses at carnival games

Karl Marx uses the Johnny-On-The-Spot

Adam Smith vomits on a pigeon

Both men smile

Because everyone loves the carnival

The Monk and the Mathematician

2009-06-02T13:13:00.013-05:00

INT. DARK ROOM

Two pail faced men sit nose to nose

MATHEMATICIAN

He is Risen?

MONK

He is Risen Indeed.

MATHEMATICIAN

In fact?

MONK

No. Indeed.

MATHEMATICIAN

There is a difference?

MONK

In general.

MATHEMATICIAN

In fact?

MONK

Yes, in fact. In this particular instance there is indeed difference. With regard to the particular nature of my prior claim, the answer is no in fact not.

MATHEMATICIAN

Why not in fact?

MONK

In general “Indeed” is in fact similar to “In fact” but this instance is unique.

MATHEMATICIAN

Insane?

MONK

One could argue that.

MATHEMATICIAN

Inane? Ingenious?

MONK

Those points as well could be made . . . Is that your argument then?

MATHEMATICIAN

No arguments just questions.

MONK

Impossible. They're inseparable.

MATHEMATICIAN

In Him all things are possible.

MONK

Indeed.

MATHEMATICIAN

In fact?

MONK

Indirectly, we'll say. Can we return to the question of insanity?

MATHEMATICIAN

Very well. He is Risen Insane?

MONK

Arguably.

MATHEMATICIAN

You agree then. The point is conceded.

MONK

Now you are being incorrigible. I concede nothing. Nor do I argue a point. I’m in between.

MATHEMATICIAN

Are you indifferent? That is insane indeed.

MONK

Facts are insane.

MATHEMATICIAN

Very well. He is Risen Engrave.

MONK

Incoherent is not insanity.

MATHEMATICIAN

He is Risen Indianapolis.

MONK

He is Risen inconclusive.

MATHEMATICIAN

He is Risen indubitably.

MONK.

He is Risen internal.

MATHEMATICIAN

He is Risen Inconsequently.

MONK.

False.

MATHEMATICIAN

One could say the same of your claim.

MONK

One doesn't. Unless you are the one claiming such.

MATHEMATICIAN

Indeed I am.

MONK

In fact?

MATHEMATICIAN

As a matter of fact I am indeed.

Both men stand

MONK

Outrageous!

MATHEMATICIAN

Out of the mouth of babes!

MONK

Out of control!!

MATHEMATICIAN

One king’s outhouse is another man’s throne!!

MONK

Out Out damned spot!!

MATHEMATICIAN

Out where???

MONK

Out of this world!!!!

MATHEMATICIAN

Shall we take this outside then?

MONK

No. In. We must remain inside.

MATHEMATICIAN

Oh.

Both men sit in silence.

MONK

I owe you an apology.

MATHEMATICIAN

I accept and reciprocate.

MONK

Indeed. He is Risen.

MATHEMATICIAN

That seems to be in question.

MONK

In fact it is. Indeed it is not.

MATHEMATICIAN

I see. I’m blind?

MONK

I know. I once was.

MATHEMATICIAN

I can’t see?

MONK

Neither could I once. And still things blur.

MATHEMATICIAN

Should we find the light?

MONK

He is Risen Indeed.

MATHEMATICIAN

But not in fact.

MONK

The facts are indecipherable.

MATHEMATICIAN

The facts are all we have.

MONK

We have no such thing. I once was nothing but He is Risen.

MATHEMATICIAN

Where does that leave us? In? Out?

MONK

Indeed.

MATHEMATICIAN

Inside out?

MONK

Indeed.

MATHEMATICIAN

In spite of myself., I crave that blur. All things must be possible, as they say. Within?

MONK

He is Risen.

MATHEMATICIAN

He is Ris-in Indeed?

Blackout.

2009-06-01T11:39:00.006-05:00

Check out some sweet art this Friday at the Walnut Gallery @ 18th and Walnut.

There will be an eclectic mix of mediums including photography, sculpture, painting and a custom built motorcycle.

I'll be performing a piece of silliness that I conceived for my friend Andrea Brummett's Gallery called The Diction Canary from 6-9, so if your are down there check us out. Bring your favorite words and tongue twisters and have the Diction Canary orate them.

Here is the back-story blurb:

The Diction Canary is a rare bird from the Amazon jungle that was captured by a British-explorer-orator-philosopher-linguist married couple. Having a natural affinity for ridiculous sounds he quickly picked up their cockney accent. He participated alongside the family in their favorite pastime, word puppetry.

Word Pup•pet•ry n : The act of word manipulation and oral definition

The bird made words dance like marionettes attached to a giant canary. Ask him to speak any tongue-twister or define any English word from his exhaustive Merriam-Webster’s and he will floor you with his phraseology and astound you with his articulate elocution.

Poison is Static

2009-05-12T16:44:00.002-05:00

Poison is static
The sin tense elastic
Cast often to space

Resound explosive
A lonely emotive
Lied wither enlace

Implied explicit
Reason illicit
Dangerous erase

Re: dreamer is broke in
Mean Inc. less poke in
Life may not outpace

Ridden of goodness
Weed beet if we could this
Unborn just encase

Wisdom redundant
Putrid as judgment
Vision air retrace

Risen redacted
Spoken didactic
Hue minced must embrace

Derelict Insects

2009-05-06T15:55:00.005-05:00

Homeless dung beetles
Shifty shitless hippies
Wandering the windswept desert
The empty excrement lacking expanses
Free from all that dung has to offer

Vagrant caterpillars
Conscientious cocoon objectors
Hoofing it; existentially
Never leaving the tree of their birth
At liberty from the falls of flying

Vegetarian Maggots
Anorexic dirt-eating drifters
Appalled at God’s purpose for them
Driven to exile in the sunlight
Unbound by the edge of a carcass

2009-04-26T20:15:00.006-05:00

THE FINAL KLANGS SHOW

Friday May 2nd

7:00 p.m.

8 bucks

Crosstown Station

w/ the Khrusty Brothers

This is your last time to see me dance fighting in a unitard!!!

There is also a secret special effects masterpiece in the works that you will not want to miss.

2009-03-16T10:44:00.004-05:00

So if there is one thing I hate it is poor city planning. This is the worst example of excess, and suburban sameness that I have seen in a long, long time. Just off I-35 south of Kansas City in the suburb of Merriam, KS there is an abandoned strip mall. It makes me kind of sad.

Just before the economy went to hell, Merriam decided it didn't have enough ugly, land wasting, consumption inducing, retail space. This new waste of space is right across the street from another enormous collection of generic buildings in a straight line with excessive parking. That project was built on land that was obtained 7 years ago through the evil government practice of perverting Eminent Domain to create strip malls.

At first, I assumed this project was also stolen from the people for the benefit of corporations. As it turns out, this time Merriam paid home owners full (pre-housing bubble) price, before they converted their homes into parking lots.

Don't worry about Corporate America though, they won't be paying taxes for this TIF land for a long, long time.

The way I understand it TIF areas should be blighted. You tell me what is more of a blight, a neighborhood full of 1940's ranch style houses and a used car dealership, or a barren landscape surrounded by a useless wall begging to be graffitied.

The ironic twist, as you may have deduced, is that Circuit City was set to be the flagship store. But with all of their poor treatment of workers and bankruptcy, they don't really need a Merriam location anymore.

If you live in Kansas City, take a second to drive up there and look at this wasteland. It is eerie. It makes me more sad than anything to see the community betrayed like this. Let this be a cautionary tale to all city planners. Don't build stuff we don't need with tax payer money, anticipating sales tax revenue that may never exist. Or keep doing it, because it seems like not very many people care.

2009-03-12T00:16:00.002-05:00

Great Graffiti in Kansas City!!!

Notice this Property is monitored by video surveillance?

2009-01-25T19:17:00.003-06:00

Haiku Captions

proud and angular;
reflective, industrial
she reaches toward sky.

I like my friend Drew. He is a photographer that takes pretty sweet photographs all the time. I just put a link to his picture blog. Ignore the ones of weddings or babies and only look at the random shots.

I've been wanting to write poems inspired by his stuff for a while. I decided to do Haiku Captions because I think this form fits his style. Not that he's Asian, because he isn't.

Check out his Flicker

Or if you need pictures of your weddings and babies and random stuff go to his business website Van Horn Visuals

2009-01-24T17:35:00.001-06:00

Colbert Talks Poetry

The Colbert ReportMon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c

Elizabeth Alexander

Colbert at Christmas
Colbert Christmas DVD

Green Screen
Bill O'Reilly Interview

I freaking love this man!!!

2009-01-17T00:37:00.003-06:00

I read an essay by Bruce Ellis Benson today at one of my favorite sites The Matthew's House Project. The piece is titled How Not to be an Artistic Whore. It is a basic discussion of how one's philosophy of art interacts with faith. I haven't spent much time with this question since college. I used to spend hours fashioning my ideas about myself, my God and my art. I used to be quite opinonated on such ideas as "Christian Art" versus "Art which happened to made by people who are Christians."

I find very little of this semantic nonsense useful in my current life as an educational whore. But these ideas still fascinate me. Benson breaks down a character from Chaim Potok’s novel My Name is Asher Lev. Asher Lev is a Hasidic Jew who a young age shows himself to be a gifted artist. Art is forbidden by his community and is seen as creating false idols. The book is a story of that tension. I put this book on my reading list and look forward to wrestling with these bygone ideas.

2009-01-12T21:43:00.001-06:00

Recklessly innocent; He stayed, fearless
Eternity embodied in Immaturity
A boy with business
Pulled into the presence of priesthood
Melchizedek in miniature.

Three days later.
Three worrisome wisdom filled days.
Three timeless tomb-less questioning days after.

Caught in the act of defiant worship
Can a mother reprimand her Savior?
Where else would he be?
Being Human fully at the feet of forever.

Then He obeyed.

2009-01-05T20:57:00.004-06:00

I came across a poet that I find totally awesome today while pretentiously reading The New Yorker online. He is perfectly weird: exquisitely eccentric and intelligently silly. And apparently he happens to teach at Columbia College Chicago. If you like it check out 5 more of his poems.

Alien vs. Predator

by Michael Robbins January 12, 2009 issue of The New Yorker

Praise this world, Rilke says, the jerk.
We’d stay up all night. Every angel’s
berserk. Hell, if you slit monkeys
for a living, you’d pray to me, too.
I’m not so forgiving. I’m rubber, you’re glue.

That elk is such a dick. He’s a space tree
making a ski and a little foam chiropractor.
I set the controls, I pioneer
the seeding of the ionosphere.
I translate the Bible into velociraptor.

In front of Best Buy, the Tibetans are released,
but where’s the whale on stilts that we were promised?
I fight the comets, lick the moon,
pave its lonely streets.
The sandhill cranes make brains look easy.

I go by many names: Buju Banton,
Camel Light, the New York Times.
Point being, rickshaws in Scranton.
I have few legs. I sleep on meat.
I’d eat your bra—point being—in a heartbeat.

I freaking love the line "I translate the Bible into velociraptor." Man I wish I could have taken some poetry while I was wasting all that money on a theater degree.

2009-01-02T18:58:00.002-06:00

This is the full episode of FOTC Season 2. I love that they put it online!!!

