Cute and Mean

(Strange Tales, #5)

I used to think you were cute, But then I found out You were just blonde and mean, Not a muse and not a bit amusing. Soon the pulse of life in me went blank and stark, Standing at the baby’s grave, though I pretended otherwise, Then all the stars we steered by blinked out that humid night And left each one alone, perspiring and deaf in the dark. Now all those negative images I collected all day for years and could not conceal, Could not repeal, are piled up high above my ears; I’ve shouldered them far, for fear of worse, Though some of them are yours. Now it’s here, You can see they garner no awards, no medals, No honor or joy that I can tell, No matter what our wishes are, no matter what the baby was. rcs. Current draft: 3/30/2010 Created on 3/27/2010 4:46 PM

Advice I Ignored

And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain, Don't carry the world upon your shoulders. For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool By making his world a little colder. -- Beatles

What Are You Doing?

(Strange Tales #1)

What are you doing? Don’t worry, it doesn’t matter. It used to matter, but things change. Now laundry hangs in the back yard getting dusty And is sometimes yanked off the line by dogs While old friends reach wrong numbers And my speed-dial turns up the dead and disconnected Faster than a sharpshooter shovel or the far too lively Armadillos that keep digging up undesired dismembered Bodies each night in Preacher Arnold’s side yard And the dogs scatter the resurrected parts through The wealthy neighborhood of Needle's Eye each morning. rcs. Current draft: 3/30/2010 Created on 3/25/2010 2:21 PM

Horror Of Connection

(Strange Tales #4)

I have a horror of connection, pro and con. I guess I’m pretty often miserable for little reason Or mistaken and need correction like a dog on a lead. Whether I ever find the time to show the price of it or not, I wonder what kind of time and money it will require When I finally have to pay the bill? It’s more than I can negotiate, defray, or dispel Most times, this honor of connection we bestow. No one who knows can tell, Though markers on the graves I’ve dug Suggest to me the cost is high Even if you die in debt. rcs. Current draft: 3/23/2010 Created on 2/15/2010 11:48 AM

COMMAND PROMPT AND BATCH FILES

For some reason, the uses I made of my previous computer did not require me to worry about using batch files or the command prompt, so I never did. I guess those were years I was deep into blogging and I did "backups" other ways. Now I've got this laptop and thought that it'd be useful to have some batch files again, mostly for backup purposes. I know I've used other command prompt commands in the past, but the only ones that I wanted to revive were variations of the "dir" and the "xcopy" commands. Xcopy allows me to make highly specific backups to my flash drives, whether the backups are Full backups, incremental backups by date, or incremental backups by archive flags (copies only files that have been modified) Then I always have a safety copy of the important stuff in case of fire or flood! Using those commands, especially in a batch file, makes certain things very easy, but I hadn't taken into consideration how long it'd been! I had trouble remembering the EXACT correct terms. And Microsoft changes made it a criminal investigation to discover how to get the command prompt in a window. The changes may have occurred earlier than Vista, but things are certainly relocated since I used to use it on a daily basis, two computers ago. I suspect that it's a small percentage of computer users who even know that command prompt and batch files exist these days. They aren't necessary, though they are delightful work horses if you have need of them. I thought it'd take me 15 minutes to sort all this forgotten material out, but it was more like 15 hours of researching, 15 minutes at a time! Now you know why nobody pays me for researching computer answers!

Mr. Fuck-up or Mr. Fool?

