Sleep

Sometimes I think that that it's gotten too late, That it's my fate, When in fact it is always late And always my fault. I used to go to bed at odd times, But now I find the time is always pretty near, No matter what. I have nothing to catch up with tomorrow And nothing is catching up with me tonight Except this deep cold death-like sleep.

Whatcha Got?

Not About Cute Puppies!

Some people worry about what I write and sometimes try to commiserate with me or "talk me down" or otherwise display sympathy. Those people are very nice, of course, to show such concern, though I sometimes wish that more of them would remember that you can't apply your normal human sympathies to a Writer. I can't claim to be a Great Writer, but I am a compulsive one at times--when I finally get around to writing, I carry on as Writers have always done. I write about things that exist and things that don't, about people I know and people i imagine, about situations and places that may or may not be real. I'm not one of those writers who always dependably writes about one thing or even about all things in some predictable same old way. I have impersonated many men or "characters". On occasion I have written from the point of view of women, children, animals, and (once) a bright red fire-engine. I admit I'm evasive, but if you think you're reading my "code" when you find a blog post to be provocative, you need to remember that it's writing. It's not all fake, I don't say that at all; it's just not all real, either. If you are inspired to be responsive, critique the writing or its public effect on your private heart, if you like. But you don't have to bleed on me or weep over me or send red roses or threaten my life for speaking carelessly about your favorite puppies! If I were held accountable for every extreme posture or odd position I've ever taken in writing, I'd be in deep shit, I know, so I hope it never happens. We are all here for pleasure, so show me what you've got!

I Pushed Paul Simon Down The Stairs

It Was An Accident!
I can only see my face in the mirror! Something has gone terribly wrong with this dream! Okay, so maybe this wasn't a poem. Does the Taxman care? Will the Dogcatcher worry that he's a dogcat? Will the Doctor grin and barf on my shoes Or does he expect me to do Everything myself?!

Strange Old Freak

Sometimes I'm not sure How to pretend to be me Or how to maintain the fiction That I'm a nice old guy who reads too much And wouldn't try to fuck your wife or daughter If you looked the other way too long. No sir, I wouldn't steal your motorcycle or your Mustang, Or so I say, but windows and doors And a locked garage are always good For a little peace of mind in a world of strangers, And just because you've known me a while Doesn't mean I'm not still pretty strange!

Winnowing

YOU can be nice about it, if you want to, but it's my plan to be bitter, spiteful, and to complain at every opportunity. I know it's ugly, but I was intolerant and intolerable when I started this blog--it's just taken a good long while to winnow out most of the readers who stumbled across me (like a corpse in the middle of a dark road)! The last few are pretty obstinate; I wonder if I'll have to shoot those few Zombies? Maybe one of them will loan me a gun? Guess then I'd know which was the most ignorant!

Overheard in a Denny's Late At Night

Dry Conversation

"Well, I have to admit," Roger said, "that it's easier to be a Big Snot from an Internet distance than it is to be friendly from an Internet distance." "Oh, yeah?" Jennie grinned. "Is that why you bury your head in your blog and try to be rude to everyone?" "As fast as I can!" Roger nodded. "How fast is that?" Jenny asked. "I don't see you breaking a sweat." "Since my stroke last year, it's been hard to hurry anywhere. But on the blog, no one can tell how slowly I hurry!" "Maybe they infer it. Maybe they're reading between the lines." "If any of them bothered to do that," Roger smirked, "I might become A Better Man! Or maybe I'd put on more of a show!" "You don't know how to act." Jenny shook her head. "I'm a bastard, but not an insincere one, huh?"

Life Goes on

Life's been hard, But what the fuck did you expect? Time goes traipsing by and treads on you And tramples you in the mud and breaks your arms and leg And ruins your grin, but doesn't kill you yet. Ain't it wonderful how Life goes on?

Pass Me The Bigger Half

Mark Twain: "The universal brotherhood of man is our most precious possession, what there is of it."

The World Cares

I don't care what anybody says, I want to commit more crimes before I die! What harm could it possibly do? The world already cares little for me, and I reciprocate!

Just Drawn Bad?

Doxie: floozy. Need we get graphic?
I heard that Playboy Corporation bought out Disneyland. Or was it the other way around? What difference would it make--either way, it sounds like my kind of fantasy! Roger Rabbit's sweet doxie Jessica had it right, you know!!!

Guys on a Train

On the train I saw two guys ahead of me and one was reading the paper and the other was staring out the window. I overheard the guy staring out the window say to the other, "'May the Force be with you!'" was what I started to email back to the cute girl at that new company--I saw her profile photo, you know!--but then I thought, 'Oh hell, to a chick that might seem like a sexual remark!' You think it might?" "What difference would it make?" the other guy said with a violent shake of his paper. "You weren't going to get any sex out of the deal, you know!"

Heavy and Weak

Wheel On Fire!

I wrote about how heavy and hard to lift Everything in life has gotten now, All the ordinary everyday items, Like the shirt buttons I can barely grasp sometimes, A pair of blue jeans being the worst of the weighty surprises, But the leaden bed covers remain More embarrassing than any other When I nearly can't get up out of bed— Thank God warmer weather is coming. I think it was careless to say it to her, Almost cruel, but i had written and said How heavy everything was, how tiring. Why I needed to tell her I don't even know. I just needed to tell, so I blabbered And now it's done. I should have kept it to myself. Maybe there would have been some reward in heaven for it, But all the things that I do are such useless things, All this writing, all this typing, all this trying, All this breathing just to breed more germs. A poem's a poem in your or any other land, But this is Disneyland. This is not precisely where reality obtains a grip Or where desire has ever obtained an object That burns and rolls and yet inspires.

