Recently, numbered


43. Making up aphorisms, part 3
July 3, 2012, 8:09 pm
Filed under: Everyday, Exercises | Tags: , , ,

Canyon cliffs once went under the biggest knife we’ll never know, and that makes me feel better.



42. Making up aphorisms, part 2
July 3, 2012, 8:08 pm
Filed under: Everyday, Exercises | Tags: ,

Lamentations are  ghosts telling you how it sucks to die but then you have to come back as someone else’s memory.



41. Making up aphorisms, part 1
July 3, 2012, 7:57 pm
Filed under: Everyday, Exercises, Literature | Tags: , ,

Choose Fiction over Fact if you want to study how people imagine themselves to be true.



40. bye bye suburban house
June 8, 2012, 11:00 am
Filed under: Lists

This is the house I half-grew up in, middle school onward. My parents plan to move out soon. And so, I took some pictures in and around our suburban oasis.

Dad refused to remove this teenage punk scrawl. Our house has said HEY SHAWN since 1991.

Speaking of Dad, here he is.

Oh, there he is again – view from the upstairs bathroom window. They’re building a mansion oasis across the street.

1991 again, a list from my diary. Didn’t remember I had grandma writing at so fresh an age. I was gonna treat Mom real nice. Like the “hot rolls” part.

Cooking school books. This is the technique behind a hearty Sweeney dinner. You want lamb? We got it. Gravy. Uh-hah, we got it. PIE CRUST! Yeah, we got it. Thanks, McCalls.

How ’bout this early eighties hoodie? I love that hoodie.

More of the color yellow in this original oil painting. Mom describes this as “that starving artist art we bought when we couldn’t afford anything.” Note it’s hung in the garage, the only place Mom will allow.

I know there will be more of these at the new place in SC, but I’m beholding the glory of the TX tomaTOES in the back garden of our suburban oasis.



39. Quotes du jour
June 7, 2012, 3:11 pm
Filed under: Everyday

Double entendre for the morning: “Wanna screw?” – on the t-shirt of the contractor who works near my office building.

Thought crossing mind  while walking down B’way between Howard and Grand: “I have no idea what I’m doing writing amateur writings, but that’s okay, I will do it anyway.  Practice.”

Mom’s words at 7:46 a.m. after I returned her 7:38 call: “My phone must have done that on its own.”



38. james joyce exercise
May 23, 2012, 10:11 pm
Filed under: Exercises, Literature | Tags: , ,

[task: no punctuation and repetition of “maybe”]

maybe you will roll me up and time will pass and it will be so warm I’ll never unroll or maybe if I unroll I will find nothing maybe and maybe I’ll be old then or I will know more maybe but maybe when I unroll there’s  some love some curled up love maybe maybe it’s a lump maybe it’s more    a baby maybe it’s wrinkled and waiting maybe I have forgotten in my big space cloud that     soon               maybe there is no unrolling maybe i’m holding and softening offering my hands out maybe  I would like  to stretch and in my stretch shudder    shudder maybe as my muscles flex and fold and flex and fold  maybe I’ve gotten bigger soaking up sun  my cells have grown old and died and come back to life maybe      i hope    i hope they have come back again those cells those cycles maybe I’ve shed too much hair in sinks maybe the grime I feel is only natural the sickness the sadness the unidentified mess maybe   maybe my blood is overclotting and that is nothing maybe        maybe i will shave my legs or maybe I will hide my legs  wear pants maybe maybe  they’re not really there    my legs   I don’t know maybe   or no    they’re there    silly me      maybe I’ll be fresher maybe cleaner in the water maybe this fog this shroud this ghost coating my day with grim and grime maybe it’s waiting for a cleaning      maybe I will poke a finger through it or maybe I’ll stick my tongue  out to taste some light and it’s caramel and maybe the burnt pieces the brittle pieces fall into my eyes and maybe flecks of gold will rise      so I have to look up      so I see oh yes     there’s blue sky     maybe the clouds have gone away to visit their grandmother       maybe she will have a bowl of caramels the ones I tasted before and maybe she has a bundle of blankets rolled up in the closet    maybe her grandmother  made them and maybe she’d never unrolled them and maybe they smelled like lavender those lavender sachets   maybe they’ve unraveled   I could hold them in my hand maybe      maybe this is just the thing for me to hold



37. Song obsession
May 21, 2012, 11:00 am
Filed under: Everyday, Music

How They Want Me To Be” on the new Best Coast album

I walk down the sidewalk with IT in my ears, and girl group nostalgia snags me.

Every time I listen to it.

I lip-synch the song all the way down Sullivan Street.

First chorus:

“I don’t wanna BE how they want me to BE

I don’t wanna BE how the want me to BE”

Last chorus:

“You don’t want ME to be/how they want ME to be/I don’t want ME to be/how they want ME to be.”

IT goes swing to circle. And YOU shows up mid-way through

Turns a selfish revolution into YOU loving ME.

That’s all that matters.

Songs will point that out.