Season 2 Online Premiere - Flight of the Conchords (US Only) - watch more funny videos

This is the greatest show on Television. I'm glad my friend Anni has HBO so I can catch all of the goodness.

2008-12-01T19:45:00.002-06:00

Since I am too busy to write as of late I give you poems of a different, far more talented poet named Billy

Billy Collins is awesome!!!

2008-10-13T20:45:00.004-05:00

There is another Klangs show coming up on Friday. It is all ages and will be excellent. The theatrics are only getting bigger. Plus we are playing with two excellent bands. Here is the info.

The Klangs
The Abracadabras
Queen's Club

Youthfront Auditorium
4715 Rainbow Blvd
Mission, KS 66205
Friday, October 24th @ 7:00 PM
$6 at the door
All Ages

The Pitch did a story on the show at the Crosstown Station. There is also a pretty good review of the album that was in INK a couple weeks ago.

For those of you who came out to the last two Klangs shows thanks a lot here is a link to more pics from that weekend.

2008-09-15T22:56:00.003-05:00

9.19.08
the klangs official cd release and debut performance with namelessnumberheadman
the brick
1727 mcgee
kansas city, mo 64108
$7 at the door
10 pm
21+

9.20.08
the klangs with the khrusty brothers
crosstown station
1522 mcgee
kansas city, mo 64108
$8 at the door
8 pm
21+

Read more about the band here

Or about my involvement here

Watch this epic YouTube video prologue

2008-09-05T23:22:00.002-05:00

So the wife and I went to First Fridays tonight with our good buddies Danny and Ashley. They have some friends Nicholas and Angela Snyder who make these awesome found art robots called Nerdbots. They are amazingly adorable.

They are in a contest this month and I want them to win so go here and vote. It takes a little bit because you have to create a Login but it is so worth it.

2008-08-24T09:56:00.001-05:00

Happy 50th Birthday Mom

Fruits of the Spirit

She is unconditional.
Agape with thick black hair;
Extending gracious embraces.

A laugh so infectious the night smiles.
Humoring through hardships with serious content,
Her strength so obvious.

Like a river, tumbling perfectly still.
Making treaties with her eyes,
Cultivating harmony with her soft hands.

An artist of longsuffering,
She knows time will come.
Waiting; her dreams dance with a divine tomorrow.

Even to strangers her warmth is magnetic.
Tenderly striving to remain without enemy,
Her words serve souls.

Her reputation precedes her.
Virtuous in every way; Proverbially.
Like all of creation, she is good.

Always is her way of life.
Steadfast like a pillar, never letting down.
Loyalty as staunch as armies.

Holding hands at her hero’s bedside
Hymns on her lips and in her face
Gently her spirit caresses the pain.

Denying self she follows Him.
Bearing cross daily; arduously effortless.
Composed, she forms fruitful family.

2008-08-14T20:08:00.005-05:00

Hey all. I just wanted to let you in on a little project I have been working on. My buddy Greg Lafollettte wrote a concept album as his musical alter-ego from the Khrusty Brothers. It is called Khorky Custer Khrusty Presents The Klangs. He asked me to collaborate with him in writing a stage show / performance art piece to accompany the live concert. It is going to be super sweet. This is the promotional video we made. I ran the camera, Tony Droge is the dancer. Please share it with your friends.

I have never been in a band before since I am completely musically retarded so this is probably the closest I will ever come. I am also hype because my good buddy Nick is playing bass for The Klangs.

We have concerts coming up:

September 13 at the Bottleneck in Lawrence
September 19 at the Brick
September 20 at Crosstown Station

2008-07-18T14:12:00.011-05:00

Thank you to everyone who came out to the Nelson for the event last night. I really enjoyed being a part of it. Much love to Glen North, Bob Holman, and Rebecca Ofiesh for putting this event together. For those of you who couldn't make it, here is the painting by Jess along with my ekphrastic poem. The title of both is Figure 2--A Field of Pumpkins Grown for Seed: Translation #11

In a field where pumpkins grow for seed
And rumpled rainbows hide in trees
There is a special kind of vine
That grows a pumpkin-man combined

One such rare phenomenon
Is Private Fredrick Ray Gourdman
His orange and vertically creviced face
Is the only sign of his pumpkin race

Partly pumpkin but mostly man
Fred sits on his father; his mother in hand
Staring at the creamy Autumn Sky
Contemplating days gone by

Fredrick Gourdman left this land
A prodigal sort of pumpkin man
Looking for fun and fortune and fame
He picked himself and hopped on a train

He took right to gambling, women and booze
And it seemed like the pumpkin man couldn’t lose
Soon he had squandered all he’d acquired
Burning through money like a bank vault on fire

Hopeless and Penniless Fred was alone
But had too much pride to try and go home
He met an Army recruiter in a local bar
And a couple drinks later he was headed for war

The war they were fighting required a lot
Of men on the frontlines where the battle was hot
So Private Fredrick Gourdman was stationed
In the trenches of a far off pumpkin-less nation

Although quite accustomed to living in dirt
The horrible violence, bloodshed and hurt
Weighed on the soul of the innocent squash
The vertical valleys of his face were awash

With blood, sweat and tears. As the battle raged on,
All he could think of was the stillness of dawn
And purplish morning soft on the rinds
Of his father and mother whom he’d left behind.

Growing for seed just wasn’t for Fred
But war was as empty and he’d end up as dead
So like the center of a palindrome
The battlefield started his journey back home

He hopped off a train in the pumpkin field
Under a velvet hat he concealed
His face but his father knew just who it was
And before Fred could explain all of his flaws

The old pumpkin tore lose from the vine
Rolling fast toward the railroad line
In a gesture of love uniquely Gourd-ish
He forced Fred to sit on his side in forgiveness

Reunited they sit a family again
In spite of a world of war and sin
In a country field growing for seed
Partly pumpkin but partly human indeed

I want to thank my beautiful and witty wife Melissa for coming up with the idea for this one. I tend to steal her ideas without giving her credit all the time and just wanted to set the record straight about this one.

Also The Pitch wrote a great article last may about the importance of this piece by Jess. Check it out for more info on the artist.

I also want to give some love to the winning poet named Lou. He won with a piece inspired by Alex Hay's sculpture Paper Bag, and it was awesome. He did it at a reading earlier this month and you can check it out on YouTube here.

2008-07-12T13:33:00.004-05:00

I just landed another gig. This time I am doing thirty minutes of my own stuff. Sorry this blog is turning into a hype machine. I'll post more writing soon.

2008-06-29T19:27:00.006-05:00

Hey Everybody I would now like to do some
shameless self promotion

Thursday, Jul 17, 2008

Poetry Slam and Jam
Sparks! Out Loud Alive with Poet Bob Holman
6 — 9 pm
Bloch Building and Atkins Auditorium
Free

Bob Holman, founder of Bowery Poetry Club in New York City, joins Glenn North, poet-in residence at the American Jazz Museum, and a host of Kansas City writers for a dynamic evening of spoken-word poetry inspired by works in the featured exhibition.

I was commissioned to be one of the "host of Kansas City writers" and will be doing a brand new work inspired by one of the paintings in this exhibition. It is a surprise so see if you can guess which one they assigned me. This is very exciting and I would love to see you all there. And bring your friends because it is free.

2008-06-18T22:32:00.006-05:00

Last month Melissa and I were a part of the greatest music video extravaganza on the face of the earth. Or at least the greatest music video ever shot at the Hy-vee in Independence, MO; Buckets of Babes. Look close and you will see that both my wife and I are indeed babes. This song was written and preformed by my two bestest friends Nick and Dane. They recorded it in their house over the span of 3 months. The gang vocals at the end were captured after one Monday Night Dinner in their attic, and feature me among others singing in an angry falsetto. They named their band loversofthewomen because they are very much ladies men of the first order. Enjoy. Email it to your friends and maybe it will be the next viral video sensation.

If you do the facebook watch it here. Also check out the sweet pics of me on there. I make a pretty dang good looking woman.

2008-06-14T11:14:00.004-05:00

So here's the deal. My cousin is a strong woman and she goes by the name of Mama Lou . She is an amazing street performer and has traveled the world doing her act. Currently she is in a YouTube Phonebook Ripping contest and she needs your help to win 10,000. Watch her video and vote for it and send it to your friends. She is currently in third place and the voting goes until the end of June so make it happen now.

I posted another one of her videos here. Here and here are some other write-ups about my cool cousins.

2008-05-20T05:55:00.007-05:00

Somewhere West of Cabo
Living incommunicado
Is a member of the Belgian CIA
This bureaucratic killer
Lives on a beach front villa
With a parrot that happens to be gay

Dirk, as his friends call him
Loves to smoke and drink and swim
While Doc, the bird, likes to read Walt Whitman.
The two of them get rowdy
Since their official mission’s cloudy
But they are basically a pair of Flemish Hitmen

Dirk and Doc the duo
Went to the local postal depot
To pick up a top secret Belgian Order
The swimmer opened up the Fed-Ex
And read a detailed dialectic
On why they had to kill a news reporter

Never one to argue
Doc was ready for the kung-fu
Since gay parrots tend to lean toward violence
Being lazy more than cautious
Dirk thought it an odd office
To dispose of for Belguims royal highness

Still they traveled up the Baja
Over rocks that once were lava
To find the nearest local journalist
The breeze blew in off the pacific
And since their task was not specific
They meandered toward a store through the mist

The proprietor was stout
With his stomach hanging out
Of the front of his once white v-neck shirt
Doc flew onto the counter
And asked the 300 pounder
If he had any News reporter dirt

Ironically he knew one
So he said into Dirk's gun
He lived around the corner from his mom
The rotund one gave directions
To the pair of well armed Belgians
So they would know right where to place the bomb

Once they set the booby trap
And started to go back
They saw the newsman near the window in his kitchen
Dirk and Doc had in their day
Always killed and walked away
That's why they were the best two Belgian Hitmen

But the pure innocent face
Of the stranger in that place
Who'd done nothing to the King but write the news
Made the swimmer shed a tear
The bird then called him queer
And pushed the button to explode the public muse

Dirk drank a mocha java
While Doc munched a juicy guava
As the man and bird went back home to their beach
They sent a postcard to their boss
About the media's loss
Dirk smoked and drank and swam then went to sleep.

The moon shone in the skylight
As Doc pearched up for the night
Another blood stain on his parrot soul
Without that one reporter
Belguim may regain its order
But Flemish Freedom will always have its toll.

2008-04-04T14:19:00.003-05:00

Meeting David Wilson

I saw a preview for this on Channel 1 today. Also check out David Wilson's site.

It is a documentary about the legacy of slavery in America. I am excited to illegally download it as soon as it airs on MSNBC on April 11th.

2008-03-24T10:26:00.008-05:00

Roger the African Antelope

+ =

At a circus in the south of France
Where muscled men wear Lycra pants
The act that walks the high tight rope
Is Roger the African antelope.