A Fool's Tale

I felt like my hair was getting too long two days ago and decided to cut it. For the past couple of years, I've been using electric clippers with several different size guides and accessories that I never have mastered. I use as few of them as I can get away with, most times. So far, I'd gotten away with being slouchy, but this time I decided I'd make more effort for once to reach WAY BACK behind my head with the clippers, which are pretty heavy, and clip the hair on the back of my head that's always left much longer than needed to match the rest of my haircut length. BIG MISTAKE! My arms aren't long enough and my strength isn't great enough to do a good job and I ended up less like I'd cut my hair and more like I'd shaved it back there! Thank you very much, Mr. Fuck-up, where you been so long? Oh, well, it'll grow back in a month or so, I guess. I don't know if I'm seldom around anyone who is observant or if it's just that all the ones I see regularly are not the "commenting" kind, but since I wear hats so much of the time, my new "skin" job may not draw much discussion of how those heavy clippers finally made a complete fool of me. La di dah...

Feeling Sorry

The old man in the Home was feeling sorry for himself When he said to no one in particular: Another goddamn fucking week’s gone by And I have little new to say, not even a lie. Others might help you to your wheelchair Or fetch your heating pads, prostheses, pills, Or hearing aid, and your other gear and gadgets, But it probably won’t be me. I have too many aches and pains and abuses myself To feel like abusing you or feel much sorrow for you Or think of rescuing anyone from anything. It’s all been said to me and I couldn’t afford to care— I was promised no solution and No Rescue. I may not be worse, but it hasn’t make me a better man, At least I know that this is all that’s left And as much as there ever will be. rcs. Current draft: 3/19/2010 Created on 3/10/2010 7:57 PM

SAVE ME!

Boy, I just had the strongest impulse while sitting at the computer to have a cigarette, something I haven't done in over 10 years! Jesus, save me! It was an unconscious impulse, however, so as soon as I realized what my autopilot was scheming, the desire disappeared like a puff of smoke. I can't imagine anything more stupid for me, unless I was to start eating large amounts of sugar.

TOLKIEN

Yesterday marked the anniversary of the Downfall of Sauron; it always gets lost these days in the shuffle of world news.

Only A Kiss

The drunk crawled out of the cardboard carton And said, “I’d just like to kiss a girl, Even if she’s an old girl Who admits she’s old as me! As long as the spirit in her crazy heart Still runs true and she doesn’t want to Throw me to Satan or drown me in God— Then I’d be true as well while the bottle lasts!” I’m hip, fellow misfits say, for they needn’t imagine What it is to live without a lover’s kiss Until you’ve gone so long without That you forget what it is you miss. rcs. Current draft: 3/25/2010 Created on 3/16/2010 2:06 PM

Take The Blame

(I’m Just A Sick Bastard)

I notice that a large part of the world— My world, I mean—has no comment most of the time, Because they’re busy leading lives with no relation to mine And I can’t complain that I’m surprised. After all, it’s been a long, long time Since any of them walked or worked in tandem with me And I have to take the blame and live with that, Whether they treat me as if I’m alive or dead. rcs. Current draft: 3/24/2010 Created on 3/15/2010 1:25 PM

Good Enough Opinion

Although I no longer have A good enough opinion of myself, I still let myself think sometimes Or dream at will about flirting, romancing you— I still can’t help it! I never seem to know my age. I wish I never knew my limits just as well. It would even be unobjectionable If you smelled of lavender and vanilla Like that sweet-old-lady scent I sometimes detect In the red-ribboned curls and laundered shirts Of that pretty coffee-colored girl who lives downstairs With Granny Merle, who isn’t quite so sweet, I’m told! rcs. Current draft: 3/21/2010 Created on 3/17/2010 11:07 AM

Who, Me?

FOR THOSE OF YOU LOOKING FOR CUTE!

I once had an adult dog like this. This picture makes me wish I could have been a puppy when he was!

Run, Rabbit, Run!

