Tuesday, October 13, 2009

lovey day

I got a call this morning saying it was a rain day so we wouldnt be working. I looked outside and there is just a slight drizzle that at this point has already subsided. The point of the matter is that even the universe recognizes the vast importance of october 13th and found a way to trick my boss into calling off work so me and my love can spend all day together!!

Wowzers! Seven years. Seven years of coy glances, bad jokes, holding hands, me trying to get her to dance with me, fits and fights, cuddles, thrift store "treasures", childrens laughter and childrens tantrums, cigarettes and coffee, bookstore dates, drive arounds, amarillo trips, basketball games, poems and paintings, a dog and a cat and the cat in the hat, knitted hats, hoodie weather, feeling rich on payday notsomuch in the middle of the week, tax returns, broken down cars, births, renewals, ideas, growing up and never growing old, loving each other more each day, saying shhh every night, saying i love you you are beautiful every morning, watching the drunks bottom out in the giant pothole in the alley, dreams of the future plans of the future, being content in the now, tulsa, eureka springs, a novel, feeling tired but always keeping on, pancakes and reading your emails, a renegade walking stick and the love book, holidays, prayers, celebrations, staring at the moon, looking at the stars, the zoo!!, mowing 7-11 cirklek agrilawn greener grass martin park western lawns, children children and more children popping out all over the place bringing unparalleled joy, always making it, pumkin spice cappuccino nos dr pepper and iced tea, being hermits, koolaid on the floor ramen on the floor chili on the floor poop on the floor crackers on the floor, "think of all the shoes they'll go through!", "quit eating those pretzels." "why?" "because i like telling you what to do.", " i'm an owligator"," you're my bedbunny", "my mom's a tortilla", "is it a bible?", dreads and beards, desktops hilarity, pictures, songs, wednesdays, lost, more talking on the cell phone than working, chili and hot chocolate on snow days, being pregnant seemingly more than not, filling a house with old books and new laughter, patchouli and the knowing that this is just the beginning. Seven of seventy.

Sunday, September 20, 2009

The Mighty Huntresses.



Wednesday, September 16, 2009

What's the Timmy in the well?





About six months ago, I had just finished a yard and was putting the invoice on the door when the door opened and a booming voice bellows, "Braaaady get back here!" I froze for an instant because this was the first time I had been to this house and I became unfrozen when a giant yellow lab is leaping towards my head. "Brady get down, now!" It turns out that Brady is a very very friendly and playful dog who loves to greet everyone by jumping on them. The customer goes on to tell me all about how they moved here from Boston and all about how they are huge Patriots fans and all about how they named their dog after Tom Brady and all about how Brady is a really special dog and all about how to be careful to always keep the gate closed because Brady just loves to dart out and wander around the neighborhood and this is the part that gets me- he says,"Yeah, Brady here has a wanderlust about him."
Today I found that to be quite the understatement. I had the gate open to drag the hose through and saw his grinning self looking at me. He was sitting about twenty feet away from the gate just kind of wagging his tail and smiling at me so I figured he's not gonna try anything radical today. I turned my attention for a split second and POOOF he dashes for the open gate. He stops right outside the gate just kind of wagging his tail and smiling at me again. "Brady, get back in here," I plead to no avail. I slowly approach him and he's still just kind of wagging his tail and smiling at me. I get to about three feet from him and POOOOF he dashes out through the front yard and down about three houses where he sits under a tree waiting for me to approach just kind of wagging his tail and smiling and as I get closer POOOOF there he goes again full speed through the neighborhood all the while taking time to look back at me and smile and wag his tail.
Logically I know that there is probably nothing to it, that it's just a damn dog getting out that I have to chase down and bring back. Realistically I should think it's just a damn dog wasting my time, ruining my day, and giving the neighbors something funny to see from their windows. But I swear that somehow this is something more. Like Lassie leading everyone to find Timmy in the well. Like it's me chasing myself. Like it's me trying to show myself something.
Brady leads me probably about a quarter mile through this neighborhood into the greenbelt where they have a walkway and an area with old railroad ties as a retaining wall covered with honeysuckle exploding in it's last days of the season. He goes into the shade of a cottonwood tree and sits down just kind of wagging his tail and smiling at me. I approach him and he doesn't bolt or run. He just sits there and lets me walk up and sit next to him.
I pat my head and ask myself what is this all about? Why the chase? Are you running away from something or running to something? Is this about my wanderlust? Are you telling me to go home, pack up the everybody in the van, grab the rent money from the counter and just go?
My canine self is being real stubborn about just giving away the secrets, so I continue to pepper him with questions.
Is it the honeysuckle growing three weeks past season? Are you trying to show me something about resiliency? Am i supposed to hang on to something when logic would seem to show it impossible? Is this about God vs logic? Hmmm? Is it? Maybe it's taking time to appreciate beauty instead of being concerned with American efficiency? Should I blog about this? Would you like to be viewed in Laos? Is this about my writing? What should my next project be about? Hmm? Since your not answering, are you trying to show me that sometimes maybe we can't really know? That maybe it's better to question than to know? Hmm? Hmm? Are you trying to show me how crazy I truly am? That I'm talking to a dog as if somehow it is me? Are you saying I should embrace this kind of behavior?
At this point, I guess he got tired of me not hitting the mark and decided to help me along, so he rolls over on his back and I rub his belly. Maybe this is it huh? That you need your belly rubbed? That sometimes no matter how fiercely independent we may try to be, that ultimately we need people? That we can't tickle ourselves?
And just like that he got up and started trotting back to his yard.