Up in the air he prances along
In his metallic colored circus thong
Juggling fruit and maintaining his balance
Displaying his unique set of talents

The fruit that Roger juggles most
Are the hard yet fuzzy cantaloupes
Indeed these melons are his true love
And one can see it as he saunters above

He’s never dropped one fruit from on high
It’s almost romantic enough to cry
But antelopes can’t elope with cantaloupes
At least not according to the Pope

So he loved his melons in singleness
Until along came a bearded temptress.
Shelly was Swedish; from a mountain town
A descendant of hairy gypsy clowns

Her hair was blond and her skin was fair
And soft, where not covered in hair.
France may be full of hairy women
But Roger had never paid attention

Shelly was different and downright delightful
As she clowned about on her unicycle.
She went on stage with the Lycra men
As they groped each other she would spin

One day while performing in the center ring
He saw Shelly backstage practicing.
Suddenly all of his Cantaloupes fell
Was this diva from the depths of hell,

Sent to separate mammal and melon?
It seemed his heart was in complete rebellion
Roger was torn. Whom did he love more?
Was it Shelly or Cantaloupes that he adored?

He’d always been true to the love in his life
Not once contemplating a non-cantaloupe wife
As the fruit flesh laid naked in a pulpy mass
Roger fell off the wire on his thong wearing ass

The bearded girl came, fiercely pedaling
On her unicycle to the frightening scene
Roger looked up at the Swedish clown
Her eyes glittered as she gazed down

Her Nordic voice echoed in his African ear
What she was whispering wasn’t quite clear
The circus crowd had completely quieted.
The wind blew through her beard as she softly alighted

Shelly bent down toward his antelope face
And offered a mournful Swedish embrace
There before God and muscled men in mid-grope
She too declared her love for cantaloupe

Hearing her deepest fruit adoration
Healed all of Rogers painful sensations
He now knew how to solve his deepest love problem
He had to do something before life could stop him

Right there at the circus he bent down on two knees
Asking “Will you marry an antelope . . . please?”
She kissed him in that magical setting
And agreed to a cross species fruit-centric wedding

The crowd erupted with cantaloupe pride
The two lovers kissed and the muscled men cried
Because they were both willing to take a chance
They lived happily ever after in the south of France.

+ + =

2008-03-11T14:16:00.007-05:00

Picture yourself on a raft in the ocean
Expansive emptiness; overcast skies
Somewhere beneath you, a rumble quite slowly
A beast with ambiguous eyes
Torrents exploding so grayish and black
Towering over your head
Look for Leviathans dark empty eyes
And it’s gone.

Princess in a tempest with dragons.

Follow it down to the floor of the ocean
Where underfed mermen eat navy supplies
Everyone weeps as you sink past the old ships
Full of bones that will never be dry
Newspaper rainstorms fill the horizon
Waiting to take you away
Escape from both faces; fierce as forever
And you’re gone.

Princess in a tempest with dragons.

Picture yourself after sea storms have settled
A sun in greyscale telling weatherman lies
Suddenly deep from the ocean around you
The beast with ambiguous eyes

Princess in a tempest with dragons.

This is a painting that my buddy Teddy did (click on the picture to see a clearer view) and I couldn't get the image out of my head after I saw it. I can't get the Beatles song, that this poem alludes to, from my brain either. (hint Princess = Lucy)

Check out more of Teddy's Art here

2008-02-03T15:52:00.001-06:00

Check this video out!!!

This is my cousin Jon who owns Broadway Cafe and Roastery.

He does the Brame family proud.

Corporate Coffee = Crap Coffee

Starbucks Sucks. Power to the People.

2008-01-06T17:05:00.002-06:00

Mailing Mayhem

I go to mail my mustache to my roommate in Mamoon
But the fellow at the window is an overweight raccoon
He tells me that my mustache can not go in the mail
And that those caught mailing mustaches are always put in jail

Now I am in a pickle since my roommate is expecting
To receive a mustache cause he's into hair collecting
I tell the fat raccoon that I still have to mail my mustache
And if he doesn't let me then I'll kick his chubby coon-ass

He tells me that the government has banned all facial hair
Because it can be used as an instrument of terror
I ask to speak to someone who does not eat out of trash cans
Then the raccoon slaps me with his clunky tiny hands

Momentarily I stand there with my blond mustache in silence
There is nothing left to do except resort to violence
I pull out all my throwing stars and heave them at his face
He ducks behind the counter with a figure skaters grace

Then out from all the ceiling tiles dropping like grenades
Come plumpish woodland creatures to the massive mailcoon's aid
A woodchuck with a double chin karate chops my spine
While a scrappy plus size squirrel bites me on my thin behind

A turtle that was spilling out the edges of his shell
Teams up with a beaver that was shaped just like a bell
They make a sort of catapult with the beavers tail
Flinging the portly turtle at my illegal mustache mail.

The package flies into the air above the raccoons head
My dreams of mailing mustaches all but almost dead
Just then I see my parcels exact trajectory
Sends it through the slot marked Mamoon quite luckily

And all the obese creatures from the forest of the fat
Can't fit through the slot to get my mustache package back.
Triumphantly I scoff at the overweight raccoon
As he wonders to himself why my roommate's in Mamoon.

2007-12-03T18:11:00.003-06:00

Hospital Thanksgiving

Something sad should be happening
With all the wires
But he won't let the sad come visit.

The night nurse, an east coast hispanic
Told him he wouldn't have to wear those Julumbo pants.
It's just as well with him.
The jokes are funnier pants-less.

That sad something should be happening
The way it smells
But farts can make a sad smell silly

The day nurse, a tall man-faced woman
Told him at 6 am to wake up and wash his groin
Apparently the way to man's heart
Is through his crotch

That sad something should be serious
Statistically speaking
But sometimes stories lighten up the numbers

He can say anything, to anyone, anytime
As long as he's in the bed
There's nothing sad about urine, stool, and sperm
Especially when he tells the part about the underwear

Shouldn't it be sad now. Seriously shouldn't it.
With all that happens next.
But only nothing happens now.

Crammed onto unfamiliar furniture with family
Gracefully God hangs from the walls' crucifix
Death has no sting, Nothing is serious
The Joy of the Lord is my strength. (Fart noise)

2007-04-27T12:03:00.001-05:00

Ever since September 11th
Terry has tried to shy away
From his nickname
THE TERRORIST
It’s just not funny anymore.

Being known for terror
Wasn’t always so unpatriotic
The nineties were a different time
Not that there wasn’t terrorism
There just wasn’t a war on it.

Back in college
Terry liked his moniker
He had it embroidered
On the back of his Intramural
Disc golf T-shirt

He grew out his JewFro
And always sported a beard
On a dare from his roommate
He wore a real turban
For his driver’s license picture.

It is amazing how many girls
Thought Terry’s terror was sexy
His cynical detachment
And pseudo-bad boy persona
Landed him lady after lady

Being a lifelong tech guru
It only made since that in 1999
When Terrytheterrorist.com
Was available at a reasonable price
He started an Ironic political blog.

It was soon after this
He later found out during “questioning”
That the CIA opened a file
On Terry the Hebrew Terrorist
Who wore a turban while driving

In late September 2001
The terrorist bought a plane ticket
Back home to New York
He didn’t know how long he would stay
So he bought it one-way

He never made it to the funeral
The CIA met him at LAX
And put him on a private plane
Complete with complimentary
Hand cuffs and orange jump suit.

Central Intelligence in not known
For their sense of humor
In the mind of fascists
An ironic nickname becomes
A secret criminal alias

After 19 months of “questioning”
At undisclosed locations
Terry had a secret military trial
He was the only American Jew
Convicted under Patriot act.

At his 10 year college reunion
His disc golf buddies laughed
At the tale of alliteration gone wrong
But to Terry the Terrorist
It’s just not funny anymore.

2007-03-30T14:29:00.000-05:00

Once upon a time a polar bear with an American flag tattoo came into the library looking for gold. “Bullion!” He Screamed. “Give me all your Bullion!” His voice reverberated off of the books like fingernails shot at a blackboard from a cannon. The polar bear filled the foyer of the James K. Polk Memorial Library completely. His empty stare and enormous frame made him look like a methadone addict who had a patriotic accident in a tattoo parlor that specializes in bear arms.

Uncharacteristically confused, Eliza the stereotypically mild mannered librarian with impeccable hygiene stammered something about her unfortunate lack of golden coins and seemed immediately to return to her Jane Austen. She was scared. But Jane Austen prepares one for just about anything. The clinched fist of the tattooed bear arm slammed on to the reference desk with the authority and greed of a polar politician. “I’m not kidding. Give me the freaking Bullion.”

Being quick witted and pun-happy, always in a mild mannered manner of course, Eliza asked the brazen bear if he wanted Bullion or Bouillon. Oblivious to homophones the allegiant armed gold seeker thought she was making fun of him and not the English language. He bit the monitor off the computer and spit it across the library floor. Eliza knew this bear wanted gold and not soup.

Buried deep beneath the floor of the Polk Memorial Library was the city of Gold that had escaped the quest of Coronado. The Aztec city had been underneath an Indian reservation until 1995 when in an ironic sesquicentennial nod to Polk’s Manifest Destiny New Mexico used eminent domain to seize a Pueblo burial ground for memorial and literary purposes. The bear knew this. Eliza did not. The bear did not know that Eliza did not know. If this were Jane Austen this next part would take place through a series of letters.

“Stop messing around”

“I’m not messing around. There is no Gold Bullion in the Polk Memorial Libarary Mr. Bear Sir”

“Don’t call me sir”

“What should I call you then”

“Reginald”

The bears name was not Reginald.

“Well Reginald, I’m going to have to ask you to leave unless you can use your Library voice.

He speaks in the best library voice of a polar bear “I smell Bullion”

Eliza mentally avoids several puns “ I don’t know what to tell you”

“Tell me it’s mine”

“It’s yours”

This was all the permission the bear needed to start digging. He lifted huge parts of the floor out instantaneously with his uneatable bear claws. He knew if their were still Bullion it would be buried deep. Not Reginald was a naturalized U.S. Citizen and had been working in the construction business outside Albuquerque since he came here from Antarctica during the Carter Administration. His digging skills were well honed. After less than a minute he was 40 feet beneath the books.

Shocked at this bears lack of manners Eliza did what any Jane Austen loving Librarian would do. She shot the polar bear in the face.

When the police came to clean up the bi-polar polar bear Eliza claimed self-defense. She served 30 years in the New Mexico State Penitentiary for bear-slaughter. Besides joining the Arian Nation, she writes a lot of passionate letters and serves as the prisons librarian. The bullion is still buried beneath the old reference desk of the Polk Memorial Library where there now stands a statute of the mentally ill polar bear with the American Flag tattoo with a simple inscription: Not Named Reginald.

2007-03-25T01:04:00.000-05:00

On the corner of a daydream and when Dylan went electric
They spoke with Bertrand Russell on the heart's of modern skeptics
The newspaper he read from twinkled like an epileptic
It was boring until sunset shouted down the man’s phonetics

On the corner of a rabies shot and paranoid delusions
He skipped through the democracy and suffered deep contusions
Intermittent lawlessness; the cause of revolutions.
Born of flesh the Hero dies at hands of institutions.

