it hurts too much to pity her,
like she wouldn't know the difference
like bringing up therapy
then watching her start talking,
then still talking
confused by glee,
running from the colloquialisms
of an American cashier
i imagine her being a stock broker
working at the perfume counter
battling over commissions with coworkers
i hear her sigh when she's pressed to think
bout anything more than being an adjunct queen
like she'll start biting her nails
in front of the tv screen
like she wouldn't know the difference
like bringing up therapy
then watching her start talking,
then still talking
confused by glee,
running from the colloquialisms
of an American cashier
i imagine her being a stock broker
working at the perfume counter
battling over commissions with coworkers
i hear her sigh when she's pressed to think
bout anything more than being an adjunct queen
like she'll start biting her nails
in front of the tv screen
Had a dream I was with a group of various family members in a car, some have passed on. I noticed we couldn't fit in the car as we were all inside. It was a small European or South American street—I imagine—or village, where many people were walking around. The police told us we all had to get out and stand back with all the others. Apparently, something was going down. I was very frustated and annoyed because I was late for work, and I went around a group of people to argue with the police, when we all realized war was about to break out.
They sent everyone into a small decrepit warehouse with old wooden tables, while they guarded the street. Through some windows I could see the African insurgents approaching, maybe Somalians, some teenagers and kids. Don't ask me why they were African kids.
In one alley there were three young African insurgents near a couple subarban trash cans with AK-47s. A shoot-out ensued with them vs. the police in front of our shady warehouse, and in two shots, I saw one policeman take out the tallest boy in front of the trash. It was the first time I'd seen someone shot. The sound he made as the first bullet hit his chest then dropped dead. They took out that small group. To the right, a crowd of insurgents were approaching from the street, but all of a sudden a helicopter approached and dropped low, and took out that crowd, then made some real nimble manuevers within the buildings and street, and I was impressed. Then the helicopter was swerving and spinning too erratically, like an out of control ice-skater, and I heard someone say, You gotta be kidding me! and the helicopter crashed into our warehouse.
Things started falling from the ceiling and I didn't know if I should get under those tables.
After a while, we heard the gunshots cease, and things appeared to calm down. I was lying on my side, next to the table with my arm supporting my head like I was lounging, and there was a security guard who's not a cop, like for a department store in a ghetto part of town. He was sitting near me with his arms across his knees and he tossed a grenade to his female partner, who was standing over him, like he was ashamed. She tossed it back but he didn't reach for it, and it came to me.
I picked it up, but didn't know if it had its pin. I was fearful and anxious, and I went outside to the crowd of police to show them. I didn't know if it was going to blow, I thought they could handle it. Someone came up to examine it and took out a paperclip and started unfolding it.
What should I do? I beseeched the crowd, as they seemed to be shrinking back.
They go, Throw it!
What? Where? Over there? There might be people there!
They start counting down from ten, as if to warn me.
As they get to five, I start remembering dreams in which I'm anxious about throwing a ball or my arms or legs going out when in a physical altercation.
5...
4...
3...At 3, the grenade falls out of my hands, and I look at it and quickly look back and wait for impact.
2,
1!
I open my eyes and kind of smile. Then sigh. What the fuck!
My baby's name is Baby Babe
She takes the morning train,
She works from night to day,
She takes the morning train,
To find me awaitin
I cooks the morning ham
I toil scramblin her eggs,
I use my secret ways
and garnish and garnsih
Cause my baby's coming home again,
She takes the morning train,
She works from night to day
She takes the morning train
To find me awaitin for her!
Babe, does your mom have credit? ...Oh, just asking. (thoughtful, moments later) Does she need it? ...Jeez, I'm just asking...How bout life insurance? ...Okay, okay. It's just that this guy told me he could—... Oh, it doesn't matter... So what if it was Rocco? ...that is his real name... it is, it was given to him by his mother... because she loves him! Look he knows what he's talking about. He's a real straight-shooter... It's just that he did Po'boy's mom's—... Well, I'm not sure. It could be his real name... Well, he arranged papers for her, and now she lives comfortably in South American... I don't know, somewhere in the mountains... Don't worry, it's regionous... the mountains... Well, she can't be running around in the cities and town centers... Okay, fine. Just thought she could use a little extra money—and you always wanted that convertible, your hair blowing in the wind while I drive... No, women aren't allowed to drive in this country... Look, I don't want to argue with you—I'm too stuffed to make love... No, I hust had a large slab of prime rib, but I could go for a slice of pork cobbler... No, you're my pork cobbler... No, you're my pork cobbler
Jeez, babe, that crazy Lexus was about to hit us, and on your side, too. You're lucky, cause I traded in your airbags for a bunch of pork loins and a big hunk of prime rib from a guy that was selling them from a freezer in his truck...he didn't rip me off...No, I didn't get ripped off...he gave me a good deal—you know I don't get you, we have breakfast, lunch, dinner, and dessert for the next two weeks
We're on the road again
Oh, don't get mad, babe. She's probably just honking cause she's a fan.