Thursday, September 3, 2009

my life is average

the alarm makes its first scream, well actually it's a whimper because i've had the same alarm clock for at least ten years but that is totally irrelevant, so the alarm makes its whimper at 4:30 which if i get up immediately is the perfect time for me to eat a bowl of cereal, brew some coffee, take a shower, get dressed, check the radar, check facebook, let the van's carburetor warm up, gather the cellphone and cigarettes, and make the 35 minute drive to work to be there at 5:45 which is the perfect time because the other techs aren't there so i can fill up my tank without waiting in line, and then beat the morning traffic and be on a yard at or before 7 and have an awesome jump on the day, however i typically hit the snooze about 5 times while having irrational thoughts about how the alarm isn't really going off or i incorporate the buzzing into a dream for an hour, which gets me up at 5:45 which usually cuts out the shower, the breakfast, and the coffee, and at this time when i start the van it wakes up emma and she comes droggily down the starts and mutters something incoherent about a dora dream and then says she loves me and wants to watch me drive away so she sits on the porch with a blanket and watches me drive away so i go around the block to make sure she doesn't fall asleep on the porch and gets back inside so i have reveries about how awesome she is and how awesome the violette is and how awesome theordore is and how awesome effie is and how awesome our family is and as im heading up northwest expressway i can usually catch a glimpse of the sun peeking up and i tell it hello and thank it for lighting up the sky in such a brilliant and clockwork manner and i usually have the same thought every morning about how neat it is to be hurdling across the earth at 55mph, how i've been riding in cars for 26 years and the concept is still neat to me and how thankful i am for the magic van that should realistically not be running, but by some benevolent force it just keeps blaring and blazing away day after day and gets me to work and gets us to the zoo and gets us to the store and i can't get over how neat and amazing it is and how neat and amazing everything is, then i get to work at 6:58, two minutes before the requisite start time so the other techs are there and i wait my turn to fill up and i look at my route for the day and always have the highest aspirations to do every yard, so i head out and must make the first 7-11 stop for the day for a donut and an energy drink since i didn't wake up in time to make cereal and coffee, so i mozy through traffic down to norman or moore or yukon or mustang munching on the donut sipping on the energy drink puffing on a cigarette thinking how neat it is to have a job that pays the bills and even a little extra for smokes and energy drinks and friday night papa johns and random thrift store or garage sale treasures and all the small little blessings waiting around the corner and at this point i usually think about how tonight is the night that i'm gonna start the short story that has been in my head for three weeks or maybe start on the new novel and then i have a war with myself about what's the point of spending three months of my time and energy for a novel that three people will read and then i curse myself to oblivion and tell myself that i will do it because i like doing it and how many people read it is irrelevant and i usually come to the conclusion that yes tonight is the night to start the next big project or at least crank out a poem or a blog so i want to get home a little early so in my mind i shave off two or three yards because they aren't going anywhere any time soon, they'll be there waiting for me another day, so i get to my first yard and settle in to the routine of two yards then cigarette, three yards then cigarette, mix in lots of calls to and from the hilarious the nefarious the all consuming effie, one yard then cigarette, one yard and now it's time to caffeinate again so its to 7-11 for a dr pepper and some sunflower seeds and i'll look at the clock and the big ominous stack of yards left and decide that a couple more need to be shaved off, a couple of yards here a couple of yards there a few yards everywhere and before i know it it's 4:00 and i've done enough to be passable as a decent employee so i start the journey back to piedmont scanning the radio for something something oh anything decent to listen to but npr is rambling on how tough it must be to be poor and it makes me want to vomit and the modern rock station is playing one of their ten songs and all ten are lifeless dregs and the country station likes toby keith more than willie nelson so i'll settle on the sports animal not because i'm the biggest sports fan in the world or even care about sports really at all but it's slightly entertaining so i cruise back and at this point i'm not so fond of the sun anymore as my truck has no a.c. and i'm not so fond of the neatness of driving because i've been doing it all day and there are just so many damn cars and who are all these people and where are they going and who are they talking to on their phones and what are they saying and i realize that i have no grip on humanity and i'm starting to wear down and wear out and i just want to be home to play with my wife and kids and eat something that didnt come from 7-11 and oh yeah i'm gonna write!! tonight is the night to pull down the typewriter and get to clickyclackin but what do i have to write, i don't understand the rest of humanity in the slightest so i get back to the shop and get out of there and while i really enjoy my job, by the end of the day i want nothing more than to forget the place exists so i meander down 122nd to avoid the psychosis of nwexpressway at 5:30 and hop on hefner parkway and glance over at the lake and wonder why are all these people running around and around why are we all running around endlessly and aimlessly and why cant we all move to the woods and eat twigs and berries follow a single ant all day and sing folk songs by campfire everynight but then i remind myself that this modern life is a beautiful mystery to be embraced just the way it is and i get home and open the door and my spirits are sky high to see the girls smiling shouting "daddddyyyy!!" and we say "cranddaaalll claaannn" and have a giggle and a tickle and i have a hug and a kiss with effie and we all hear about our days and we have an "at home cigarette" and then some delicious dinner and put on some good music and i'll hold theodore and ask him if he's ready to go fishing yet and we'll watch the girls jumping from the couch and being in a state of general mayhem and usually get frustrated that they won't listen to anything we tell them but at the same time be so proud of their independence and general hilarity and at this point i'll remember that i'm starting that novel or at least that short story or at least a poem or at least a blog but instead i'll check up on facebook and we'll watch a couple of episodes of lost on netflix and i'll swear that tomorow morning i'm gonna get up at the first whimper of the alarm and tomorrow night will most definitely bring about the first pages of that novel and as mom used to say "my sleepy hits" and i get grouchy real fast usually snap at effie or the girls and realize that i better go to bed before i say anything too incredibly smartassnasty, so i'll head to bed dead tired but in general completely satisfied and grateful for my family and my life and can't wait for 4:30 when the alarm will whimper and i will most assuredly hit the snooze...