I ran over a rabbit with my car today. Now I’m disgusted with myself. I don’t know why, But then, I don’t know why not. rcs. Current draft: 3/22/2010 Created on 3/21/2010 5:18 PM

Stevia

Having had private discussions previously, as well as reading some Internet hooha about the natural sweetener made from the plant, Stevia, I’d begun to carry the notion in my mind that “natural” must be better if it tasted good enough, so I was on the primrose path. I saw a boxed container of a hundred packets for the second time in WalMart's supplements section and, much to my regret, bought it. It didn’t taste sweet and it did taste bad. I would have bought fewer if I had a functioning brain, but in any case I had only found it in this one size. I've tried it twice so far, on some Cheerios, but I couldn't taste anything very sweet in it, though the second time I did detect an unpleasant taste. It sure wasn't sweet enough! I had a similar reaction to the taste of Sweet n Low years ago, so I guess I'm stuck with Equal. Splenda is okay, as well, in the packaged food products I’ve encountered. I sure don’t like being on the hook for $6 worth of useless Stevia packets. I don’t think I'll ever try it again because I don't see how it's going to improve with frequency of use. It's horrible so far. Don’t take my word for it, though; my taste buds have been wonky for several years now and many foods taste bad or wrong to me that you probably eat every week. I imagine that it's an aberration that I don't even have in common with all other diabetics.

Fateful Missy’s Golden Slumber

It’s just one goddamn poem after another This guy sends her; he must think His every word, like drops of piss, is golden. Maybe his shit doesn’t stink, either? Will no one ever wake him And put him wise before he wets his pants Or will we have to dance him here like one of Missy’s dolls Until we break him in lieu of any first intended consequence Of kindness or any understanding we might conceive, Like puppet masters anywhere? [Around and round you go and stumble, Over and over tumble in the same jerky two-step dreams Of filmy fushia crinolines and girlish lipstick grins and Awkward boys who slightly bow in tightly fitted formal pants.] rcs. Current draft: 3/20/2010 Created on 3/18/2010 9:28 PM

ABC

You feel this, You feel that— Aw jeez, You’re always feeling Some stupid drama of regret Regardless of anything real. In truth you’re only stringing words together To fill the time away from Jack and Jill; That might make sense, But it doesn’t really matter if you do. Are you lonesome, Are you blue, Can you stir a bumpkin stick in Elvis soup And boil it till it’s true? Politics, dread politics, rave on— Declare yourself for ABC, Protest that pensive weakling XYZ— It’s pretty much the same damn trip, Whether you puff up on the left or right Or shove it up your ass in fright, And beauty, dear beauty, There’s no chick that pleases or appeases you Like it used to do, No name or word that we applaud, There’s no bird notable for taking flight right now, No one to write the names down except for you and me. What good will it do, though, For you to carry those names around Like a leaden weight And me to carry you? See how low your flag is flying, Can you keep it from the dirt? Is there anyone of any moral stature or high feather here To keep fledglings in repair or from being hurt? rcs. Current draft: 3/18/2010 Created on 2/15/2010 11:48 AM

Write Me

No one writes me often enough, I’d say. Often enough for what? one might ask. Often enough to distract me from myself, Would be my answer. rcs. Current draft: 3/20/2010 Created on 3/19/2010 7:47 PM

Not News

Goddamn the planet Earth! I guess that about covers it.

Too Bad

Too bad there’s not something to hang on to, But this will have to do. Too bad there’s not someone to cling to, In the dark of night or the starkness of any Sunday. Are you anxious, are you rude? Can you follow the Golden Rule And lift your skirt Without being crude? I’m in the bed undone like tangled strings. I’m on the phone unspun like wireless tongues. I’m on the way to being out of here And out of my mind for fun. rcs. Current draft: 3/18/2010 Created on 3/15/2010 4:33 PM

The Answer To Whut?