- Hey Sanjay. This is my babe. Sanjay, Babe, Babe, Sanjay.
- Hey Sanjay. This is my babe. Sanjay, Babe, Babe, Sanjay.
- What's her name?
- What are you, playing the hero? You getting smart? Trying to hit on my woman? (pow! bang! zorp! blamo!). Our work here is done, babe....babe?
- (babe, filing her nails). The wind tried to hit on me.
- Oh, yea? (festering) What did it say, exactly?
- I dunno, different positions, things like that.
- Oh, yea? (bubbling)
I feel like I'm holding my dogs captive. I never walk them. She sits by the door, stares into the dark night in the backyard. She likes it when I pet her, when she eats, or we wrestle. She sleeps a lot.
Everyday she knows the mailman's going to try to break in, and she expects him. I don't know about you, but that would drive me crazy.
What a sad, pathetic existence, to only think about one thing.
black seals
I can't recall any bad dreams lately. Most are pleasant, or soothing, or even exhilarating. In some, we're back together, and seemingly happy, or communicating in person, but there's an optimistic overture to it—those usually leave me pretty depressed in the morning and loath to start my day. But that I can also ascribe to lack of adequate rest. Whatever it is, it evetually clears away as I start moving and get caught up with work. Sometimes I'll play with it throughout my day, and imagine her with me while I'm driving around, showing her places I go, and what we'd talk about, and the laughs we'd have whenever I have a funny thought in my head about another driver or person I encounter or observe. Ask her for advice on some issues. And when I have lunch and see a couple there, too, I would wonder, well, would we get separate drinks, or just share one big one? Work keeps me distracted, and that's good, but as soon as I'm done I tend to forget about it, and get restless. It's hard to be ambitious when there's this underlying hopelessness, a resignation to the futility of trying too hard. But the more mentally depressed I get, or pessimisstic toward my willingness to grow, the sweeter the dreams.
Except I had a dream that the game barely started and Bayern had already scored in Madrid through a header. Then later in the dream, I felt relief that that was just a dream and I looked at the scoreboard and it's 1 - 2 first half in the Bernabeu in favor of Bayern. Great, two away goals.
me and the bear and my babe
in the woods
they start to argue
i gotta step in
i try to reason
i try my will
bear eats my babe
i kicks him his shin
me and the bear and my babe
in the woods
she tries to teach him
he plops her again
i try to hold him
we drink some wine
me and the bear and my babe
are in love
i wake to find
that they are both gone
bear ate my babe
for the very last time
O! Bear, O! Bear, What have you done?
What have you done?
What have you done?
O! Bear, O! Bear, What have you done?
What have you done?
with that babe of mine?
Bear starts to dance
The bear is still drunk
What have you done?
What have you done?
O! Bear, O! Bear, What have you done?
What have you done?
with that babe of mine?
I had this funny dream wherein I left my truck running during work cause I didn't want to blow in the breathalyzer again to run back in and ask this man something I forgot to ask, but this lady was taking her time ordering her health smoothie and I had to be patient. And in line looking out the window, I noticed a blonde woman with a big braided ponytail was in my truck backing it up and I thought oh that's nice she's backing it up for me and—but she's backing it up pretty far, and then really fast! She made a sharp back turn to straighten up at the end of the parking lot and turned into the street. And I realized she was stealing my truck. So I ran out and me and this other lady, who also acknowledged that I think she stole your truck, we ran into the middle of the street to try to stop her before she could hop on the freeway. It was that busy street that leads into Hollywood, and we stopped one truck that was a bigger truck but it wasn't the truck and she was behind that truck and before we could get to her she made a manuever onto this grassy knoll next to all the cars—and I was on this same little field of grass drunk aside all the traffic a few weeks ago trying to stand up a few times but falling down and curling up and it was pretty embarrassing but I thought I looked good—and from there she just jumped the truck onto the freeway ramp and took off.
I called 911 and it rang about 13 times and I heard a voice say they never pick up anymore these days and there was a voice mail. That may have happened another time but the next time a man picked up and I told him but I could barely hear him so I repeated it and I guess he could barely hear me and he said, You need to get back in your car and start it up.
And My voice gradually rose to the irrational wave of attitude, I can't do that because my car was just stolen!
Oh! He said, then I couldn't hear his next instructions again, so I told him.
And he said, you need to hang up and try back another time. And I looked around frustrated and I went a bit crazy and wanted to blame it on the line and the health conscious customer.
I'm afraid of falling in the ocean.
It's a world I can't adapt to.
The ocean's bigger than our world.