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

tea with angels

for some time now, i've been writing letters to beauty
telling it that i see it around town, see it in people
see it in places, see it in things
and i just want to let it know that its not going unnoticed
that i appreciate it
that i'm grateful
that i want to see more
that i cant get enough.
for some time now, i've been writing letters to god
telling it that i see it everywhere, see it in people
see it places, see it in things
and i used to ask it a bunch of questions
about why things are they way they are
but i've come to figure
that it's better to to not know
better to let god be god and me be me
and just appreciate it for what it is.
for some time now i've been writing letters to love
letting it know that i see it milling about
traipsing around
sometimes i'll tell love that i see it trapped
trapped in people, places, things
how i see how bad it wants to get out
sometimes i tell love all about how i can't live without it
sometimes i call it air.
my new letters to god
letters to love
letters to beauty and letters to life-
they're all coming back.
return to sender.
so i called the post office to see whats the deal.
i mean for seven years now i've been writing the letters
dropping them in the big blue frog
comforted that they are reaching their destination.
not really expecting a reply
just comforted in the act itself.
the feel of the yellow stationery with the red lines
the smell of the ink rolling from the pen
peeling the rhododendron stamp from the stampbook
placing it delicately in the corner
dropping it the big blue frog
and pretending the frog says "ribbit thank you."
until now, i've kept my obsession err habit a secret from mere mortals.
it's been my ace in the hole
so no matter what the earthly situation is
in the back of my mind i can always smile at the notion
that i'm in communion with the big things
things like fate and destiny and time.
so when the alarm doesnt go off and i'm twenty minutes late for work
it's just, eh, oh well, i've got a letter to the universe traveling its course.
the nice lady at the post office tells me that with a five billion deficit for the year
the postal service can no longer process such letters.
and i know that maybe it was neurotic
maybe a little crazy
to send letters to god
i mean, maybe i've been off my rocker all along.
maybe i need to evolve.
maybe i could blog to god.
maybe i could tweet @god
but it just doesn't have the right feel.
i liked the idea of the mailman
in his short faded blue shorts
handing my letter to truth.
i liked the idea that i couldn't do it myself
the idea that i needed help
the idea that i don't have it all together
the idea that i don't have it all figured out
the idea that there is something bigger
more powerful
more transcendent
more complex than my mind can comprehend
but at the same time, it's within reach.
and now i'm lost.
no ace in the hole.
so when the kids shatter a porcelain owl over the heater,
without the solace of my letters to love in the back of my mind
i don't know how to not be
the screaming drunk redneck asshole that i'm terrified of becoming.
or when i run out of gas in the middle of the intersection
and cars keep just driving around
around and around and around
so i have to leave the van right in the middle of the intersection
run two blocks to the gas station
buy a gas can for $8.50,
without the tranquility of my letters to life in the back of my mind
i don't know how to not be
the cynical jaded ungrateful asshole that i'm terrified of becoming.
so i guess i'll just have to start talking to time.
having audible conversations with beauty.
shoot the breeze with nature.
have tea with angels.
coffee and cigarettes with god.

Sunday, August 2, 2009

a couple poems

i go searching for poems
up to the tip of mt. scott
look out like mountain lion
scouring the oklahoma skyline
hungry for beauty.
down down down
and over into town
to the cafe
to the ol timers gathered around
taking coffee with no cream
mentioning ol bill walker
went in to the big city this morning
cataracts they think
or maybe hips
it was one of those anyways
i sit like gazelle
ears perched to capture wisdom.
belly full of eggs over easy
i go the way of bill walker
to the big city
hunting for poems
to the paseo, to woodward park, to 711 coffee refill
i am hunting, i am gathering
like sponge i soak the images the moments the feelings.
to nichols hills
to downtown
searching searching searching
wondering how ol bill walker is doing over at baptist.
to martin to hear the owls whooo whooo
to bookbeat to see how the real poets did it
to 711 one more coffee refill
fueling up for the finale
to the typewriter
to sitting and staring and sitting and staring
and trying forced lines that end up as wads of paper thrown violently
to the ever growing pile of discards
to frustrations and wondering where on earth have the poems seemed to go
to pouting and sulking
and wondering where in gods universe is the beauty
to emma crawling up on my lap
"whatcha doin daddy"
"tryin to write a poem"
"well i can help"
and i cant help but giggle at her cheerio breathed ambition
and i see where the beauty is
and it all makes perfect sense.







i drive 15 miles
for takeout chinese
cause its the best in town
and i listen to the blabber on NPR
about the economy
the economy
the economy

and i know that maybe
its a different world
in oklahoma
but there wasnt a dang thing
stopping me or the other five folks in line
from getting kungpao chicken
general tsao chicken
vegetable fried rice soy sauce on the side please
and some extra fortune cookies

and as i walked by the nailsalon next door
peeked in
there was a lady with 2 prosthetic legs
getting a pedicure
and a straight up gangsta
complete with LA dodger hat backwards
teardrop tattoo under mean left eye
white leather forrest gump running shoes
oversized dickie sweatpants
something in spanish up the whole forearm
and he is sitting there with his lady
and his hands are delicately placed
for the worker to file away

i jump in the car
flip on NPR
to hear steve martin
promoting his banjo cd

i cruise down hefner parkway
looking at seagulls
canada geese
joggers
all moving towards the sunset
while i listen to steve martin
pick a banjo

comforted
that the cosmic grinning panda
who oversees all small interconnected ironies
cannot be dimmed
by tough economic conditions

Monday, July 27, 2009

Fork You Bobby Frost!!!