On the corner of a time constraint and false sense of myself
A bartender will pour a shot and drink alone his health
Dividing out the remnants of a murder victims wealth
Two pence for the mother and the rest goes on the shelf

On the corner of a sweater vest and Marxist nation state
Many fools collect the hearts of damsels laid in wait
Distracted beyond forgiveness in their progress toward a mate
Each will count the cost and find it hard to separate

On the corner of a Tuesday and black journals without lines
She caught a bus to Petersburg and watched the New York Times
Unaware the highways are all booby trapped with mines
The writer wrote tomorrow and choked softly on the rinds

2007-03-01T16:38:00.000-06:00

Wilbur the Combat Wombat

Punch, kick, shoulder to the face
Wilbur takes no prisoners.
Tactically trained
By Homeland Security
Wilbur fights terrorism
And he fights dirty.

Punch, kick, forearm to the groin
Wilbur hates terrorists
A congressional commission
After 9-11 authorized
Wilbur to eliminate enemies
Wombat style

Punch, kick, finger in the eye
Wilbur fights to kill
From Afghan hills to
Baghdad streets
Wilbur the Combat Wombat
Means business

Punch, kick, elbow to the spleen
Wilbur is unstoppable.
Stealth like a virus
Belly crawling into caves
Wilbur hunts Osama
Bowie Knife in his mouth

Punch, kick, boot to the throat
Wilbur is an American hero
A cross between Superman
And a Wombat
Wilbur wants justice
Wombat justice

2007-01-10T07:28:00.000-06:00

Waiting For Godot:

A Tragicomedy in Two Acts

Hey Everyone.
If I haven't told you yet

I am in Gorilla Theater's Production of
Samuel Beckett's
Waiting For Godot.
It will be at
The Just Off Broadway Theatre
3051 Central
in Penn Valley Park
January 25th, 26th and 27th and
February 1st, 2nd and 3rd at 8:00 p.m. and
January 28th and February 4th at 2:00 p.m.

Tickets are 15$or 12$
for Students and Seniors
You can get tickets at the J.O.B Box Office
or by contacting
David Luby with Gorilla
at (816) 510-3372
or duby@kc.rr.com

Here is the whole press release if you want a professional write up of what the play is about. It is so professional they call me William. But if you just want my unprofessional take on it keep reading.

Waiting For Godot is a play about two men waiting for Godot. Two other guys come along and then leave, and then a little boy comes and leaves. Although it sounds pretty lame it is actually my favorite play of all time and really interesting. It is fun and philosophical and pretty powerful. As my wife would say it is kind of about nothing. But more so it is about what happens between birth and death. It is supposedly a pretty "important" literary work as far as I know. And now that I am trying to explain it, I see why Beckett when asked himself what it was about simply replied "It means what it says"

I play the part of Lucky. He is a slave/carrier of bags with a rope around his neck. I do a lot of standing around holding stuff. But for 3 straight pages in the middle of the show, I go on a long philosophical/nonsensical rant. It is pretty awesome.

Here is what the character looks like

I'm not quite as old as these guys but hopefully with a little bit of make-up I will look tragically/silly old-ish too. I am excited.

And for those of you who might be interested in a little more theological look at the play read this. My director gave it to us and I'm not sure I agree completely with the author but it is intriguing. It's a little long and I'm not sure anyone cares, but I read it so I’m going to link to it.

2007-01-09T08:04:00.000-06:00

America: A Jerry Bruckheimer-ish Film
Rated R

All Politics Aside
It's time for an Assassination
No one in particular
The president comes to mind
But I would settle for a Vice
Or a Governator

If America is a Movie
And it is
We are in the long
Boring
Plot Thickening Middle
And I think it is time
For someone to get shot

Shot by some crazed
Out of work actor
Or something less cliché
Like a transvestite
Pro Wrestler
With Alzheimer's

There is too much talk
In Washington
And not enough
Getting Shot

As a citizen of this great country
I paid full price for my ticket
And I don't care who's in power
Nothing takes my mind off
The problems of the world
Like a good old
Assassination

So come on all you right wing kooks
You environmentalist whackos
You bi-polar anarchists
Bring your missile launchers
And your prison shanks
Make my popcorn
Taste of freedom.

2006-12-23T15:51:00.001-06:00

I put a possum in my pocket
Everywhere I go
To protect against probability
My sister says I’m superstitious
But Probability is Math
And Math is a Science
And Scientists are not superstitious

So to sway my sister
This is my hypothesis

The probability of a piano
Plummeting from the sky and
Pancakeing a passerby
Is for the sake of argument
A one in a million
That’s not bad
But not bad is not good enough
For Science
So I put a possum in my pocket

Let me show you the Math
No one has a possum in their pocket
Because they eat pockets
And smell like pee.
The probability therefore
of a person who has a pocket possum
getting pummeled with a piano is
One in the entire population of the planet

Now potentially
Upon publication of this premise
People will Put Possums
in their pants pockets
Pushing the probability
Past the perfection point
And soon there will be news stories
Involving people possums and pianos
Popping up all over the place.

That is not the fault of Science
That is the fault of my sister

Let me show the Math
Sassy sister says scientist
Sibling is superstitious.
So said sibling summarizes
A Scientific supposition
Which suddenly circulates
His safety secrets
Somehow the son of science
Synchronizes his standard
Into a simple syllogism

If you subtly store something simple
In a sack a sock or a side pocket
Said simple something will
Substantially supplement survival
Or
Probability protects
Providing persons
Are good at Math
And sister-less

So select something
Not a possum to potentially pocket
And live forever.
It’s Science.

2006-12-18T09:01:00.000-06:00

So this weekend I heard an awesome performance on Garrison Keillor's radio show A Praire Home Companion by my new favorite poet Billy Collins. Here is his fan site. He has an entire one of his CD's called The Best Cigarette avalible through a Creative Commons Licencse. That is awesome. It is also at Download.com.

I'm pretty sure he is my new poetic hero. Read this poem that made me fall in love with him.

The Revenant

I am the dog you put to sleep,
as you like to call the needle of oblivion,
come back to tell you this simple thing:
I never liked you--not one bit.

When I licked your face,
I thought of biting off your nose.
When I watched you toweling yourself dry,
I wanted to leap and unman you with a snap.

I resented the way you moved,
your lack of animal grace,
the way you would sit in a chair to eat,
a napkin on your lap, knife in your hand.

I would have run away,
but I was too weak, a trick you taught me
while I was learning to sit and heel,
and--greatest of insults--shake hands without a hand.

I admit the sight of the leash
would excite me
but only because it meant I was about
to smell things you had never touched.

You do not want to believe this,
but I have no reason to lie.
I hated the car, the rubber toys,
disliked your friends and, worse, your relatives.

The jingling of my tags drove me mad.
You always scratched me in the wrong place.
All I ever wanted from you
was food and fresh water in my metal bowls.

While you slept, I watched you breathe
as the moon rose in the sky.
It took all of my strength
not to raise my head and howl.

Now I am free of the collar,
the yellow raincoat, monogrammed sweater,
the absurdity of your lawn,
and that is all you need to know about this place

except what you already supposed
and are glad it did not happen sooner--
that everyone here can read and write,
the dogs in poetry, the cats and the others in prose.

- Billy Collins

2006-11-27T20:40:00.000-06:00

Political Animal

On Thanksgiving I took my brother’s cat out for breakfast sausage
But IHOP was closed.
Probably because of the stupid parade
So we decided to go home and drink Bloody Marys.

I’d been wanting to get drunk and talk politics with an animal
Ever since the election,
And because my brother’s cat is a communist
I thought I would pick his brain about the current political climate.

Communists are fun to talk to while inebriated in the morning
Or anytime really
Just because of their mixture of Marxist ideals and mustaches
And my fraternal feline is heavy on the facial fur.

So he starts talking about the war and segues into the future utopia
Cats tend to over segue
Then because I agree to his basic premise of putting capitalists into gulags
We end up toasting Stalin and shouting about Land Reform

Out of nowhere my brothers cat starts making Jew Jokes
And it’s uncomfortable
Either because it was Thanksgiving or because I was drunk, I laugh.
And to this day I feel guilty when I eat at Jerusalem Café.

2006-11-10T08:24:00.000-06:00

Once again another amazing piece of documentary madness.

Get ready for Ninja moves and Annie Oakley

Without further ado Two Original Song Poems by Caglar Juan Singletary.

This is from the flick Off the Charts. It originally aired on PBS and contains some magic moments that are absolutely incredible people. This guy writes poems and sends them off to a company that makes them into songs. And he pays them money.

If you like watching real people who live strange lives rent this from your local library

2006-10-27T11:02:00.000-05:00

The Observant and the Crossdresser:
A Morality Play

Man 1: Those are women's socks

Man 2: So

Man 1: I didn't know you wear women's socks

Man 2: There is a lot you don't know about me.

Man 1: I've never seen you wearing women's socks before

Man 2: Are you constantly aware of my socks

Man 1: I make a point to notice things.

Man 2: Socks?

Man 1: Occasionally I notice socks.

Man 2: I think that that is a problem.

Man 1: And I think that it is a skill.

Man 2: A worthless creepy skill that will cause you problems.

Man 1: Are you threatening me?

Man 2: Not specifically

Man 1: Was it a general threat than?

Man 2: Just a warning. Know that sock watching may have consequences.

Man 1: No that is a threat. A malicious threat. I'm going to press charges.

Man 2: Go ahead.

Man 1: I'm serious.

Man 2: Be my guest.

Man 1: Oh you better make the guest bed because I am not messing around.

Man 2: I'll tell my wife

Man 1: Those are her socks aren't they?

Man 2: My socks are my business.

Man 1: Maybe that would be true if you wore longer pants. But they are clearly visible, Ipso Facto they are public space.

Man 2: Ipso Facto. Are you a lawyer now?

Man 1: Everybody says ipso facto.

Man 2: Nobody just goes around saying ipso facto about someone else's socks.

Man 1: That's just it. They are everyone's socks. Because of your high water pants.

Man 2: Just because I like my ankles to breathe now my socks belong to the masses.

Man 1: Masses? What are you some kind of philosopher.

Man 2: People say masses. Don't try to make masses into ipso facto. They are in totally different worlds my friend.

Man 1: The masses don't say masses.

Man 2: Some do.

Man 1: But the majority of the masses don't say masses. So ipso facto, masses and ipso facto are the same.

(Pause)

Man 2: You really think people can tell. I mean black socks are black socks. I was out of black socks and she hand some socks so I thought. Who cares, nobody notices socks.

Man 1: You'd be surprised what people notice.

Man 2: The fact that you are not dead or in jail makes me think that most average people don’t notice like you notice.

Man 1: What is that supposed to mean?

Man 2: I mean if everyone noticed you noticing them all the time they would punch you or shoot you or throw you in jail.

Man 1: It’s not a crime to be observant.

Man 2: It depends on whom and how you observe.

Man 1: I’m not illegally observing important peoples private property.

Man 2: Well you sure are all up in my ankles.

Man 1: All up in? Snoop Dogg is in the house.

Man 2: Oh shut up. Mr. “important peoples private property”. That alliteration is out of control. You sound like a 19^th century English poet on speed.

Man 1: Which one is the 19^th century?

Man 2: The 1800’s

Man 1: I always get that confused.

Man 2: Maybe you should have noticed more in school.

Man 1: Touché

Man 2: Because it means that you concede my point, and I also happen to like the word touché, I will not make fun of you for using it.

