100 Fears (portion 75)

Stolen from Yes, Jessica

I have also reserved the remaining 25 (24) for a separate post in which I will be more attentive to the content.

100) Brain death without the prior preparation of a living will
99) Nurses’ aides, or nurses’ AIDS
98) The phrase “The only thing to fear is fear itself,” as uttered by a person who is bent on killing me.
97) Rich people’s dirty socks
96) People who want to be rich, but who do not want to be admired
95) Monkeys who foretell the future
94) Demented priests
93) Michael J. Fox appearing in my bedroom at night for no reason
92) Forgetting my grocery list
91) Getting “Bingo” and not knowing what to do
90) Those who would abduct me
89) Not showering for a few days and having to go out, and any hat looks absurd
88) Salmonella
87) Religious people at the door, and they won’t go away
86) Understanding everything completely
85) Tractor trailer trucks, specifically the cab
84) BMW’s, specifically the driver’s anger
83) Mercedes-Benz’s (fear of mispunctuating)
82) Lexi, oh, that’s Lexuses, not a woman
81) The center of a perfect circle
80) Bam-Bam from The Flintstones
79) Sitting still while people paint you
78) Eating an egg with a bit of shell in it and you don’t know where it is.
77) Bombs Drone-bombs.
76) Arrows, in the deep forest
75) Death without a will (have I said that?) Yes but no.
74) Land mines
73) Bing Crosby’s ghost
72) Dorothy Parker’s ghost
71) Snaps which trap the penis
70) The taste of copper
69) Terrifying empathetic children of my own
68) Blue-eyed children
67) A sore that won’t heal
66) The Hydrogen Bomb
65) The Atomic Bomb (it’s more humane these days)
64) Speed bumps’ effect on my suspension
63) Morrissey
62) Spiders under the bed and above the bed
61) Fatigue
60) Big Mean Dogs
59) Not understanding music unless explained to me by a black person
57) Not being able to swim, and thrown into water
56) Beetles in my mouth
55) You misunderstanding that as “Beatles”
54) Phone calls after midnight
53) Unexpected bells
53) Things that are very fast and loose
51) People who whistle
50) Sleep and the lack thereof
49) Cops dressed as military, militarized cops
48) Criminals dressed as military
47) The Military
46) Cannibals (only if captured with)
45) Not being cooked to a proper temperature by cannibals
44) Hootie and The Blowfish in person
43) Darius Rucker in person
42) A knife spinning out of control, out of control
41) Intense Hope
40) That this particular day will be the highlight of your life
39) Time changes (geographic and figurative)
38) i lose my best friend
37) my best friend is offended by being #38
36) there is a problem between
34) I wake up and there is no problem, no problem at all, just grayness
33) nothing
32) I have cereal with milk in the morning and there is no milk.
31) I have grapefruit juice in the morning and there is no grapefruit juice.
30) Laughter, amazing laughter
29) Any hostile object thrown at me
28) Laughter directed at a person who threw it
27) Laughter at the slow, inevitable death of that person
26) Laughter at my kidding about the slow, inevitable death of that person
25) Malfunctioning zippers

20 Good Baseball Names

From a Cubs fan:

1) Darwin Barney – the second baseman in a certain habitat
2) Xander Bogaerts – the joint, obviously
3) Chase Headley – wacky dog
4) Jackie Robinson
5) Rick Reuschel and Dennis Eckersley – my gods of pitching
6) Sandy Koufax – i hate lefties
7) Hank Aaron – to have a lower body like his
8) Junior Lake
9) Don Zimmer
10) Mike Olt – mike olt to hit the ball
11) Randy Johnson – see #19
12) Angel Pagan – second only to Angel Demonio, who exists in the Dominican Republic, I’m sure of it.
13) Shawon Dunston – meter at .256
14) Adam Eaton – SHORT POWER!
15) Mike Maddux, who got the wrong genes, and lacked the craziness of Greg.
16) Steve Stone (and his dogs)
17) Manzano Rico
18) James Russell, specialist to get out lefties adequately
19)) Lance Johnson, Penis Penis, essentially, 1_Dog. Get your pets spayed or neutered.
20) Turk Wendell, who later may have went crazy

Sack of Sliders

There is a new book. It contains poems and photographs, poems-on-photographs in fact. But these are no ordinary poems, not the kind that rhyme, not the kind that I have spent months re-working every word, but rather a more organic sort of poem — that of the end of the night.