My book is online! I just think its so cool that anyone in the whole world could look at a book i wrote at any moment. I realize that maybe 0 people will actually look at it, but its still neat that the possibility is there. If you wanna look at it, just click on the smiling austins up in the corner. It took three google documents to fit it, the links are at the bottom of each part. If you do have time to read it and like it, pass the word around. If you do check it out and cant get into it or dont like it, please let me know why so i can do better on the next one. I think of this book as the book i wanted to read when i was 18, so my new goal is to write the book i want to read when im 30. Hopefully add some maturity but somehow keep a youthful exuberance, skim back on the aggression and aggressive language but somehow stay fresh and funny and thought provoking.
Anyways, i hope you check it out!!

Saturday, July 4, 2009








This Fourth of July, my mind wanders back to the Fourth of July of '96.
I was fresh out of high school.
I'd been working for my brothers fence company.
My farmers tan was looking niiiice.
I had almost saved enough for the 5.0.
I was invincible, unstoppable, I had the world by the balls.
My cousin Brandon came up from Austin to celebrate the 4th.
He too, was fresh out of high school.
He'd been reading lots of Nietzsche .
His beret was looking niiice.
He was invincible, unstoppable and had the world by the balls.
He brought his girlfriend, Heather.
She was broadcasting school fancy, rocking the rachel, and looking niiiice for the summer.
He thought he'd show her some genuine Hickville, Oklahoma.
"Tuttle freaking USA!!!" he kept saying.
Kind of to himself at first, then increasingly loud.
Increasingly brazen.
Increasingly obnoxious.
As we were walking around the ice cream festival,
we'd pass a family with kids and he'd shout,
"Cows, Christians, and pickups!!!!" or
"Tuttle, America, Yeeehaaaa!!!!"
Several people asked me, "What's up with your friend, Jimmy, he's gonna catch a whoopass."
and I'd say, "Ahhh he's ok, just been drinking, that's all."
Which wasn't completely or remotely true, but it worked.
After hanging out and grilling and eating watermelon with the family,
when the sun had said goodbye,
we took the 4wheeler down to the Canadian River to camp out.
Brandon never really stopped talking about "rednecks and their football"
how they are "bumpkins."
It started to get really old.
Even for Heather. She started to roll her eyes every time he'd say,
"Hey Jimmy, do you know who Daniel Johnston is??"
"Jimmy are you familiar with the work of Keith Haring?"
"Have you heard of Belle and Sebastian yet??"
I figured the only way to make the evening remotely tolerable
would be to get everyone nice and liquored up.
So i took the 4 wheeler down to where the townies camped
and bargained for a fifth of whiskey.
We did shots for red fireworks that crawled across the sky and it became evident quickly
that Brandon was lightweight.
Wasn't going to make it.
He was mumbling incoherently
about corporate greed and the lack of true artistry in the music industry.
He was mumbling profusely
about social injustices in third world countries.
He was mumbling ravagely
about how he was missing Austin.
All the poetry he could be hearing right now.
All the after parties. and after after parties.
The culture. The people. The sophistication.
Somewhere in this slobbering drooling monologue, he went out for the count.
Me and Heather were still feeling good so we took the 4wheeler for a spin.
We blared through mudbogs
We jumped little hills
We took a turn a little too fast and fell off sideways into the quicksand.
We crawled out completely muddy and stripped down to our skivvies.
On the ride to the tent, I could feel her body pressed against my back
as she wrapped her arms around me and whispered in my ear,
"You're so much more fun than Brandon."
We got back to the tent and I popped a mixtape in the boombox.
We listened to watermelon crawl and chattahoochee
and went to makeout feelsie city.
We talked the night away and she told me all about how she could transfer to OU
and i told her all about how that probably wasn't the smartest thing to do because of one night of drunken fun.
She took my advice and ended up finishing broadcasting school
to go on to NPR, and as blog rumors have it, has had similar nights of fun
at company mixers with Ira Glass.
Brandon has chilled out a little bit, but not too much. He's a lawyer who handles contract issues for Austin bands and artists. In his spare time he does do good work "helping the helpless."
Every now and again, he'll shoot me an email letting me know that in the same day he managed
to score some obscure band royalties from a song that wilco ripped off, and saved a single mom an eviction from the tenement section of town.
I've gone on to seemingly fence half of Oklahoma City in blue collar bliss
and some days when its about 104 and there's not a cloud in sight,
I ponder interconnectedness, coincidence, happenstance
and chortle at the fact
that I'm two degrees from Ira Glass.

Tuesday, June 30, 2009

was looking through poems to pick one for artbeat. found a bunch of old stuff i had forgotten about. dont worry- the first one is not about scott giles. the dudes name just happened to be scott. i had big plans for the second one. was gonna make it like an epic, but wasnt really happy with the way it was going and was too lazy to fix it or continue it. found some other ones that had some potential but once again, too lazy to edit. lol if its not perfect as soon as i write it i either just throw it away or let it rot. gonna start that next novel soon... real soon.





