Slow Motive Carriage

"Because I could not stop for Death, 
He kindly stopped for me" -Emily Dickinson

And I looked, and behold a pale Ford: 
and his name who sat inside it was Death, 
and a knell followed with him. And power 
was given to him over the poorest part 
of the heart, to fill with a word, 
and with Summer, and with breath, 
and with the beats of the heart. 
And when he slipped out of the fifth gear, 
I saw under the falter the soles 
of them that were maimed for this 
absurd fraud, and for the sanctimony 
under which they cycled. This scavenger

prowls under the guise of salvager. 
His trophies are grotesqueries strapped 
just above the headliner: heads lined 
like mementoes of the living. They gaze 
with inanimate feelings while a song 
is written out in a signature of time 
with which I am not familiar. 
Their mouths open and they begin 
to sing. I surmise that their audience 
is somewhere towards eternity.

See Death's Chariot here: http://instagram.com/p/c7-6mHITNy/

Crisp and Crass

My salad went bad again today.
Just like it did the week before.
Spending time away from home
will only make sure
that the greens you've gathered
spoil in the dark at the bottom
of your failing crisping drawer.

Poem by Heberto Padilla

Don't forget it, poet.
In whatever place and time
you make
or endure History,
there will always be lying in wait
some dangerous poem.

Late White Flower

In my empty kitchen, a used up paper cake cup
Becomes a rare genus of white rose
when rolled in between my fingertips.
I could not think of anyone to gift it to but you,
Now nowhere to be found. Perhaps an hour before
When we stood beneath the neighbors' seeping patio,
The leaking liquid falling in loud spats
Brought on by the Spring thaw,
You would have accepted
This token of my affectation.

And recognizing the imaginativeness of its beauty
You would have remembered why
It was we make such incredible love.
Instead, you stood over your rusted bicycle.
A Valkyrie and steed, hair curling in the wind,
Eyes melting the world around us.
This is our Vigrior, this empty parking space the scene
Of our last clash. I try to tear your fingers from the handlebar
And pull you in towards me, begging that you choose
To spirit me off with you into your paradise.

But empty handed, without a rose,
Without even a reason for you to stay,
You back away. I back away. The cold is just as unforgiving
When it hits me, and I remember the numbing
Sensation of abandonment. You take off where
I cannot follow, over the earth gasping for breath.
Somewhere near, the raven beckons
In foreign words from its unseen perch
To find another set of wings to flay.

Everyday Mind Freak 1/25/2011

Everyday mind freak 1/25/2010: The combined historic emissions of just seven US states—Texas, California, Illinois, New York, Indiana, Pennsylvania, and Ohio—totalled more than any other country in the world, including China in 05. Since then China and India, both with populations exceeding 1 billion, have had significant rises in emissions. Imagine what it will be like when two more countries are living like we do.

Everyday Mind Freak 1/24/2011

Everyday mind freak 1/24/2010: the Mona Lisa doesn't have eyebrows. In Renaissance Florence shaving off your eyebrows was what was hot on the streets.

Update: Research has shown that the Mona Lisa did in fact have eyebrows at one time. The loss of the top paint layers with the eyebrows is the unfortunate result of restoration and cleaning techniques. Still mind freaky.

Everyday Mind Freak 1/23/2011

Everyday mind freak 1/23/2010: Popeye had a nephew named Poopeye.

Everyday Mind Freak 1/22/2011

Our galaxy is on a collision course with the Andromeda Galaxy.

Today's Everyday Mind Freak was brought to you by the Adler Planetarium. The Adler Planetarium and Astronomy Museum: "Because the Museum of Science and Industry sucked when you were 13 and it still sucks today."

Everyday Mind Freak 1/21/2011

Today's everyday mind freak is brought to you by the Adler Planetarium. "Proving that you're not the only star in the universe since 1930."

Why is the day sky blue? Not because of the oceans. Nitrogen, which makes up 78% of the atmosphere, scatters blue light from the sun the most efficiently which causes us to perceive the sky as blue.

Everyday Mind Freak 1/20/2011

What do you call someone who plays guitar? What do you call someone who plays piano? What do you call someone who plays cello? What do you call someone who plays violin? What do you call someone who tours? What do you call someone who makes art? What do you call someone who raps?...a-haaa ::finger wave::

Everyday Mind Freak 1/19/2011

Orange juice...is yellow.

