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.

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.

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.

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.

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.