very modern man

before we kiss for the first time
i want to rub my teeth against yours
it’ll be like nails on a chalkboard
cause after that
when we plunge our tongues and glistening spit lips into each other’s
it’ll feel like
the softest parts of steaming rice noodles

the four words i hate most in the english language when used in succession
why don’t you just…
this gal at work
she is obsessed with suggesting better ways to do things
and not in a good way
or a sparse way
a constant way
and they are always ridiculous
things that would make no sense in the present situation
or things that would take longer or simply not work as well
they are suggestions for little everyday processes that do not need to be improved upon in the slightest
like how the keyboard sits in front of you
(why don’t you just put books under it?)
how you run in place stay awake
(why don’t you just do breathing exercises?)
how you reheat your pad thai
(why don’t you just put a little water in it to rehydrate the noodles?)
because.
that’s why
because

i rolled over to face you
with a pillaging erection
but the world is cruel
and you my darling are no different

oh shit I forgot trixclibrarian!
I love her too.

I love all of these people. if you don’t follow every single one of them, you are a bad person. this is an objective fact.

ordinary wonder
therealvagabondking
unspecializeart
jdsundeavors
tokillahumblebee
dmichaelthompson
charmingortedious
mylifeinitalics
cordeliagable
jamiesueaustin
tiredfoxes
brightlightsloudnoises
killingcharlemagne
pedantic persiflage
bluesandbarebones
girlvswhale
hookersorcake
embeeness
trixclibrarian
alittlebitloudernow
unypl
lettyt
spacewrangler
senorgibberish
rightwritecj

it was a pain unlike pain
like its soul had changed
closer to the raping of burial vaults
and the ghosts of genocide
than what i had previously known as the concept of
pain
it was different and new
like i had entered a new phase of living

working a very rare closing shift tonight=no writing
already jonesin and i think i might flip out

bluesandbarebones:

I know a man
who can barely bend
who makes his son
the receiving end
of smelly socks
and too tight boots
and things that have fallen
like pickles and fruit
from off his overloaded plate
(it’s painly obvious
it’s due to his weight)
but there’s a line that 
no one will cross
not even his mother
not even his boss
when it comes to clipping
those horrible toes
to the cute asian nail girls
he happily goes
 

Fuck Coca Cola!

Advertising is not art!

hey when Joey starts to play the organ

and it’s late on a tuesday night, well not too late

and you’re noticing the beer isn’t hitting you like it should

it moves yr stomach a little bit

which bullies, behind that, your snot nosed kidneys

you think to youself

Joey shut up with the sax

gimme some of that organ!

the B-3 that cleans out my blood like a cheap shot! 

            Bear, Michael, Nathan and I were sitting at the bar in the front room one night, crowded around a hideous retro lamp with a bright green bulb and a case of Leinenkugels.  I was in between Bear and Michael.  Nathan was on the other side of the bar as usual.

            Bear had had a successful writing day and bought the beer to celebrate.  He’d been working on an epic about the myth of Sisyphus set in modern day Vegas for the past three weeks and had finally finished.  Michael bought some pickled eggs to go with it.  I didn’t buy shit and neither did Nathan, but man were we fantastic conversationalists.

            “Hey Clyde!  What the fuck is that thing?”

            Clyde was a few feet away working on his latest sculpture.

            “I’ll tell you if you ask me nicely.”

            “I’m sorry baby, I kid, I kid.  Seriously though, I’m interested.  Could you please expatriate?”

            Bear had been drinking since 3 and it was almost 1 in the morning so he was starting to replace words like explain with expatriate.

            “I think it’s fucking awesome Clyde.”  Nathan opened a new can, crushed his previous one and tossed it at Bear’s skull.  “I like the dick.”

            “Why thank you sir.”  Clyde pounded his hammer and chisel into a bit of knuckle on the left hand.  “This gem is called the Very Modern Man.  It’s about the dangers of stimulation.”

            Clyde’s Very Modern Man was a life size figure made of wood, fiber, glass, steel, molded glue, plastic, and the unknown sculptor’s mystery meat he refused to reveal.  It was male and stood with its weight on its right leg, arms slack as if waiting for a bus or next in line for the head.  It was naked.  Every body part requiring heavy detail was carved out of wood and attached to its less textured neighbors made of less malleable materials.

            In his left hand he held a dripping half-pound bacon cheeseburger.  Clyde had rigged tubing up inside the burger snaking all the way through the hand, wrist, arm, torso, legs, and feet that connected to a hose and pumped liquid all the way through, keeping the burger literally dripping at all times onto the floor.

            He held a cell phone in his right hand.  The fingernails of said hand had grown to be 20 inches long and had spiraled around said phone like a cocoon.

            He had a gargantuan erection.  This, unlike anything else on the body, was blown glass.

            “The dick is actually a completely smokable bowl.  There’s a depression right where the shaft connects to the body and you put your weed in there.  Then you put your mouth right up on the head, light it up, and suck it through.”

            “Holy shit Clyde!”

            “I know right?  The best part is that the flame of the bowl should light the wool right above the shaft and turn it into flaming pubes.”

            The four of us blew up at that point.  Michael choked and spit up all his beer and the rest of us were doubled over the bar seizing with laughter.

            Then all the sudden a girl fell through the ceiling.