Man 1: Very well. Where were we? Ah Yes. I may concede that historical observation is not my strong suit, but that in no way makes cultural observation, which is indeed my specialty, somehow as you have suggested illegal. I mean who are you to go around threatening “consequences” for people who notice the gender of other people’s footwear. . .

Man 2: Just lay off about my socks.

Man 1: You mean your wives socks.

Man 2: Whoever’s socks.

Man 1: They could be more aptly described as stockings, or maybe even pantyhose.

Man 2: (Punches him in the face)

Man 1: (On ground) I’m trying to think of something witty to say after getting hit in the face by you . . . Something with punching and women’s socks . . .

Man 2: (Pulls gun) Say it, but just know it will not go unpunished.

Man 1: You sock like a girl.

Man 2: That is funny but it seemed a little forced.

Man 1: I know.

Man 2: What about “you sock”.

Man 1: I thought about that but I think it’s too raw. And we lost the whole female angle.

Man 2: Yeah.

Man 1: I’ve got it. Those socks go great with that right hook.

Man 2: Touché (Shoots him in the face)

Poem Archive

2006-10-15T18:32:00.006-05:00

Poem Archive

Mostly Silly Poems

Almost Rich
America: A Jerry Bruckheimer-ish Film (Rated R)
Animal Lover
Ask A Hobo
Boy George of the Jungle
The Carnivore and the Vegan
The Chicken Bush
The Crazy Old Scientist
Diary of a Dromedary

Dirk and Doc

George Bush Wal-mart and the Vatican: A Political Poem
The Grass is Greener with Jésus
Gypsies and Goats
Harold the Cockeyed Cockney Cock goes to Texas
I'm Pretty Sure I Would Drink My Own Pee
In A Field of Pumpkins Grown for Seed
I Pushed a Giraffe Down the Stairs
I Put a Possum in My Pocket
I Tripped Over a Penguin at Walgreen’s
The Incident
Karl Marx and Adam Smith at a Carnival
Little Miss Bighead
Mailing Mayhem
My Community Church
My Doggie
My Guidance Counselor is a Pirate
My Guru’s Name is Matt
My Sister is a Rhombus
Nova Scotia
Pete the One Legged Pigeon
Pirate Love
Political Animal
Poison is Static
The Punishment of One Insensitive Rich Man
Reformation, I say
Ridicualistic
Roger the African Antelope
Shopping For A New Jesus
Someone Else's Pipe
Terry the Terrorist
Wilbur the Combat Wombat

Mostly Serious Poems

A Mudbox Mostly
As Lost as a Blind Man On Vacation By Himself
The Beast with Ambiguous Eyes
Derelict Insects
Fruits of the Spirit
Hospital Thanksgiving
Indivdual Instants
Let the Peace of Christ Rule in Your Hearts
On the Corner
Paycheck to Paycheck
Straight Lines
Suburbia

Mostly Love Poems

A Love Poem
Sonnet Number 18

2006-10-09T21:30:00.000-05:00

Ninja Revenja

What Ninja’s do when they’re not ninjaing

Have you wondered what ninjas do when they are not ninjaing? What are they like at the grocery store or at a party. How would it feel to be a ninja all the time. Come check out an all new free comedy show

NINJA REVENJA

And we will answer all your ninja questions including some you didn’t think to ask.

Two shows
Written and Preformed by
Billy Brame &
Brian Lechner
Friday October 13th
5:30 and 6:30
Downtown KCK in front of the Library
625 Minnesota Ave.

Check out our flyer here

Check out the Downtown KCK website here

2006-09-22T12:05:00.001-05:00

So I am sitting on my couch watching a somewhat mediocre documentary called Poetry in motion when all of a sudden a cosmic event occurs. In between somewhat famous poets (John Cage and Allen Ginsberg) a group of "poets" called simply The Four Horsemen are introduced. The primal screams, the silly noises, I am just like what the heck. It was one of those funny things that feels weird to laugh at alone. I had to get up and turn the DVD off. The look on their faces at the very end was just too much. I had to rip it and share it with the world. And I recommend you do the same.

This is the link to the video I uploaded to Google here

P.S. I checked these guys out. I can't tell if they take themselves serious or not. They have an album called Live at the West and here is how they describe it.

P.P.S They are from Canada

2006-09-19T20:07:00.000-05:00

Paycheck to Paycheck
Till the Apocalypse
When my Savior Raptures me
From my Work ethic

Paycheck to Paycheck
Till Kingdom Comes
And Jubilee will take care of
Visa, MasterCard, and Discover

Paycheck to Paycheck
Till Judgment Day
Because my pastor said I have a purpose
And I’ve found that it’s expensive

Paycheck to Paycheck
Till Armageddon
When the enemies blood
Will sure up the war bonds

Paycheck to Paycheck
Till the Trumpet Sounds
And my house in the suburbs
Will still retain its value.

2006-07-29T15:33:00.000-05:00

Harold the Cockeyed Cockney Cock goes to Texas

Deep in the Heart of the British Slums
Full of British Pimps and British Bums
On the roughest and toughest British Block
Lives Harold the Cockeyed Cockney Cock

His unfortunate features are grossly distinct
From his vertical eyebrow to his sideways blink
His menacing stares with his left eye askance
Can make any Brit drop a load in his pants

Now most cocks are cocky but Harold’s the worst
Even his grandma thinks he is a jerk.
And it doesn’t take much to set that cock off
He once punched a priest that God blessed his cough

In fact he is famous all over Great Britain
For ruthlessly beating an elderly chicken
His name is synonymous with pounding in faces
Of chickens who mention that he drops all his H’s

One day a hen laughed when he said ‘ello
So he kicked at her beak and broke her elbow
His conduct was deemed so outrageously reckless
That the Queen had Harold banished to Texas

Reluctantly Harold packed his suitcase
And hopped the next plane to the lone star state
He landed in Houston an exiled cock
And suffered immediate culture shock

In England Harold was famous and feared
But in Texas Harold was just cockeyed and weird
Suddenly roosters wearing ten gallon hats
Pointed at Harold and said “hey what’s that”

“Oh Go ‘ey yourself” said the cocky cock Harry
Then he shot them a stare trying to be scary
But these cocks were cowboys raised on a ranch
And no loads were dropping in their cowboy pants

Out stepped a cowboy cock almost 3 feet tall
Looking just like Brad Pitt in Legends of the Fall
“Listen Mr. Queer Eye, We don’t like your type
With all your missing H’s and lazy eye sight”

Harold who is always a master of tact
Said “To ‘ell with ‘ouston and cowboys ‘ats”
If you have a problem with me or my eye
I’ll fight you and kill you until you all die”

Some people think cock fights are cruel and inhumane
But some cocks are born to beat other cocks brains
The Houston cock with one Brad Pitty punch
Leveled out Harold to the ground with a crunch

The force of the pretty cock’s fist was so great
That it knocked Harold’s left eye from cockeyed to straight
Pain ricocheted through his entire cock body
And the punch broke his beak so he couldn’t speak cockney

Slowly the contrite cock rose to his feet
Humbled because he knew he’d been beat
Silent, straight eyed, alone and upset
Harold walked into the Texas sunset

2006-07-18T18:59:00.000-05:00

A Mudbox Mostly

It’s mostly a mudbox
Cracked and gritty earth
Packed tight like a parking lot
Light slips off scattered
Sand spots
A beautiful wasteland

It’s mostly a mudbox
Dark overdug corners
Plundered like a Pirate Island
Sun scorched
Pigment-less pail
Turned rain catcher

It’s mostly a mudbox
Half of a Hot-Wheel
Ass end up like an ostrich
Abandoned Army men
Green gun appendages
Stoically skyward

It’s mostly a mudbox
Innocent hands
Once shaped structures like a potter
Filled fingernails
With the future of flesh
Dust unto Dust

2006-07-14T16:07:00.000-05:00

Hey Everyone I have a sketch comedy show coming up on Friday July 28th it is called Bad British Accents.

More info here

2006-06-27T06:59:00.000-05:00

Calling all actors with bad British accents.

I am putting together a sketch show and I need some warm bodies who can make funny with me. If you are interested let me know soon. Hit me up here or email me at tallandlanky@juno.com

The show is July 28th from about 5-8 pm. We will do about 45 minutes of original sketches twice. We will rehearse Thursdays in July.

Right-e-0 Than.

2006-06-25T10:47:00.000-05:00

This is poem a wrote for my wife. We have been married 2 years now and I love her so much it isn't even funny. Happy Anniversary Beautiful

Sonnet number 18

Sixteen and I sit with my future

Next to history I don't know

And art she is more beautiful than.

The search for secret brought us here.

Some hidden place to call ours

And let our hearts beat fast in.

Through perfectly placed trees

The stars know we are destined for more

As our hands take their maiden voyage

I whisper famous words across the blanket

Without understanding their meaning

So she will know I Shakespeare her

We seal our possibility with ceremony

Crystal glasses full of sparkling un-wine

Foreshadowing a June night to come when we

Will be made one flesh forever.

2006-05-31T21:30:00.000-05:00

The punishment of one insensitive rich man

At 0 one hundred hours central standard time
In a house too big for its own good
And too big for a man and his butler,
A man finds himself lost,
Somewhere between the toilet and the refrigerator.

To find one’s self lost
Is neither to find nor to lose,
But simply to realize one’s position.
That position the man deduced was
Somewhere between the toilet and the refrigerator.

He had set out upon his mission at 11 hundred hours
On the night prior to the day current
To make himself a cheese sandwich.
American cheese, because he is a patriot,
As his father was a patriot and his father before him.

He digressed however to the toilet, for obvious reasons,
And after a leisurely stint
On the American Standard porcelain maiden
He flushed, washed, and saluted, because he is a patriot,
As his father was a patriot and his father before him.

Upon exiting his lavatory it was so dark that he lost his way,
And happened upon a new hallway
That led him to where he now stands a place he had never seen.
He assumed quite egotistically that he owned it
For he was a rich man and owned many things he knew not of.

The place seemed to be reminiscent of someplace else
Someplace both familiar and foreign to him
Familiar and foreign, Like his Bulgarian Butler.
The Butler is actually Russian but the man knew not the difference.
For He was a rich man and owned many things he knew not of.

“Curses to the darkness for turning me around” said the rich man
“Sending me through hallways
Disregarding my need for a sandwich.
Stopping me here in this familiar no place.
Curses”.

“Curses to God who made the darkness” said the rich man
“Who made toilet and the refrigerator,
The hallways and American Cheese,
The God who made My Bulgarian Butler.
Curses.

A sound
A step
A bop on the head

“AGGGH!” said the rich man

“I’ll show you who’s ‘Bulgarian’,
You rich American Trash!”