Iiii Eeee Oooo Uuuu Kid! Yyyy not? rcs. Current draft: 3/17/2010 Created on 3/17/2010 10:38 AM

The Everyone Soliloquy

Too many of those I love just drift away— I can only guess that they have their reasons. I deserted some, I admit, but I guess I never felt that they were being left alone. I’ve been wrong about it all before, though— Maybe everyone is alone behind the mask, behind the mesh, And fools like me can only see it from inside, not outside, The cruel flesh and flash of hope. Now I am he whose soliloquy sounds as alone As that of any other tired or timid man Who has dropped by the side of the road And waits for, yet rebuffs, the touch of Any holy joe or passerby who nods or speaks. I guess they wait for me as well And have lingered long, just as disappointed With the sounds of one more man talking to himself, One more who doesn’t care for any holy Jones or passersby Who’s laughing unless they’ve rung the bell and paid the toll. rcs. Current draft: 3/16/2010 Created on 2/15/2010 11:48 AM

Crosshairs of Love

Here's a link to an old poem of mine that I never expected would draw much attention. I still feel that way. See it, if you wish, on Judy Garland Blues at Crosshairs of Love.

Forgiven

Marlene Dietrich: Once a woman has forgiven her man, she must not reheat his sins for breakfast.

Cemetery Visit

The arrows through the heart out here Are not due to Cupidity, but to vanity and death And to misery and loss. How those slight memorials Ever came to be known as Monuments Seems strange to me, seeing how few of us Can claim to have been monumental Until someone bought us a big polished stone. rcs. Current draft: 3/12/2010 Created on 3/12/2010 10:58 AM

That's a Long Story

Here's a link to an old poem about some fictional storm that roared through my brain long ago. It is long and I will be lucky if anyone ever reads it, but I have at least found a place to keep it until I want to read it again. See it, if you wish, at HURRICANE COAST.

What Stinks?

Dogs’ Superior Noses

What I never understand is: if dogs have such extremely superior noses, how can they be so cavalier about sniffing one another’s bottoms, not to mention other odors that you and I would find repulsive? I would think than an increased sensitivity to some of those odors would make the dog stand up on his hind legs, hold his nose, and declare, “You stink like that corporate pig farm next door!” As far as I can tell, though, dogs never find anything repellent. Thinking that the world stinks is obviously a human trait, possibly an acquired taste. I don't know if there is such a thing as an "aversion gene", but dogs certainly don't have it! I wonder if it’s wonderful to be so tolerant and uncomplaining about the various stinks around us? It must be; dogs always appear pretty happy and never appear to be holding their breath!

The Generation

I used to expect that I would be like the others, That I’d be part of The Generation as I’d always been And would hit the ground (my age) running Or at least still walking, not shuffling, That maybe I’d at least be mobile, Not haltered and hindered and half-immobilized. rcs. Current draft: 3/13/2010 Created on 3/12/2010 8:12 PM

One Week Bleeds

One week bleeds into another, And time appears from under the table, Then disappears from under my feet At a pace more rapid than the dance. Timing is a matter of constant cumulative debate, Like raindrops in clouds, like rabbits in heat, but One week bleeds into the other, As these cold perceptions on the Internet do. rcs. Current draft: 3/11/2010 Created on 2/15/2010 11:48 AM

Internet Kisses

It’s alright if you go away, So many others have. We’ve never met in real life, anyway, So I wasn’t expecting a cleanup visit from The Virgin of Vatican city Or a down and dirty night of bliss With a burpy local vixen. rcs. Current draft: 3/11/2010 Created on 2/5/2010 8:05 PM