scott's a cop
but not really.
scott's a cop, so he gets free drinks and hot dogs.
except for that he's not really a cop.
scott's a cop
and shows off his gun
shows off his scowl
shows off his arrogant allknowing gait
except for the simple fact that hes not a cop.
scott's a security guard
but not really.
in that we dont pay him for security services rendered.
scott's a security guard and asks has there been any trouble tonight?
anything out of the ordinary?
has the pimp and ho been back?
how bout that big indian bum who harasses people on pump five?
those punk kids who stole that gum?
scott's our security guard
but we dont pay him a dime.
scott's our security guard
because he wants to be and no one has told him otherwise.
scott loves his handcuffs.
pull them out to show bums asleep in the alley.
pulls them out to show 16 year olds trying to buy smokes.
scott really loves his gun.
caresses it.
fondles it.
unbuttons the holster strap then buttons it back.
over and over.
scott makes me incredibly uncomfortably nervous with that gun.
scott moonlights as a fugitive recovery agent.
he's got some good leads on a deadbeat dad who's trying to skip bail.
heard from a pretty reliable source that the guy's been crashing over in the apartments on 47th.
scott's got a pretty good feeling he'll show tonight.
scott's gonna reel 'em in.
scott's a fugitive recovery agent
and wears the shirt and badge to prove it to your lame ass.
scott's a fugitive recovery agent
and reminds you to call him anytime of day or night if there's a ruckus.
scott's got your back.
says he can get here faster than the police.
scott cant get enough of dog the bounty hunter.
just plain loves the man.
cant stop talking about him.
thinks it's a damn shame the media is bringing him down over one moment of weakness.
after all the great things dog has done to keep bad guys off the streets.
one slip up and they bury him.
scott will tell you this while your trying to ring up 25 dollars worth of cheetos and redbulls.
scott's a fugitive recovery agent
who loves to chase off loiterers yet tends to a lot of loitering himself.
scott's says he used to be a cop.
is working towards it again.
just cant freaking wait to get his hands on some bad guys.









having heard the children
laughing giggling leaping
towards tomorow

having blazed trails through the sierra madre
with shovel and pickaxe

sipped chai smoked cloves
over conversations
of this generation

having taken lunch in a deer bed
wondering why do they run
why do we run

having poured concrete and asphalt
all over boulevards avenues streets terraces circles drives

having sweat the sweat of our grandfathers
cried the tears of our grandmothers
feeling the wind blow blow blow

having wandered the brazos
trying not to just know
trying not to try
trying to be

having always had a hard time
telling the difference
with the realities of my mind
and the realities of reality

been employed by a taskmaster
with an evilly twitching left eye
and the maniacally smug grin of satan

formed twig figure haikus
scribbled sandswept sonnets
dreamt more novels than nightmares

listened to bob marley
sing sing sing
of the zion
just up the hill

hitched a ride
flatbed chickentruck
through the ozarks
looking looking looking
for the stream of tranquility
thought it ripe for wading

shared loaves of bread and bags of potatoes
with roaches and mice
we're all just trying to survive

having heard the rustling of raccoons and skunks
not just hoping but swearing they be
bobcats mountain lions pumas

ran through tacobell 3 am
looking for the angelhaired hipsters
looking for the red wheelbarrow by the chickens

climbed to the tops of oak trees
both by thirty minute climbs
and sitting on an acorn

shouted angry warnings at god
from seven eight nine story
apartment buildings

sat crosslegged in drum circles
trying to get the rhythm
trying to know syncopated time

chased tornadoes
from perryton to paducah
dodging debris
to get on film

having taken handouts at appropriate times
been to prideful at others
been grateful either way

taken part in the greatest love
human or otherwise
in all of recorded history

having peed in the mississippi
wondered how far could it go

taken a paycheck to the casino
been hungry the next week
but had a damn good time

having never been an eagle scout
never been a republican
never quite reached up to the poverty line
and never been completely unhappy

smoked tuesdays cigarettes on monday
drank tuesdays milk on thursday
always finding the way
to eek it out til friday

rode the nine bus
through sunshine
through rainstorms
through traffic jams
through tomorrows
felt the brokenness of the faces
hit me like a ten ton fucking anvil

having mothflame visions
of mounting failures
dissolving into vast quicksand deserts
giving way to flowering cacti
scurrying lizards
swift footed wanderers

showered in bathroom gas stations
eaten like a king in continental breakfasts
found futons on highways
free half funnel cakes in renfair trash cans

rode shotgun in a grain combine in iowa
with predawn daystarts
open skies
and swearing
if only for a second
to catching a whif of seasalt air

walked in others shoes
saw what they saw
felt what they felt
dreamed what they dreamed

swung barefoot from birch trees
picked blackberries til stuffed
drank from crystal springs
skipped rocks by moonlight

embraced.

Monday, June 29, 2009

emma doesnt understand my job and neither do i really.

i was thinking today about a conversation i had with emma a few weeks ago in which she was asking me where i worked and what i did at work. i said that i make yards pretty and she figured i put flowers in them. i didnt exactly have the heart to tell her that all day long i kill weeds, as to her weeds are nothing other than beautiful flowers. every dandelion every henbit every chickweed to her is something to marvel at and pick to give to someone.

id have to say that i agree with her and that having a weed free thick dark green yard is at least unnecessary and at most kind of disturbing. it would seem to be a complete display of opulence, but the funny thing is i do yards every day in which the house is not grand, theres broken down cars, refrigerators in the back yard etc. somehow and somewhere along the way the idea that weedcontrol is a necessity like cable has crept in. but really, its completely ridiculous. the thought crosses my mind often that i make a living doing something completely irrelevant. but then i think, what isnt in our economy? when you really think about it, just about every occupation in 2009 america could be considered completely frivolous and unnecessary. and then theres the idea that when i worked at the nature park with the city chemical free and days full of poetic beauty, that was awesome and i loved it, but made 8 dollars an hour 30 hours a week. now i work 50+ and make some weeks three times what i used to. so then, i wonder where is the line between doing something wholesome and worthwhile vs taking care of your family. not that my job is immoral, just unnecessary.

and then there are people who take it one step further and assume that since i spray chemicals and apply fertilizer that i am raping the earth or doing something that will give me cancer or make my testicles fall off. i was much more concerned with bleaching the blood and urine and pubic hairs from the restrooms at 7-11 and handling money all day, or when i was mowing all day sucking in exhaust fumes and noise pollution walking through plumes of dust having chainsaws rip my pants etc. unless i were to go stand at the top of a creek and just unload my whole 300 gallon tank into it, the lawn chemicals arent going to runoff and go swimming down the river with the frogs and turtles. im sure that every citizen of portland would disagree with me, but id also bet that they all have their lawns sprayed in secret.

i guess my point is that id love to do something worthwhile that a good buddhist could do in clear conscience, but my responsibility mainly is to effie and the kids, so until theres someone who wants to give me what i make now for planting squash and zucchini or painting smiley faces on sidewalks or write poems and novels all week long, im gonna just be at peace with what im doing. even though its absurd.