2006-05-12T12:46:00.000-05:00

The Carnivore and the Vegan

It’s Midnight and I’m naked
In my basement eating bacon
When in walks a Tyrannosaurus Rex
I’m so frightened of the Lizard
That there is a bacon blizzard
On my entertainment complex

I ask him not to eat me
He comes at me rather speedy
And suddenly my couch is not so dry
I’m staring at the Dino
White as an Albino
When I notice a tear in his eye

As it turns out in fact
It wasn’t an attack
He had just bent down to pick up the bacon
He lifted it so gently
And stared at it intently
That for a second I forgot that I was naked

He said "Listen Mr. Nudist
I am a Vegan Buddhist
And I don’t think you should eat this living soul”
Then he fixed his glare on me
So disappointedly
That he made me feel like I was 3 years old

I told him I liked meat
And should be able to eat
Anything I pleased in my own basement
He said “Meat is Murder!”
With a passionate fervor
And screamed “Eat tofu as a replacement”

His Teeny T-Rex Hands
Reached in his sweat pants
And pulled out some home made brochures
He threw them on the TV
And told me to read
About his Buddhist and Vegan mentors

So I’m kind of offended
That he’d try to up end
My carnivorous lifestyle choices
But what could I do
I’m only 5’2
And he’s a freaking Tyrannosaurs

It finally hit me
He’s a dinosaur hippie
And there was no way I’m gonna get eaten
So I rolled up my sleeves
And told him to leave
Or else he could expect to get beaten.

So there’s a moral I guess
To my tale of distress
While eating bacon naked at Midnight
When they try to convert you
Who cares about virtue?
Meat will always beat plants in a fight.

2006-05-02T21:24:00.000-05:00

George Bush, Wal-Mart and the Vatican: A Political Poem

People should stand for things
I mean really care about things
Important things
Like AIDS
I stand for that
Other People standing for things
Things like
Saving the lives of innocent children
And their things
I want all our leaders
Political, Cooperate and Spiritual
To be willing to do what it takes
To make things happen
And help things out.
And change things.

Bush could help things
He’s the president
If he stood for things
Things would work out.
So let’s all write him a letter
And tell him things like
Stand up for things.

Wal-Mart has everything
Think of all the things
They could change
If they stood for things
And gave some things
To people who don’t have anything
So let’s boycott them
And not buy our things there
Until they start
Standing for things

And the Vatican
They’ve got God
They could pray about things
And ask God to heal things
And spread the gospel
Of changing things
All over the world
So let’s tell our priest
When we’re in that confessional thing
To tell people to repent for their things
Because if we all fix our own things
We could change things
All over the world

So in conclusion
Stand up for things.

2006-04-24T08:07:00.000-05:00

My Community Church

Community
Christian
New Life
Of Love
Faith
Family
And Hope
Worship
Community
Center
Untied
By the River
Of The Heart
Of Grace
And
A Community
Of Peace
Faithfulness
Hopefulness
Joyfulness
And Love-fullness
After the way of
St. Mary
And St. John
And St. Mark
And St. Paul
And a different St. John
And St. Mary the mother of
And the blessed virgin of
Peace
And Family
And community
Looking toward
The Cross
And Calvary
And Immanuel
And Emmanuel
And Mt. Zion
Missionary
Assembly of
Holiness
Baptist
Spirit Filled
Presbyterian
Lutheran
Methodist
Catholic
Episcopal-esqe
But Still
Non-Denominational
And Community
Oriented
Church
Of the
Resurrection
And the
Word
And the
Bible
And the
Redeemed
And the
Covenant . . .
And Community
Walking with
The Holy Spirit
Community
of Christ
Community
In Jesus
Community
Did I say Community?
And Family
We have Family's

2006-04-06T10:11:00.000-05:00

My Guidance Counselor is a Pirate
He has Scurvy.
I'm not sure what Scurvy is
But he is always telling us that he has it.
I think it makes you smell like fish
His office is on a boat
Next to the cafeteria
This is a pretty progressive school.

He carries two swords and a gun.
Not like a little cop gun
But a big flintlock pistol
That he tucks in his pirate pants
Next to his short sword.
I’m pretty sure the weapons are illegal
But we don’t have metal detectors here.
We’re too progressive.

If you want to switch classes
He makes you walk the plank
I usually just stick to my schedule.
He is always trying to convince me
To go to this college in the Netherlands
That let’s you major in being a Pirate
I don’t understand how that’s a major.
But it’s probably some progressive thing.

He sponsor’s a fencing team
Except he calls it Swashbuckling
They all wear bandanas and sashes
And get to use real swords
I was going to try out
But my mom was afraid
I might lose a hand
She’s not very progressive.

He’s really good with kids
And he can write a very convincing
Letter of recommendation
He may fly the Jolly Roger
And carry infectious diseases
But I’d take him over
Some guy in a suit any day
After all what’s more progressive than a pirate.

2006-04-04T19:59:00.000-05:00

*******EDIT*******

So Friday Got Cancelled. I might be doing some stuff at the same place on April 15th. I will keep everyone informed. And by everyone I mean J.W. Harding.

******* END EDIT ******

Come out and see me read some poetry on Friday in Super South Overland Park.

Come on it's not that far to drive. It's only 149th and Metcalf. That's just a few blocks past the end of the world. It will be fun.

I am doing a bunch of poems. The coffee house is called MyJava and is on the west side of the street next to a Pizza place. Call me if you need more directions.

Thanks for putting up with my shameless self promotion.

2006-03-20T09:37:00.000-06:00

1 - It's a Mango

2 - A Mango?

1 - Yes.

2 - I don't think I've ever seen a Mango before

1 - I'm pretty sure you have.

2 - I think I would remember seeing a Mango.

1 - You may have mistaken it for another melon.

2 - Wait a Mango is not a Melon

1 - It most certainly is

2 - Your thinking of Cantelope

1 - No I'm not

2 - A Cantelope is most certainly a Melon

1 - As is a Mango

2 - I'm pretty sure Mango's grow on trees

1 - Melons can grow on trees

2 - Vines. melons grow on vines.

1 - How would you know? You seem to think that you have never seen a Mango prior to this very moment, and now all of the sudden you are some kind of Mango expert.

2 - I took botnay in college.

1 - It must have been a pretty crappy botnay class to not show any slides of Mangos

2 - I saw slides of Mango Trees, they just weren't in full Mango bloom at the time.

1 - Trees don't bloom fruit.

2 - Then what is it called

1 - You tell me, you're the one with Doctorate in Trees

2 - I say it's called blooming

1 - And I say your a blooming idiot.

(Pause)

2 - It's a nice looking fruit

1 - Sexy

2 - I wouldn't go that far

1 - I'm just saying it's very vuluptous

2 - See I'm not in to that

1 - You like skinny fruit

2 - Not skinny but not vuluptous

1 - A bannana?

2 - Too phalic

1 - Agreed.

2- I'm not knocking the mango, I'd just rather have a plum or a peach or tangello

1 - Those are all too round and perfect

2 - You lik'em oblong and vuluptous

1 - More asymetrical than oblong.

2 - Curvy?

1 - Curvy is good.

2 - Pears?

1 - That is what I dream of at night.

2 - You are a sick Man

(Pause)

2006-02-28T21:07:00.000-06:00

Hey Everyone who reads this: Come check out some of my poems and sketch comedy preformed live in Downtown KCK at the Art Walk. We are on the stage in front of the libary from 4-7 bringing the good old fashioned funny.

2006-02-25T12:16:00.000-06:00

The Incident

"Please Pardon my Protrusion"
Said the dolphin to the whale
"It's no bother" the other
"Won't you please excuse my tale"

Though politely whale acknowledged
That he would indeed excuse
The compunctious clumsy porpoise
That bumped his whale caboose

He wondered in his whale mind
Just how a little dolphin
Had succeeded in his swimming
To run right into his bottom

On the other hand the dolphin
Put to mind this mental morsel
How does a two-ton whale tale
Wind up upon my dorsal

With both the creatures thinking
That the other was in error
They took their separate stories
And two truths for forever.

2005-12-26T18:58:00.000-06:00

I tripped over a penguin at Walgreen’s.
I was getting my passport photo.
So was he.
He came out of no where
Like a fart at a dinner party.

I almost smashed the little guy
But I did a faceplant into the candy instead
It was sweet.
He looked at me on the floor
Like he wanted to kill me with his stubby penguin arms

I asked him where he was headed
As he dusted off his built in tuxedo.
He acted strange.
Like no one had ever tripped over him
And then questioned his destination before.

I guessed aloud that he was going to Antarctica.
All the penguins I’ve ever met were from there.
He spat at me.
Like I had inadvertently used
Some kind of penguin racial slur.

I wiped the spittle from my face
And wondered how many people have ever tasted penguin saliva
It’s quite thick
He then started cursing the Antarctic penguin
Like a crazy with a score to settle

I heard him say he was from Tierra del Fuego
It seemed like someplace a smart ass penguin would make up
Land of Fire
Like a penguin could actually be from someplace
That was either made of or somehow on fire

I told the Walgreen’s Photo Technician
That this penguin was out of his mind
He laughed at me
And said that Tierra del Fuego is an archipelago in Argentina
Like a penguin gets a passport just to go to Argentina

I knew right then that the penguin was a liar
He was probably some kind of terrorist dirty bomber spy
It was perfect
Like a flight attendant could stop a penguin
From high jacking an airplane

I stared deep into his beady bird eyes
Wondering how I could hand cuff him due to his lack of wrists
It was useless
He was going to escape no matter what
Like a rich man on the Titanic

I stood in front of the generic photo background
And asked the WPT if I could hold the penguin in my passport photo
He said no
Like my wife is going to believe me now that
I tripped over a penguin at Walgreen’s

2005-12-12T21:26:00.000-06:00

Gypsies and Goats

I like to shoot at gypsies
While I roast a fatted goat
On an open campfire
Down beside my moat
That winds around my castle
And won’t let the gypsies in
Because the lion’s share of gypsies
Never learn to swim.

If by chance a gypsy
Decides to brave the rapids
Just to lick the drippings
Off the roasting goat I’ve fatted
I take my double barrel
Gypsy shooting rifle
And fire at their gypsy head
Missing by a mile

See I’d never kill a gypsy
If it came right down to killing
I shoot at them for sport
And it never costs a shilling
All I have to do is
Roast a goat out on the fire
Then gypsies will come running
From over on the Shire

So my castles free of gypsies
But my moat is full of bullets
And every day and night I feast
On roasted fat goat cutlets
I live the life that others dream
But never can achieve
Sitting in my castle
Shooting at gypsies

2005-11-05T23:52:00.000-06:00

I Pushed a giraffe down the stiars.
He had it coming.
The wily way he walked.
So smug it made me sick.
Taking three steps at a time.
Who does that?
He rolled over the railing
And into the parking lot.
Like a sack of potatoes
Except with legs and a neck.
The libraian called 911.
So I karate chopped her cell phone
And told her I had a harpoon.
(I pretty much always carry a harpoon.)
When the police man showed up
He kept asking me why I pushed him
Like it wasn't obvious.
He tried to handcuff me
But I have such small hands
It was useless.
I took his billy club
And threw it in the fountain.
I wished that all giraffes
Would get put in their place.
At the trial the judge was a jerk.
And a giraffe lover.
He gave me life in prison
So I gave him the finger.
If I would have had my harpoon
That judge would have been a goner.
In jail the inmates beat me up
Like I was a punching bag
Except I would bleed alot.

It seems like for some reason
Everyone likes giraffes.
I don't see what the big deal is.