Fair Warning About Smoke Alarms

Warning! This could happen to you! I decided it was time to replace the 9-volt batteries in the two smoke alarms yesterday, but when I looked at them, it seemed like they were awfully old and maybe the smoke alarms themseles should be replaced. Though it is true that I can't stay on a ladder very long (I get dizzy these days), I bought a pair of alarms at Wal*Mart and later was lucky that my brother in law (who's older than me) came along and changed them out. I felt a little creepy about it because I could have done the job if I could stay on the ladder properly, but I can't do it any more. Anyway, everybody breathed a small sigh of relief. Before 24 hours had passed, I returned to the house after burning some pine straw and tree debris, sat at the kitchen table to watch the news, but immediately started hearing that high-pitched ping-ping-ping! "What the hell?" I thought. The alarm didn't seem to be coming from the right direction, so I thought about killing the TV, but in the end just turned the power off. I could now clearly determine that the sound was coming from behind me as I faced the hallway with the two new alarms! "What the shit?!" The sound led me through the kitchen and into the laundry room where nothing was evident about what was "alarming" and Where it was alarming from! Was the washer or dryer on fire somehow? No, no, not that. That alarm note was killing my brain (as I guess it was meant to do) and I became desparate to find it. Finally, after the longest five minutes of my life, I bent down toward the kitchen garbage can and the noise was very close indeed then. It occurred to me at last that one of the discarded smoke alarms must still have a battery in it! "Goddamn battery!" I thought that both had been checked and removed, but it wasn't so. My best guess is that the smoke from my debris fire in the back yard has eased it's way into the laundry room and down into the garbage. I only hope the new ones work so well if there's ever a real fire in the house.

Carlotta

(Just Another Piece of Tale)

I don’t know, but I also don’t expect, That Carlotta even kept us in mind after she left Or that she can be considered in any sense One of your or my oldest friends When technically it may have been so. There has been no further friendship, though, No further contact or word sent via another. There has been nothing for decades, And she has become nearly nothing to us, But she’s hardly the only one. A list of insuperable length might be assembled If it were seemly for me to blame them And then write the wretched names of men Who’ve pulled a similar “Poof!” And disappeared for decades— But it’s not very appropriate, is it? “Real men” still don’t get it sometimes And still don’t care To care very much about men When they see it’s Love instead of Hate. rcs. Current draft: 3/8/2010 Created on 3/8/2010 4:41 PM

Sorting Things Out

How can you miss me when I won't go away?

Their Biography

Write me, bite me, People whose names I’ve never heard before Send emails to tell me that their biography is now a book— How grand! I wasn’t even aware it was a paragraph! rcs. Current draft: 3/9/2010 Created on 2/15/2010 11:48 AM

Critics Are Unpatriotic?

Adlai Stevenson: Do not... regard the critics as questionable patriots. What were Washington and Jefferson and Adams but profound critics of the colonial status quo?

Dog And Pony

Here's a link to a new poem about the structure of the universe. I will probably not get any criticism or commendations for it, but I've grown used to that. See it, if you wish, at Dog And Pony Dream. It's NOT about animal sex.

Being A Poet’s Favorite Fan

I think I’ll just leave you A little more alone about it from now on and Not attempt to slip any more poems under your door Or in your face or email folder or coat pocket. You can still find them when you’re in the mood. It’s factual enough my work’s depressing, even to myself. Now even though I express it to relieve it, I still shouldn’t belabor or weary any worthy reader Who’s apt to feel the foreignness and the horror of it And would prefer to evade the tiresome honor of it. I can’t blame you. rcs. Current draft: 3/8/2010 Created on 3/8/2010 2:45 PM

Witness And Judge, Part Two

(For Parents Dead Or Alive)

Who else would have worked so hard for us Or spent so much of their own lives prompting us Not to overspend or underwash or eat that stinky cheese! It may be tempting to be venal and resent how often They nailed us for mere venial sins, but do we recall And admit who saved us from killing ourselves as kids Or, later, from living in debt or jail Or in a dirty home or in the street? rcs. Current draft: 3/8/2010 Created on 2/15/2010 11:48 AM

Things Aren't Good Enough

(Haunted)

That day I wrote to you at last, I was just taking a shot in the dark. Hoping that nothing’s gone from bad to worse for you, Though sometimes old ghosts may disclose that Things aren't even good enough to tell when they get worse. I was just reaching out, like a clown come down from heaven, To see if I could touch a sharper edge Before perception dulls and imagination fails. It could have been someone else I reached, Just another wrong number With nothing better to do, The same as the night before And the night before that. I think I’ll have the phone removed soon. I wonder how long I can continue disconnected In this derelict haunted house without you? rcs. Current draft: 3/7/2010 Created on 3/4/2010 11:09 AM