Tuesday, June 23, 2009

smartblog

so ive seen it in action several times now. the first time i thought it was funny and the second time i thought it was a coincidence, but its been probably six different times now and these people are annoying.

i am referring to people who own smart cars filling up at the pump.

they think they are smart.

growing up we had the eagle. we thought it was awesome(because it was) and cool and unique but we did not think we could soar and swoop in on field mice from 300 feet above. when i bought the beetle i thought it was awesome and unique and nifty and i was proud of it, but i did not have the urge to go flying with reckless abandon into a streetlamp over and over. now i have a chevy g10. i think that i am neither a g nor do i feel 10.

having a smart car does not make you smart. paying 16000 dollars for a car that can hardly fit a bag of dogfood is not smart. paying 16000 dollars for a car that should be rolling down a boyscout derby track on a saturday morning in camp walawala is not smart. its a vespa with a roof. vespas are 4000. a good motorcycle brand new is 8000. essentially same car - tata nano- is 2500.


you can see it all over their smug pious smarmy little faces. they reek of thinking they are more clever than the rest of the human race. and they spend like fiften minutes to fill up their little 6 gallon tanks. they walk around their car. they squeegee down the windshield. they look around and around the gas station.... just waiting for someone to come ask them about their car. just waiting to tell someone how smart they are. how great mileage it gets. how green it is. how smart they are. how great the warranty is. who sells them. how smart they are.

the sad thing is that they are obviously very lonely isolated people with a sense of superiority over the rest of us dumb americans and then they buy a car that just ensures that they CANT have any friends. CANT have any kids. CANT have anything other than a pretentious face that needs to be squeegeed.

Sunday, June 21, 2009

fathers day

emma and violette woke me up very excitedly to tell me they made breakfast. pancakes and eggs and strawberries with orange juice. very yummy. or "lummy" as violette would say. and then if you say "lummy" she says "its not lummy, its lummy"

all four of us have the "crud" as grandma would say. its been sticking around for three weeks now. ick.

it turns out that i think i am way too lazy to post blogs frequently. i honestly dont know how people have the energy to maintain social networking sites and tweets and blogs and texts and email and on and on. but i guess im an old fart.

as soon as i get around to it, im gonna start a big noveltype project. not sure what i want it to be like yet. i figured since the first one was totally awesome and totally unreceived, that i should either try to make this one 'normal' or go completely overboard and over the top. i think i like the latter.

Sunday, June 7, 2009

ahhhh

it seems like this morning brings about a sense of normalcy and routine, which is refreshing. the past few weeks weeks have been roller coaster of mountains, valleys, everything in the middle back and forth over and over quickly rise quickly fall emotional weeeee ride with little to no sleep. from the two to three weeks of contractions and seeing the pain in loves face at every one and wishing that it would just stop or lessen and wishing that theo would just come out and then the contractoins would pick up and it would be go time and then it wouldnt and then it would again. love was so sweet and amazing and patient throughout the whole thing. she behaved much better than i did i think. there were several points in which i was losing it and would start to get frustrated and then id feel like a total tool because im not the one in pain and im supposed to be the strong one for support and yadda yadda. and then i believe every time she says it hurts and i believe every time she says hes coming today and i understand but at the same time...
and then there is the infamous uncle prayer/prophesy that shes conjuring up contractions in order to get attention which i had a real problem with as evidenced by short story. kind of funny as soon as i really let it go that afternoon, we had him that night. and once he came and is so angelic and perfect and just being able to hold him and look at him and watch him fatten up this past week has been so good. and everybody has been so cool about giving us clothes and money and helping with the girls and excited about him and all of the updown drama is worth it times a billion cause hes an awesome little theodore welcome, theodore buckland esquire, sweaty teddy, teddybear, ted, ted the ned,theodorable, theodorkus, buster brown, little mister, junior, theodore roosevelt, theo, mr huxtable. and to see the girls accept him and love him and "tooch his nose" and help with diapers and running to get blankets and towels and it just seems like our little crandallclan is complete. perfect and complete.

Friday, May 29, 2009

from donuts to dragons

'let's see, uh, gimme one dozed glazed, one dozen chocolate, one dozen assorted, and throw in a large iced coffee.'

'would you like any croissants to go with that?'

'no thank you.'

'how about an english muffin or a gallon of chocolate milk to wash it all down?'

'no thanks, i'm all set.'

'okay, do you know about our frequent buyer program?'

'yeah, actually, im kinda in a hurry, if you dont mind.'

'certainly. no problem, sir. i understand. church starts promptly at 9:30. i get that barked at me most every sunday. k let me get this totaled up here- looks like it comes out to 17.34'

jimmy grimmaced at the total. it was their sunday to bring the donuts to sunday school. it comes around about every two months and every time it seems there is less money in the bank and the price of donuts keeps rising rising rising. maybe, he pondered, i could have left off the iced coffee, but claire would throw a fit. gotta keep up with traditions. as he slid the 2.64 into his wallet, he casually glanced at the contents therein. a five and four ones. a new grand total of 11.64 til friday. 11.64, a quarter tank of gas in a car that only starts when its in the mood, five cigarettes, late bills, and its forgiveness sunday. of all the themes, all the topics, nothing made jimmy squirm like forgiveness.'forgiveness is fucking bullshit' he whispered to himself as he got in the car and handed claire the coffee.

'whats that, dear?'

'huh, oh nothing.'