Too Many Small Tasks

Ennui and Boredom

Too many small tasks today. I feel worn out. My Mother and I gathered cleaning tools together and went to the cemetery to clean the muddy gravestones, all in the same location: my sister's, my father's, and one of Mother's sisters (who died decades ago) and the sister's husband, who died more recently (1994?). That aunt and uncle were always good to me, though it's' sure hard to remember all about them any more. Only my sister was really recent (2007). I kinda had a mental slip the other day by imagining for a second that my sister might "drop by", the first time I've thought even for a second that she was still alive. Very unnerving, but I guess it's not that unusual. Then I went to WalMart to refill one of two of my blood pressure medications and a few random additional items. Brought home food from Whataburger. Food was ok, service was a great disappointment, but I guess I'm getting like my mother and won't cut people much slack for bad service. They forgot one item and then a second item was hidden under the french fries, which may be typical there, but I don't know the habits of restaurants, fancy or cheap, any more nor do I much want to know. Clearly they thought I was a dumbass son of a bitch not to dig down to the bottom layer of the sack, but I'm getting to the point with bad service like that powerful creature on StarTrek who, when they killed his human wife, he wiped out the species, man woman and child--all across the universe! But I didn't kill anyone. I went home and did laundry. I forgot the clothes at each step, as usual, so that the process took hours and hours. When I was younger, one washer load and one dryer load and putting it all up didn't seem like much, but now it certainly does! I'm very tired. My life is boring.

Noteworthy Word -- Scorning Stock

Did Bush & Cheney make us a Scorning-stock?

I guess this is a phrase, not a word, but it's interesting. It's a phrase I encountered in a bio of the first English Queen Elizabeth, in a note from one high secretary to another. The only reason I thought I knew what it meant was that in context it seemed to substitute very nicely for "laughingstock", a phrase that has not lost as much of its currency as the other phrase did. It read: "But now let Christian charity work with you, Sir, for God's love, the King's, and the realm's; refuse not the offer which is so good, so godly, and so honourable unto you, that this realm be not made in one year a double tragedy and a lamentable spoil, and scorning-stock of all the world."

Flight of Fancy

Do I pander too much for attention with this? It often seems so. But what else is there? I could panic, I could glory, I could wait for better days With a patience I've never owned Or I could wing forth like a dragon-slayer Across the plains Or a dipping kite in the wind, But I know where it all leads— It leads right here Where I am perpetually falling from the sky.

So Much For Beauty

I believed sometimes so much in beauty That I could not keep it off (It was like some fog always rolling in) And could not keep my feet, my balance, or anything attuned... I sometimes could admit that beauty must be unfair To men and women with other attractive attributes But I didn't cry too much for all the shallow pretties Who could only keep their beauty if they died soon. I blush that this was only me thinking, though, It was never spoken much aloud! I mean nothing that might be too pejorative about it But it never seems to occur to the general population That anything is wrong, and I must admit that It hasn't held much sway over me, either— But now that I am struck down And feeble, weary, and worn, It occurs to me from minute to minute That I was foolish, absurd, and unkind In modes of cruel address And it remains unclear to me Right through today How I could ever undo, untangle, or repair Such distress I made or that I felt inside!

Tedium never rests

It ain't just rust that don't sleep!

Anybody Use Blogger's Export/Import Yet?

If any of you have success or failure with the new Import/Export feature as I described in New Undelete Button, please let me know. 1. Tell me if it worked or not or if it worked smoothly. 2. how many posts it copied when you tried 3. Also mention if you first did a practice run with a "test" blog, which I highly recommend that you do. I expect zero answers to this, so only God knows why I ask it.

Honestly?

Bill Cosby: "I don't know the key to success, but the key to failure is trying to please everybody."

Hazard and Junk

I cannot tell Whether time moves too fast or too slow-- But either way, it's a hazardous proposition. Many might say "Well done!", but I'd doubt them. To me, it's all unclear. It's just a giant gene pool of tears un-evolving And I am disgusted with most of it, Especially when so much of what we admire Is just junk pseudo-personalities on TV.

What To Do About These Blogs!

No doubt you wanted someone who would cheer you up. Silly bastard. Foolish girl. Go back and start all over again. You may now go to the blackboard and write 500 times in italic, "I should have known better than to expect much good to come of this!"

Asleep And Dreaming

A man wakes up each morning and says, "I guess I'm not asleep any more, It's no longer night, but I am still dreaming, Dreaming with less than delight that I've turned into a clown, Who slobbers in the day and drools all night. It's too warm under the covers for a morning man Who's not an egg, and the night's too cool for a desert sport, Yet I can't keep my shorts dry or my wick wet-- But what's that go to do with Anything, Much less with this? Some things ARE disgusting, so why not me? Now everyone I've ever known has gone away And sent back messages that are slighting or totally silent, Or else they've stayed where they were Aand starved themselves too long And blame me now for their not being fed And no longer give a damn About whether we should quit Or should we even try to recall any of the rest of it!"