Yea well, at least we got medicine, online shopping, science,
and strip clubs. Stupid fish.
What are you talking about? Fish have it easy.
They just find a mate and mount her.
You know, most sea creatures would be rapists in our jails.
Rampant rapists.
Don't you ever say anything serious?
Um, no!
The Republicans would want to deport them.
someone over here is the king of the little people
living in a city in a field that's been crushed by your footprints (shoeprints?)
we are small
but we have gotten together
what remains of our people
and we have decided
a peep you'll hear
you will hear peeps from us
we have decided that we miss you
we like it when you yawn
You! gigantic lady full of heart
we will swarm all over you
like flowers full of glee,
our crazy love
thoughts of the day
- next year, I'm switching my fuckin allegiance to Rayo Vallecano
- She drives me so crazy that I kind of like it, even the bad and insecure parts. It's like, I just...I just...I just want to put her in the trunk of my car and then open it up and say scooch over baby,I'm coming in, too. Sweetheart, we should look into fetishes where we ask random strangers to drive around while we have sex in the trunk of their car.
- Joey, baby, I'm not angry anymore
- Why? Because I know what guys look at—I haven't seen a woman's face my whole life.
- it took all these years drinking to realize, that without love in me, i'm not much good to anyone
Not enough hours in the day to hide from responsibilities. Boy in a man's body.
Every couple holding hands. That's her with someone else. Every smile not meant for me.
What if I was blind? I would wake up sometimes and panic, cry until I was tired, then fall asleep.
hope it's just anxiety and not impending doom
I looked around his room; I didn't see the Sega Genesis. Curtains were hiding the sun but you could see dust floating through the air. There was a dank smell about the room, like he had been sweating all night.
"No."
He didn't speak for a while and stared at me. His eyes were as big as his head, as big as his fat neck.
He sat upright in his chair with an arm trying to grasp each knee. His lips seemed like they were about to burst; I could hear him breathing. I was standing opposite him a few feet away, but he was towering over me.
"Do you like magazines?"
"What kind of magazines?" I replied.
"Well, you can choose from any of these," he said, trying to force a smile while struggling to breathe. He showed me a paper with magazine covers of men without their shirt on; his hands were shaking. Some pictures had faces of women smiling. "You can pick 4 of these—"
I ran out of there before he could finish—out of his attic, past his grandmother's room and out the door. That 40-year old bastard was trying to sell me subscriptions to Health & Fitness magazines so he could win a trip to Italy.
Haven't had this good a night's sleep—albeit a bit peculiar and disjointed—all week. Such a quirky slumber, that I awoke bemused and for a moment forgot that a few hours ago in drowsy stupor, I forgot my ashtray and while having a cigarette on the toilet, the John, if you will, and trying to ash in it, I slightly burned my, well, how should I put this...the cause of all wars between women.
Aloe vera and a soft fabric for today.
I can't get my diet rolling again. No matter how hard I try, how disciplined I am throughout the day, opting for the wise selections and guarding against impulse moves. At nights I'm vulnerable and inevitably doomed. It all comes crashing down: The thing with food, is that it's comforting, and lulls you to sleep. There's a certain freedom in giving in, with a sick pleasure in the punishment.
Eat it, you fat cow...
Open for business.
backstock's empty,
most items are stale—
but hey...
Joe doesn't work here anymore.
Joe's gone home.
Said he was going to break his ego.
We all said a prayer for him.
Turns out he was drunk again at home.
He's an oasis, my wife Debbie liked to say.
He wasn't too good about arriving on time.
It's nice to think
I taught him things,
but I know I didn't—
he's too unteachable.
Spent too much time thinking about his brain, that's his problem—
he gave away precious Genoa salami.
A customer complained.
He wrote on the paper for a half-pound veal,
"A maelstrom," and gave it to her.
My wife thought it was cute.
Ok, so I bought a Batman t-shirt a few months back as a tribute to my blog and a drunken theme i saw popping up in a couple things times back. Right, so lots of people buy Batman t-shirts, I assume because they are fans of the comic or movies, or they think they are bats. For me, when I wore it, it was my cape giddy.
At work, I was walking out of a place and a guy goes, Dude—I think he said dude—love that! I blushed but may have smirked like why would you love a shirt? When I walked back in, he was still there, like maybe he was waiting, and said, Not being sarcastic, I'm a big fan. And me, the legendary wit that I am laughed like a schmuck while I realized—
He got me. That fuckin hipster bozo got me.
A fuckin hipster bozo got me.
Did he just not see me open the door for a lady and nod humbly? Still, he was there waiting.
I should have said,
"Hey, Fuckface. Don't use me for your personal triumph. What are you, gonna go use it on your blog? Loser."
I should have beat him physically. I should have put my hands on his skin and cried like an animal in an insane asylum.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