Meet Me After

What will you do, I wonder, when I am dead— Will you expect to meet me After, Like meeting for drinks after work Or will there never be again a time When we can be alone together Dimly lit by verve and candles And talking poems and English Lit in a quiet corner Even while surrounded by celebrants of every kind, Who talk about weather, booze, and games In loud fluorescence-brightened rooms? rcs. Current draft: 3/6/2010 Created on 3/1/2010 7:38 PM

If I'm Boring

I can’t tell if I’m boring the shit out of the universe Or if it’s just myself who’s wandering, wondering If I’m sliding down the slippery slope Of nearly projectile expulsion from my own posterior Just once more or for the final time. rcs. Current draft: 3/4/2010 Created on 3/4/2010 11:23 AM

Things Are Already Spoiled

Things are already spoiled that way, Just as you say, and there’s no way to avoid it. I can look back at it and forward at it, But there’s no cheer to be found in it And it’s all the same in the same stoic frame On that cold familiar freezer shelf, In this old unpainted kitchen, on the same dead street. It’s the same sad sell. I’m famous for it. I suppose it would be fair If you’ve got to where You don’t want to know much more about it When most of these poems babble alike, Quite depressive and insane And obsessed about death or inactivity Or how words sound or work As they click around, about, and In the track or pockets of the roulette wheel— So you’re right in your remarks, But what else would I know? The carousel you sent failed to arrive. I just got a piece of mail about it from Amazon, Saying that the horses didn’t survive And the poles were bent And all the brass rings were tarnished. rcs. Current draft: 3/4/2010 Created on 2/25/2010 2:11 PM

Disrespect (Rizzo's Tune)

It’s true I treat my friends with disrespect And that’s not good, not even for me. I assure you that I don’t just get away with it. I’ve never gotten away with anything, As far as I recall, and probably never will. But maybe I just don’t recognize it. Maybe my every breath is hateful and spiteful And my renditions for the public all disguised. Who would practice such grand deceit When there is no merit in it and nothing to be gained? rcs. Current draft: 3/3/2010 Created on 2/5/2010 2:58 PM

Zombie Love

Is this the place? They said it was the place Where small evils rule and sagging cuties cruise And fat clumsy zombies hump themselves into a frenzy In the dead of night. So is it, any such? They said I could just drop in, They’re always home at night… Is this the place where hideous hot-blooded zombies Wake and fall in love and rut in mud, Ring silent silver bells in heat, reproduce as such, And wear each other's fingers out? They rush ahead, but don’t they know Those fingers, lips, and tongues Will fall off soon and turn to mush and dust? This is the place where maiden aunts Point out that even youthful bosoms Must turn concave at last without a touch of mirth And sport the smell of must As much as lust and lavender Or damp asshole and chilly earth. Oh God, they’re getting up, they’re crawling out! They still can yearn for love and touch even if only Stitches, spit, and formaldehyde hold their insides in, Even if love stinks or drools too much in bed Or most lose all mortal pleasure in its exquisite touch When thick dark discharges ooze and spread like murk Across their once-expansive now breathless breastwork. rcs. Current draft: 3/1/2010 Created on 12/26/2009 11:34 AM

Live Again

(Thinking Of You)

If I could put the broken bits and ashes of my life Back together again, or If I could gather in one place All my far-flung hopes and friends And all the foolish dream ships that I smashed Or scuttled or scattered in the wind— Whether or not we ever kissed or ever will again— I’d breathe at rest at last Without a worry for your soul or mine Or for this dread, this dire anticipation of loss, I’d live again, however small, devoid of tears, Maybe serve to cheer you one last time More than you’d expected or ever will again Before the years insist that you or I must pass. rcs. Current draft: 3/1/2010 Created on 2/22/2010 8:15 PM