2005-10-31T17:32:00.000-06:00

When the Grand Jury smashed the proverbial gavel of justice on the proverbial face of I. Lewis “Scooter” Libby Jr. on Friday, Americans watched in astonishment as their beloved Muppet turned Chief of Staff to Vice President Dick Cheney stood indicted on 5 counts. His less well known twin sister I. Lucy “Skeeter” Libby, of Muppet Babies fame, has been silent for the entire investigation only to emerge now and grant Jiminy Glick an exclusive interview. The following is a complete transcript of this incredible interview:

JIMINY: For the record can you state your full name.

SKEETER: I. Lucy “Skeeter” Libby

JIMINY: What does the I. stand for?

SKEETER: I don’t want to talk about it.

JIMINY: Wow, that’s an unusual first name.

SKEETER: That’s not what it actually stands for; I just don’t like to talk about my real name. Just call me Skeeter.

JIMINY: I see. . . well . . . Skeeter, can you tell me what the I stands for in your brother’s name?

SKEETER: I Can’t

JIMINY: Amazing.

SKEETER: You are a Moron.

JIMINY: How long have you known the accused?

SKEETER: We are twins.

JIMINY: So awhile then?

SKEETER: Yes

JIMINY: As his twin, you have the ability to read his mind. Do you believe him to be guilty?

SKEETER: You don’t mess around do you? I guess I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him since he left the Muppet scene to go to Washington.

JIMINY: When was that?

SKEETER: 1990. He worked for the Defense department under George Bush I. Or something like that.

JIMINY: Is it true he has been trying to distance himself from everything Muppet since that time?

SKEETER: Scooter was never really one of us. He was always thought he was better than the rest of us . . .

JIMINY: Even Kermit?

SKEETER: Yeah I guess. I noticed it especially on the set of the Muppet Babies. He really thought he was above playing a toddler. Since I was never on The Muppet Show itself he really looked down on me.

(She lights a cigarette)

JIMINY: Perjury. Obstruction of Justice. Making False Statements to a Grad Jury. Did you see any of these tendencies toward the criminal in “I Can’t” when you two were growing up?

SKEETER: Are you serious?

JIMINY: As Cancer.

(She blows a thick cloud of smoke, licks her fingers and puts out her half smoked Camel Red with the saliva. She puts it back in the hard pack.)

SKEETER: Scooter was nerd. Glasses, clipboard, weird shaped head, the whole thing. He never was much of a dangerous kid. I think it was the whole politician thing that made him into a liar. And to quote scripture, liars burn in hell.

JIMINY: Muppet Babies has been canceled for 16 years. Have you done anything since then?

SKEETER: You really know how to make a girl feel good about herself

JIMINY: Thank you

SKEETER: I did some straight to DVD Disney stuff. I got mixed up in some films than turned out to be a little more adult if you know what I mean. The checks still cashed so I couldn’t say no. After that I pretty much gave up acting. What do you want me to say. VH1 has been calling me for a “Behind the Muppet” thing but I think I’m going to pass.

JIMINY: What is Gonzo?

SKEETER: Are you kidding?

JIMINY: Just something I’ve always wondered.

SKEETER: I’m not sure but I think he got his start in the Philippines or something.

JIMINY: I always knew he was some kind of Asian. Do you have a favorite memory from Muppet Babies?

SKEETER: You might want to work on the order of your questions. Uh I guess I would have to say that time when Ralph and I made out in Gonzo’s Closet. Yeah… I miss Ralph.

JIMINY: Fozzie Bear has been quoted as saying “Scooter Libby is fat sack of lies. Wocka, Wocka, Wocka” Can you respond to that.

SKEETER: Fozzie is hilarious. People really don’t give him enough credit. What else can I say.

JIMINY: Do you think your brother will return to the Muppet world now that he has resigned in disgrace.

SKEETER: Before or after he rots in prison?

JIMINY: After.

SKEETER: I guess we’ll have to wait and see.

JIMINY: Thank you for your time.

2005-10-19T05:13:00.000-05:00

Animal Lover

I bought a monkey with palsy from a guy on TV
And they threw in a hippo with epilepsy.
The day the two came by US Parcel Post
Was the happiest day in my lifetime, almost.

I unpacked my new friends and got them some food
And put newspaper down where the monkey went poo.
Wouldn't you know right there in the paper
Was a coupon for half off of a snake in a wheelchair.

So I logged on to redeem the exclusive web offer
And the feature this month was a donkey with cholera
I couldn’t resist his emaciated face
So I check marked the donkey along with the snake

They came the next day thanks to overnight shipping
The snakes wheels were stuck in a large donkey dripping
I was mad at Amazon for shipping them together
But they did arrive timely in spite of the weather

The snake knew the hippo and they talked about home
While the monkey called China on my cell phone
The donkey laid down by the fireplace
And continued to make uncontrollable waste

I found in my closet a pack of depends
And slipped one on to the donkeys hind end
He smiled and He Hawed and then closed his eyes
I'm glad someone loved him before he had to die

When I came back through my living room door
The hippo was thrashing around on the floor
I dove to protect the snake and the monkey
But they were both crushed like apricot chutney

I borrowed a bulldozer from a buddy of mine
And buried them all one at a time
I came back inside and turned on the TV
And cried myself to sleep watching Discovery.

2005-09-13T23:30:00.000-05:00

Diary of a Dromedary

Dromedaries don't like camels.
They like Zydeco
And newsboy hats
They wear them on their one hump
As a sign of peace

Camels hate Dromedaries
They like yogurt
And mustached men
Like Bert Reynolds
And Steve Harvey

There is an unspoken agreement between Camels and Dromedaries
They can have yogurt and mustaches on men
And we can have newsboy hats and Zydeco
As long as they keep their extra hump to themselves
And don't flaunt it around like a loose woman

If you put a dromedary in a camels college writing class
He would shit a brick
And throw it at the teacher
Who is probably a two humped tramp
With a mustache

If you took a camel to a dromedary demolition derby
He would die of dehumping
As the demolition derby dromedaries
Rip off his pretentious protrusion
While wearing their symbolically peaceful newsboy hats

My heart breaks for my fellow beasts of burden
War is the scourge of a segregated society
Terrorism is the natural outcome of our circumstances
Violence is born out of class distinction
Racism will be the death of the desert.

2005-09-06T17:43:00.000-05:00

My Sister is a Rhombus

My sister is a rhombus
She was adopted from Finland
They have lots of rhombuses
She eats beats
They don’t have beats in Finland
I get in trouble if I call her a rhombus
But I do it anyway
Because she is one

At dinner I don’t look at her
She might steal my soul
Finns are soul stealers
They use their eyes
My sister is 6
That is 78 in rhombus years
So hopefully she will die soon
But Finns can live a long time

In the park she plays in the sand
Digging for beats
Beats grow in sand
I take her shovel hostage
She cries to mom
I give it back
Finnish Rhombuses are cry babies
My mom likes cry babies

I tried to sell her on EBay
But no one bid
They were afraid she would steal their soul
I also tried to mail her to Finland
But their weren’t enough stamps
Mom says I should love her
And I do
It’s just that she’s a rhombus.

2005-08-22T19:37:00.000-05:00

Boy George of the Jungle

This is the story of an effeminate fellow
Who lived in the jungle and wore neon yellow
The animals would stop and point up at him
In his yellow loincloth with its red rhinestone trim

“I am original unlike you jungle clones
With your beiges and tans and your soft neutral tones”
He said switching vines with the greatest of ease
Ignoring the taunts from the homophobic monkeys

“You boys wish you could have my movie star beauty
And could wear this loincloth like I do on my booty”
The creatures all laughed at his arrogant lisp
And went on about there jungle business

Then one day there came to the Jungle
A man by the name of Mr. O’Tungle
“This looks like the place to build me some factories
I’ll kill all these monkeys and burn down their trees”

Then out came Boy George, of the jungle that is
With his yellow loincloth and its red rhinestone friz
“Leave Mr. O’Tungle or face severe consequence”
But with George’s thick lisp it was hard to convince

The old fat O’Tungle stood there without blinking
And spit back at George, his breath mighty stinky
“What will you do to a strong man like me?
You’re just a girl with a capital G"

“Oh you think so sir so I guess you could take me
In an old fashioned duel refereed by these monkeys”
The monkeys looked on with the rest of the creatures
As the two men stared down each others features

”Well if that’s what you want than that’s what you’ll get”
He hocked up a big one and sealed the showdown with spit
And back they came at high noon on the dot
O’Tungle packing heat and George in his loincloth

“Where is your weapon you girly man fart?”
”I come just me my loincloth and heart”
A hush feel over the mixed mammal crowd
As the effeminate primate made the mean monkeys proud

They took ten paces in the hot jungle sun
George turned around and stuck up his buns
The reflection was blinding off his shiny buttocks
Knocked Mr. O’Tungle right out of his socks

The animals loved him for the great deed he had done
And next seasons fashions were filled with neon
George was a hero and went down in history
A legend, his sexual preference, a mystery

2005-08-03T16:11:00.000-05:00

If James Bond had a bunny, and the bunny did not look good in a tuxedo, do you think that 007 would let him where a jumpsuit, or overalls, or a sundress, or a flesh colored unitard, or a dragon mask, if it made the bunny feel more comfortable even if it made people look down on the bunny and call him names like fancy, and ninny, and twirly, and lollipop, and loosey goosey, and then those same insensitive people would vicariously think less of the Bond man himself . . . or do you think that Bond, James Bond, would just have his bunny put down, or assassinated or guillotined or stir fried or sacked by a gaggle of pirates just because he refused to where the oppressive clothes of the aristocracy? It hardly seems fair.

2005-07-08T20:35:00.000-05:00

"Jesus Not Supreme Court Material" Says Bush

As Hurricane Dennis marches toward the gulf coast like a crazed chimpanzee in uniform, another storm is a brewing’ off the coast of Washington D.C. and this monkey isn’t wearing any fancy pants. The partisan shit-storm that is about to reek havoc on the beaches of the Potomac is the battle over who will replace the late Supreme Court Justice Sandra Day O’Conner. After her tragic and metaphoric death by retirement last week, a vacancy has been opened on the highest bench in the land for the first time in over a decade. Her position as a moderate on an evenly divided court leaves President Bush with some big shoes to fill.

"She can’t just be replaced by anyone" says average American citizen John Travolta. "Sandra D’s staunch record, including not going to bed until she was legally wed, and keeping your filthy paws off her silky draws, were not only ground breaking constitutional law but they also made classic song lyrics". Rizzo was unavailable for comment.

And for once Mr. Travolta is absolutely right. The task of replacing the first woman ever appointed to the high court is a task so big that it makes Texas look like Connecticut. However Mr. Bush need not fear, whenever weak minded politicians need assistance they need look no further than the lobbyists to tell them exactly what to do. Taking into account the possibility of undo influence by several different special interest groups it appears that two different officials are emerging as front runners. The most widely spoken of is Alberto Gonzalez, the presidents’ token Latin friend and the attorney general of the United States. He is backed by the NRA and the low-rider association of America. Gonzalez is a moderate republican and could receive some limited democratic support. Grizzly Adams of the 9th District Court of Appeals on the other hand, has the support of the far right and righter. He is famous for his abortion sucks bumper sticker and matching T-Shirt, and has been known to hate gays. Grizzly is backed by the powerful Christian Coalition along with the Lumber Jack Alliance. He has a beard.