'i thought i heard you say something, whatdya say?'

'oh, uh, just singing a little diddy to myself, thats all.'

'ah, well we better hurry. its 9:26. we'll probably be late.'

'yeah, the girl at the counter was trying to sell me the whole store. now lets see if the car will start.'

'i told you, shoulda left it running.'

'that would waste gas. and kill the earth. gotta stay green, right?'

one turn and nothing. two turns and nothing.

'third time is the charm, eh?'

these lame little jokes, these little cliches to break the silence, these little attempts to soften the mood are only slightly tolerable to jimmy on a good day.

'on a day like today its fucking unbearable' he whispered to himself.

'whats that, sweety?'

'ah nuthin, just singin that song some more.'

the third time was the charm after all. pulling out of the parking lot, jimmy grimmaced and grabbed his leg in pain.

'cramps again?'

'yeah.'

'sorry, pookie.'

'its okay. theyll go away.'

if only they would go away. for the last month, they havent been going away. sharp shooting charlie horses that run up and down the leg like thoroughbreds. again, on a good day its manageable, on a day like today, its fucking unbearable.

'jimmy, how are you going to act today'

'uh, i dont know what you mean'

'oh hush, you know exactly what i mean. are you going to roll your eyes at people?'

'not if they dont say something condescending and idiotic, like-- ohh jimmyboy, you didnt get any cremefilled longjohns. but thats allright, jimmyboy, i forgive you because its forgiveness sunday. or as long as we dont get 'forgiven' for being a couple of minutes late.

'well can you just try to behave in a civilized manner?'

'i can try, but if john tries his propheshit where all he really does is insult and lambaste and judge all in the name of gods voice or some dream or vision he had, i might come unfuckingglued'

as it turns out, jimmy himself, while skeptical to prophesies and the pandoras box that becomes of them, turned out to be in top nostradamus form that morning. just as predicted, as he and claire walked in a few minutes late, the whole class joined in unison, in perfect chorus, perfect pitch, perfect harmony, and perfect cheezy shiteating grins at how truly clever they thought they were, said 'we forgive you for being late because its forgiveness sunday!!!'
much to the dismay of claire and a few others who valued the comforts of tradition, they started class with prayer requests instead of doing prayer requests last. this kind of refreshed jimmy. so much so that he even voiced a prayer request about his creeping leg syndrome. this was extremely out of character for jimmy, but he figured its gotten bad enough. there have been days where he had to call into work and just lay in a ball on the bed writhing in pain. money was getting tighter and tighter and tensions about it with claire were escalating. upon hearing of jimmys unfortunate leg situation, john so eagerly volunteered to pray for jimmy.

'lord we come before you today, gathered in this room to seek your healing on jimmys leg. it says in your word lord that whenever two or more are gathered in your name that they shall be healed. we are gathered and believe, lord. so heal him. now. it is your desire, lord, for us to be healthy and strong. sickness is a work of the enemy. right now, in your name, we cast satan out of jimmy, lord god. we repel his attacks and demand him to leave residence of jimmys body. satan, we are giving you a pink slip from jimmys body and heart and mind. no longer satan will you be allowed to manifest yourself in jimmys leg, his foulmouthed language, his impure heart, impure thoughts, cigarette addiction, and inability to bring a substantial income into your kindgom, lord'

and on cue the crowd says amen. and jimmys blood is boiling. and atheism has never looked so attractive. and punching a fat balding fuck right in the face has never sounded better. and claire has the look of fear that the punch will actually take place and is squeezing jimmys hand in hopes and prayers that he will be able to control himself. and the class goes on. and the class chats of forgiveness and kindness and a great loving god and a great loving christ and aspiring to be just like the great loving christ who forgives rapists and murders and the lower classes.
at the end of sunday school, our world famous john proceeds to share words from the lord about how he forgives everyone in this room for their iniquities, down the list of names, in alphabetical order, with their offending characteristic attatched. john forgives rachel adams for her jezebel spirit. john forgives tommy billings for his lack of compassion to the poor and needy. john forgives susan everett for the divorce she had. john forgives jimmy for conjuring up leg cramps in order to gain attention to himself. and since he was on such a roll and wanted to show how forgiving and christlike he truly is, john begins to weep and shake and forgive the person who murdered his twin brother ten years ago. he says today is the first day this has happened and everyone in the room thinks back the handful of times he has forgiven this murderer. john forgives the murderer and then proceeds to forgive god.

jimmy feels a whisper rising through his belly at warp speed and is powerless to stop it.

'what a fucking saint.'

it was just loud enough that it you werent exactly sure if you heard what you thought you heard, but you were pretty darn sure.

'jimmy, did you have something to add?'

'ah no, just singing a praise song, thats all, just praising god for johns breakthrough.'

the class comes to conclusion with the obligatory handshakes and fakesmiles and everyone chats about the cowboy game and getting together for yahtzee night soon, real soon. after church on the ride home, claire had the bright idea to go out for lunch, try to forget about the events of the morning.

'well, we really dont have the money. we have 11.64 til friday, the bills are already late, the car needs a starter, im almost out of cigarettes, and the car is almost out of gas'

'dont worry about it'

'dont worry about it?'

'yeah, it will all work out!'

'hows it gonna all work out? and besides, this check is going to be short because of the two days i spent last week in bed'

'i just have a feeling it will all work out!'

'im not taking a penny from your family. especially uncle fucking john after that little parade show of his this morning.'

'he just doesnt know how to communicate. hes old and out of touch. he really doesnt mean to be offensive.'