At the Behest of Others

Nobody likes a copycat. Except the copyman.

Who copy, can. And copy, does. That man

Without a plan, copying with his sordid hands

Clearly coordinated paths. Insinuated can'ts lost

When the little devil on his shoulder in the body

Of a ram says listen copier, you can...you can!

They won't notice. They won't see,

You'll go down in history. A lovely little melody,

A tale of caution for the meek. The one that's been told,

On the whole,

A thousand times
Before.

Writing jokes

I think all profession jokes are lame, but these got a chuckle out of me.

How many mystery writers does it take to screw in a light bulb?

Two. One to screw it almost all the way in, and the other to give it a surprising twist at the end.

How many screenwriters does it take to screw in a light bulb?

Why does it have to be changed?

How many cover blurb writers does it take to screw in a light bulb?

A VAST AND TEEMING HORDE STRETCHING FROM SEA TO SHINING SEA!!!!

Sterno- Burn

There is a dark-haired girl on the train

this morning reading and rambling off words

like sternocleidomastoid. I try and try

to remember the corresponding structure,

but all I can see is the yellow tinged skin

beneath the mandible. Your full nape always

so warm, so inviting. And when I marched

my lips up to yours, the uncontrollable shivers

you released always cornered my thoughts

in unprecedented displays of loving remorse.

Sterno cleido mastoid,

the unwavering truth of science's etymology ringing

in my mind, turning my head from left to right,

full circle understanding that we never said goodbye

and it is that paired muscle, a chiefly mammalian

feature of anatomy, that flexes my heart.

Jupiter for the Strange

Most days I stumble through this city trying to hold up a little semblance of myself to show off to the rest of the world that I am still here with my ten toes on this planet while I dream of rocketing off to Jupiter. It's impossible, there is no Jupiter. Just an orb you hear of every now and again. Jupiter, oh yeah, the big one. Sterile and brown I believe. Share's the same star as us. That has to count for something. Now the sun, that's a sight for sore eyes. It literally makes your eyes sore. And it's the light behind all religion. Don't believe me? I have a documentary for you to watch. But it doesn't matter. Before the credits roll you'll have decided to agree or disagree or be like me and think there's some place in the middle of all the cantankerous thought that plagues our day to day quests for propagation. You should just be happy you get to ride your bike in this city with all its exotic restaurants and never-ending distractions in the middle of October when the sun is lower and Jupiter, round and sound, is nowhere, not anywhere to be found.

Unless you take a trip to the observatory, in which case good on you you cheeky little monkey.

Ah geez. It's come to my attention that I'm more of a scribbler than a writer. I just scribble, scribble, scribble all day. Nibbling away at pieces of paper but never really filling up on anything. There's a word for it in Spanish that someone very special and very pretty told me once, but I can't remember it. I think it started with a 'p'. I remember her mother confirming that I did in fact eat as if I had been born with feathers and wings. I would argue, however, that my mouth has much more to offer than any beak. The lips alone are too much too handle. Especially when I first come out of dreaming. Swollen with all of my sleep, they usually just sag until I've had my first inspiration to scribble.

No more. Time to feast.

I listen to "The Manifold Curiosity" much too much. It is a sublime collaboration of music and lyric that always inspires this overwhelming sense of wonder and, for lack of a better word, curiosity inside of me.

6-word Stories

- inspired by Sherman Alexie

1. She was my dream girl. Gone.

2. If you hear two gunshots, goodbye.

3. Forget about it, you're still Generalissimo.

Stardate, The Saturn Opposition, Part 1

(In which our lovely hero realizes he can calculate neither stardates nor the end of the world.)

I find myself riding a strange wave

of unfinished business. Nothing

I start will come to completion

though I beckon it from the shores

of my motivation. Food I now eat

without the luxury of flavor.

Something is simply missing,

and so missing something simply

my credit only grows, monstrously.

He speaks from under the couch

next to my bedless head,

says hey, you got an ok thing

going on here. keep at it.

But the thing is I don't listen

to monsters even if they do

sound sweet justifying

their pedagogical arguments.

Would rather just stay on floor

(because I can't stay in bed)

contemplating whether Che

was really more like me

or you.

imiss you.