These two have dominated the early speculations of the talking heads, but a relative unknown out of Nazareth New Jersey named Jesus Christ has caught the eye of the press and the public. Although he is not quite as Latin as Gonzalez Jews are still considered minorities in some circles, and that can never hurt.

Bush said of the unknown Jesus from Jersey "I would like to know where he stands on the issues." And by "the issues" he is of course referring to the triumvirate of abortion, gay marriage, and Yankees/Red Sox. It is true that the Nazareth native has been relatively silent on these key points, choosing to speak in parables and provocative questions. But his presence and popular appeal is hard to overlook.

"He’s a flip flopper" says conservative commentator Pat Robertson "’Love Your Neighbor as Yourself’ ‘Render unto Caesar what is Caesar’s’ . . . What if your neighbor is a gay? What if Caesar wants to abort my fetus? It’s just too dangerous; I think Grizzly Adams is the man for the job".

Pat is not alone; many people are raising questions as to the ability of Jesus to wear the robes of American justice. "I heard he healed a man who didn’t have any insurance" says Dr. Hurtmann a spokesman on behalf of the HMO association.
"His advocating of tunic ‘give-a-way’s’ and going the extra mile will have us out on the streets, eating cold fish heads and toast" says Margaret Miller of Second Mile Tunics in downtown D.C.
"I think Bush ought to go with the token".

Jesus has been hard to pin down for questioning, and rarely hosts his own press conferences. He is said to spend a lot of time alone, talking to himself, and has been seen down at the Warf mixing with some riff raff. US Weekly actually snapped a picture of him standing up in a boat fishing in his skivvies. President Bush puts it best when he says "I’m just not sure if this Jesus fella is Supreme Material". Bush then went on a tirade about the less than "supreme" contents of the Taco Bell Burrito Supreme.

It remains to be seen whether this underdog from the garden state stands a fighting chance this hurricane season. Partisan politics have a way of crucifying even the most worthy candidates. But if there is one man who can walk into the face of a political storm and command it, it is this Jew from Nazareth, New Jersey.

2005-07-04T13:11:00.000-05:00

Gerald the Asthmatic Cheetah Part 1

Somewhere south of the suburban Serengeti there lives a brown spotted cheetah named Gerald. Gerald has Asthma. I only bring up the asthma because that is how Gerald introduces himself at dinner parties. “Hello, I’m Gerald the Asthmatic Cheetah”. He always says that having asthma is what separates him from the indistinguishable masses. I think it’s the asthma along with saying things like “indistinguishable masses”. Gerald is a regular Cheetah, a sort of hard-working, blue collar, every-Cheetah. He wears a red T-shirt with a pocket on the left front breast. Gerald, being the kind of cheetah that is embarrassed by referring to the pocket with the adjective breast, usually describes it by the less provocative word front. Inside his signature pocket Gerald keeps his secret weapon, his closest ally and his best friend, Raymond the inhaler. As far as breathing aids go Raymond is top notch; duel layer titanium alloy casing, patented double helix canister, and revolutionary lip moisturizing mouthpiece. Raymond prides himself on being the best experience you can have inhaling legally. And as for sidekicks there is none better. Raymond is always there for Gerald, whether the cheetah needs help at the factory or he needs a breath of fresh air to help him run down his breakfast. The two are inseparable. They finish each others sentences like an old married couple with telepathy. But it wasn’t always like this. There was a time when Gerald hated Raymond. Back before Gerald was so proud of his Asthma, and before Raymond was featured on the reality TV show “Pimp my Puffer”. . .

to be continued

2005-06-28T13:57:00.000-05:00

I've been married a whole year. That is ridiculously amazing. I guess it kind of snuck up on me and then all of the sudden boom. I love it. I just wish I could figure out this marriage thing. Not that this past year has been bad or anything, it's just that I know I'm slacking hardcore. I am falling way short of my husbandly duty as spiritual leader because I am falling way short of my humanly duty to continue in a spiritual realationship with Christ. I don't know what else to say except that I need to do more to lead my marriage toward Chirst. Or maybe I need to allow God to lead me on a more regular basis. I don't know. Don't ever let anyone tell you being an adult is easy. Responsibilty blows and work is never as fun as it seems like it should be. I love my wife so much. I just wish I would make the time to do the things I know I need to do to make our marriage continue to grow. Pray for me I guess.

2005-05-25T18:54:00.000-05:00

Shopping for a new Jesus

I'm walking the isles at the Jesus store
Looking for a quality product.
Perhaps a fine hand crafted Jesus
Or a powerful and efficient new model.
Something with that new Jesus smell.
Not to flashy though.
I don't want to get my Jesus jacked.

I pass the red furry Jesus
And the effeminate candle Jesus.
Kitsch Jesus just isn't my style
I need something more reliable
A Jesus with a money back guarantee.
And it better be in writing
Right on the box.

There is always the create-your-own-Jesus kit.
But I like my Jesus batteries included
No assembly required.
It just doesn’t seem like
They make Jesus like they used to
Maybe I'll just wait till my birthday
My wife always buys me Jesus.

It just never feels good
Walking into a store
And not buying anything.
Maybe I'll pick up some gummy Jesus
You know, for the kids.
I'll see what type of impulse Jesus
they have by the cash register.

2005-05-22T11:58:00.000-05:00

Man 1: Pardon me do you have a hanky?

Man 2: How did you know I had a hanky?

Man 1: There is a hanky hanging from your breast pocket.

Man 2: How do you know I have breasts?

Man 1: Just becasue you have a breast pocket dosen't mean you have breasts.

Man 2: Don't get smart with me, beggar.

Man 1: It's just my allergies are killing me.

Man 2: I'd rather let you be killed than let you go on talking about my breasts.

Man 1: So you do have breasts?

Man 2: Quit slandering me.

Man 1: A question can't slander.

Man 2: Is that you're hooker or your wife Mr. Presidnet?

Man 1: Point taken.

2005-05-20T06:19:00.000-05:00

Come to think of it.
Past the footsteps.
Soul intervention.
Miles of space.
Insert Interjection.
So to speak.
Turn back into.
Burnt filament
Long prestigious walks.
Self promotion.
Ill will to men.
If I were you.

Summer is a proud time if pride comes before the fall
Excuse me while I bulid an altar to myself

2005-05-16T06:18:00.000-05:00

Does it matter anymore whether the time is wasted here or there? Are we mixing metaphors or sharing stolen property with the people. Wait that makes me a people. I am not a people. Long live the labor of the masses. Eventually the turn is inevitable. Ignoring wounds makes them worse not non-existent. I hope I don't wait for death to be my wake up call. I hate funerals.

2005-05-10T23:25:00.000-05:00

"My sunburn hurts." Said the man who had been told a hundred times.

Accused before a jury of his peers for negligence. "I didn't know". He responded lackadaisically to the man with his finger on the decision maker.

"It was just an accident". The words slide out from his lips like everything he does could fall into that category.

He began his lie with a sincere apology for future wrongs "I'm sorry" The words sound calculated and not sincere like the phone system lady.

2005-05-09T06:14:00.000-05:00

Individual instants
Creeping cowardly
From sex to silence

Wasted words
investing permanently
in lies of love

Apologize again
Crying cynically
on silk sheets

Degenerate Desire
resting secretly
in lock jawed lips

Hardened Heart
moving languidly
through lost life

2005-05-06T14:56:00.000-05:00

Addicted to Almosts

So I fill my head with unthougts to relieve the pain of maybeness and uncontrollable futures. If all I have to deal with is a moment by moment forgetfulness and the idea that sleep is my most desired goal I won't have to do anything about the predicament of existence. He slowly takes away the excuses I am trying to build brick by brick like a jail cell and hurls them into the bottomless pit of omniscience. He knows that I am trying not to think about Him. He knows that I don't want to work on my soul. He knows that humility comes before change and that a proud piece of shit won't take a shower because that would be admitting defeat. So what if God beats me. I know he is right and I know I need what he is trying to give me. But then I couldn't worship myself if I let myself worship him. I just don't have that kind of time.

2005-04-02T00:28:00.000-06:00

Ask a Hobo

Ask a hobo to dinner and what will he say
"Hell, Why not? What else was I doing today?"
Give the hobo directions, don't let him get lost
Give him money for taxis no matter the cost
If he says "Aye yo! Got a five spot for cigs?"
Throw him a Lincoln and watch his hobofied jigs.

If he shows up on time, great, good for you
But don't worry too much if he's running late too
A punctual hobo’s like a three legged cat
Nobody wants one but they’re fun to look at.
First thing he'll say is "Hey where’s da food"
Unless he's been drinking than he'll ask for the loo.

After his bowels are all emptied out
The loo will smell like fresh sauerkraut
“Let’s Eat” he’ll say and dig right in
Scarfing cheese, baked beans, and some grilled chicken
And he’ll keep on eating until the last dish
Or till he swells up like a pregnant blowfish

As soon as he’s done get that hobo outside
You want him gone if he explodes or dies.
Shake his hand if you want, but it’s not necessary
He lives in dumpster his hands could be scary
If he’s says “Thank you kindly” just smile and nod
But don’t worry an appreciative hobo is odd.

Now that your guest is back on the street
Crack open a cold one and put up your feet
You’ve done our city a wonderful deed
Preparing a meal for a person in need
At the end of the day there’s nothing like giving
Even if it’s to those who don’t work for a living

2005-03-31T07:16:00.000-06:00

Blue skies in February

Over look the expansive ugliness

Of imported dirt

Brought in to make things flat

Clearing earth for progress

The telephone wires

Cut the horizon

Like a police barricade

Between the unnaturally new

And the majesty of the ancient sky

Reforming Creation

Like a weak god

Constructing away the chaos

Into cookie cutter cul-de-sacs

For the cause of convenience

The concrete curbs scream separation

Standardizing the flow of the fallen rain

Away from here

Here all the water

Must first be bottled

2005-03-28T14:59:00.000-06:00

As a reflection on sacrifice I don't know what to say except that I don't much. I didn't I mean. I was going to but I justified not doing it pretty easily. I kind of meant to do better which I think counts for something, or maybe not. I wish I weren't so caught up in my ideas. Or better yet I wish I was caught up in better ideas, maybe ones that I won't even claim. Some thoughts I could attribute to other people. But than again I'm too proud to do that.

2005-02-08T19:00:00.000-06:00

As far as first person goes. So I decided a while in the past ago I would make a bit of thing happen that I am now about to regret soon. I put out there just to be cool for a second that I might give up this blog and other such frivolous internet meanderings for the good period known as the lent. Well this and things and such will be happening again and anon for the next 40 days or so or just the 40 days. Recreactional internet and I must be waving goodbye to each other for the sake of my own discipline and commitment to things that I hope I will better realize after I put thought into it eventually someday or some 40 days from now. I think that goes without saying for itself but I thought I would mention it. So I will see you again post-Easter.

2005-01-31T06:24:00.000-06:00

Tame my idealistic tounge. I shout from my comfort about the spiritual benifits of suffering. Talking of peace and making peace with yourself and the world are different things. Wisdom that is heavenly is pure, is submissive, full of mercy, impartial and sincere. The wisdom I seek is powerful and full of pride. My untamed tounge drips with the drool of good things I should have said. I consume other peoples ideas for my glory. And spit them out when I decide what their flaw is. A harvest of righteousness?