'doesnt mean to be offensive???? did you HEAR the cowshit he was spouting??? ah, fuck it, im about to explode, lets go get some damn quesadillas.'

the quesadillas didnt really distract jimmy. nor did the rest of the days events. and especially not monday as he smoked his last cigarette that morning. several days went by and jimmys little mind just raced and raced and raced into boiling rage. not just in oversensitivity to some hurtful words, but because john does this to everyone all the time. he thought about forgiveness and trying to forgive john, but he concluded that john was a coyote who eats sheep night after night over and over and smiles gleefully with a crazy lustful eye as the blood oozes between his teeth down into the mangy beard, with no intention of ever changing. and its not like some stranger who punches you in the face who your never gonna see again. it would be easy to forgive that person. with john, its every family function, every softball game, every sunday morning you have to look at his stupid bald head.

jimmy knew that he had to do something as it was eating him away. a fresh batch of ulcers and insomnia and high blood pressure to go along with the creeping crampy crablegs that didnt get healed but actually got worse. he knew he couldnt settle it over a lunch discussion without losing his cool, and besides, john wouldnt listen anyways.why would a 49 year old veteran statesman of the church listen to anything a little shit like jimmy had to say. jimmy is poor, smokes, cusses, and doesnt have enough faith for his leg to be healed. jimmy thought back to all the heinous words from the lord that john has given and all of his little 'letters' that outline a persons innate character flaws and admonish them and then usually end with "but god loves you anyways and so do i." inspiration from a deep dark place welled up within him. he rushed home from work, pulled out the yellow legal pad, the ballpoint pen, and spilled out the following 'forgiveness letter'

Dear Uncle John,

god loves you and so do i. god forgives you and so do i. i forgive you for twisting scriptures to serve your demented desires. i forgive you for speaking to people with a voice of malice under the guise of the voice of god. i forgive you fore every false dream, vision, and prophesy that you have laid upon our family the last three years. i forgive you in advance for the continual judgment and scorn that you will pass. i forgive you for your pious smarmy little face. i forgive you for ignoring the real and serious needs of your immediate family and instead "reaching out". i forgive you for being a racist prick who gives openly in public to "people of color" to make yourself feel better about your disgusting views that they are not people but in fact "colored people". i forgive you for everything you have ever done and everything you will ever do. i forgive you for being a mangy coyote who eats sheep on a continual basis. i realize that as a coyote, you dont feel you have the capacity to change who you are. but i have a divine vision that you really have a lion heart somewhere down in your ragged coyote body and the lord wants to use you as a lion of great regal majesty who will protect the lambs from coyotes and wolves and sneaky foxes.
i opened my bible today and it just fell open to Icorinthians 13:8. the lord tells me that you have got to stop seeing people through the eyes of a klansmen, and start seeing them the way god sees them. the lord tells me that you have got to stop viewing wealth as an a measuring stick of spiritual wholeness or character and health as equal to faith and start viewing people the way god views them. the lord tells me that somewhere in you, really hidden and guarded, is a tender heart. the lord tells me that he wants to shoo away all of the gates and locks and moats and flamethrowing dragons away and let your true heart out, but you will have to be the one to seek it out and ask the lord to help you.
i know you have been hurt in life, my friend, but everyone has. every person that you judge has been through the shitstorm as well. the lord tells me to tell you that its his job to judge, not yours. god loves you and so do i. god wants to see that innocent heart of a child come out and so do i.
god forgives you and so do i.
love in christ, jimmy.

oh man his little fingers were just amped and revved writing that out. it was so perfect. the exact kind of horsehit things that john tells people, slammed back in his face. jimmy hoped that this letter would enlighten john how truly horrific he acts. how truly ridiculous the letters are. jimmy started to get a little nervous that letter was too malicious and started to get cold feet and started to think about taking the high road and started to think about being the better man and started to think about really truly forgiving john, not like in the letter, but actual forgiveness.
he shooed away those thoughts like a flamethrowing dragon and rushed out out to the post office, bought a stamp and headed the mailbox when he chickened out. he couldnt do it. it was too venomous. too vitriolic. too sarcastic. it came from a place of malice. you cant fight malice with malice. the only way to fight malice is with love.

he realized through his own horseshit words, that he needed to view john the way god does. there was actually some truth to the sarcastic pile of rubbish hatefilled letter.

his newfound spiritual maturity, however, could not contain him from turning the letter into a fictional short story and posting it onto his blog.


the end.

Saturday, May 23, 2009

as love has been contracting and unable to do a billion things all at once all day long every day of the week, i have been attempting to help out. there have been cocoabutter baths and lots of "thats not the way mommy does it." they are incredibly fun and incredibly nonstop. kind of like so.

kind of in the same vain, wrote this-

it would be pretty easy
to find the creator
the divine spark
the loving caring
inspiring beautiful god
in say for instance
the grand canyon
the stillness of a bubbling brook
the moon reflected in your lover's eye
it would come naturally
to be at peace
to be one
to be in the moment
alone in a dewy meadow
surrounded by honeysuckle and lavender
with dirty toes
and open skies
blessed be the one
to arrive in spiritual wholeness
in the midst of toddlers
throwing halfbagels at the wall
stepping in bowls of macaroni
demanding a different colored straw
blessed be the one
to achieve otherworldly nirvana
in the company of 2009 america
with adults bickering as toddlers
with a constant stream of aggression
a media relentless
a noise unending
asphalt and concrete our flowers
blessed be the one
to break through our bullshit
to the heart of what really matters
to find the beauty in the muck
to discover the serenity in the mire


Friday, May 22, 2009

just sayin...


spelunking with vonnegut

So i have this dozedream of me and lovey rappelling down mt rushmore. we are totally decked out in 80s gear- lots of tight fuchsia and tiedye complete with the boots that go halfway up your calves. the best part is that we are not sliding down some lame president but this guy:



we slide from the glorious moustache and picnic inside of the cavernous mouth. i am convinced this dream is highly spiritual and mystical in nature and am searching deep to find meaning.