Take a random Friday or Saturday night: I might spend the evening with friends, maybe celebrating someone’s birthday, maybe watching a Hawks game, maybe at a bar. After an adequate amount of laughing debauchery, the party ends, and I go home in a taxi. Once home, I make myself a tall glass of ice water and sit on the couch, turn on the TV, turn it off, disgusted, and the thought comes, “What have you accomplished today?”

And this thought disturbs me. And I feel a strong desire to create. Unfortunately, in the state it’s in, my mind operates only in flickers, a shadow of itself. The cleverness has left for warmer climates. But I am not to be stopped. It becomes imperative to create something, something that can be shared to connect, to amuse.

So I get my notebook out. I find an acceptable pen (one that writes unflinchingly). I scrawl words into the notebook. I scrawl more, and then I toss the notebook aside.

Exhausted and pacified, I continue to hydrate and then go to sleep.

These are those notebook words, superimposed upon different photographs, mostly taken with my phone:

Sack of Sliders

Click it.

Also, you don’t need a Kindle to read this book. Simply download the free Kindle App from Amazon.

Old Post as Poem, trois

This is slightly slightly new. But, for those of you who have not been initiated, I’m going to take a segment of an old post, add line breaks where you might not expect them, tweak a couple words, and call it a poem. The post in selection is from last August. It was called “Today’s Weather“. But this is simply titled “weather.”

weather

It’s very bright.
The sun is hot. The breeze is cool.
The overall effect is that it’s intensely pleasant,
As if you’re in a dream, but without all the weird angles,
And without all the people you know who are not the people you know,
And without that shadowy figure in the corner.

Doesn’t that change your perspective on life? It might, but even if it didn’t, you guys should have an appetite for poetry. It’s the one uncorrupted institution in literature, mainly because of its low testosterone and its desire for fucking the new.

But what if it was super-fun? What if it was super-fun like taking a bath in a clean tub with a duckie and a great big warm towel waiting?

Old Post As Poem (Part Deux)

This is slightly new. But, for those of you who have not been initiated, I’m going to take a segment of an old post, add line breaks where you might not expect them, tweak a couple words, and call it a poem. The post in selection is from last March. It was called “Standoff“. But this is simply titled “BMW.”

BMW

Then, on the horizon,
A black speck appears,
Doubling itself several times per second.
It growls,
Shrieks through the crosswalks.
You have no time to climb a tree — the smile of
German metal authority is nearly upon you.

Doesn’t that change so slightly your perspective on life? It might, but even if it didn’t, you guys should have an appetite for poetry. It’s the one uncorrupted institution in literature, mainly because of its insistence on relevance and its desire for the new.

But what if it was fun? What if it was fun like taking a bath in a clean tub?

Old Post as Poem

This is new.  I’m going to take a segment of an old post, add line breaks where you might not expect them, tweak a couple words, and call it a poem.  The post in selection is from last February.  It was called “Things I Say to the Dog.” But this is simply titled “Dog.”

Dog

Come here dog.
Drinking some water, are you?
Why drink out of the far side of the bowl?
Only the damned drink
Out of the near side of the bowl:
And some people eat used Kleenex.

Doesn’t that change so slightly your perspective on life? Of course it does. You guys need to get an appetite for poetry. It’s the one uncorrupted institution in literature, mainly because of its stubborn pretentiousness. But what if it was fun? What if it was fun?

Wednesday Music

I dreamed this yesterday, with the German words and all.  It’s an exact dreamscape, where nothing is real, but everything is potentially important and ends abruptly.