wr_post42:subj_nonfict

DELAYED VAGUE RECAP OF JERSEY SHORE SHENANIGANS

On a small patio in the scorching sun at a roadside rest stop mcdonalds my sisters boyfriend menaced my girlfriend with a garden hose sprayer head that had been left out by maintenance and yelled Chicago Gangland Assassination at her in mock ruthlessness

My girlfriends brother and his friend from college talked about ugly man parts for approximately thirteen hours nonstop while in proximity of and or away from each others person

My girlfriends brothers college friends girlfriend was nineteen and crude

My girlfriends brothers college friends girlfriend threatened to queef on her boyfriends head after we all had assisted my girlfriends brother in burying his college friend in sand

My brother and his wife and his children and i made a sandcastle together by the shore with a moat and a suburb and a strange crater or rock quarryish landscape formed by the imprint of my brothers wifes butt

My nephew and his sister and mother were frightened when they thought they saw the sillhouette of a sting ray in a wave

No one wants to be remembered for dying like Steve Irwin

My girlfriend and her brothers college friend both agreed they had seen a seal while her brother and his college friend suggested that a pair of lifeguards in a rowboat had also seen a whale

The waitress at Pizza Mikes was very short with us and got into a verbal dispute with my brother over the most efficient way to bring him tartar sauce for his fish sandwich

We all postulated that the arhythmic banging coming from the four eighteen year old college boys who had displaced us from the guest house was the sound of a headboard involved in a sex act though no one recalled a headboard when we had been in the property the day before

The eighteen year old college students played a game wherein they dejectedly lobbed sandbags toward one another while their faces unpredictably shifted from grim disappointment to hard won victory for seemingly identical events leading me to conclude that they were deranged

Our rentor was also deranged but in the more harmless way of someone who missed the hippie revolution by a decade and now wishes to be seen as hip by the younger set while involving odd hours with drug addled sex crazed and pierced delinquents in her less than close kept personal affairs and generally dressing like a small dog owning shut in

Both places we stayed looked put together wrong and damp and godless

Everyone in Jersey is a prick

The sea was full of trash

Got burnt to fuck and death

Did not drink exactly the right amount

Would go again

wr_post41:subj_(non)fict

LAUREN WINSLOW

it makes me uncomfortable because i don't understand it. i'm glad (s)he's happy. probably that's enough.

wr_post40:subj_nonfict

AN HONEST SLIP OF THE TONGUE

"The CNN commentator just called New Hampshire the 'LIE-ve, Free or Die' state."

"Really?" she asked. "Meaning what?"

"I mean that she said it like 'live' in 'live birth,'" I answered. "Rather than 'live' like 'Live and Let Die.'"

"Oh," she said.

"I think it was just an honest slip of the tongue."

wr_post39:subj_fict

KIETH

He isn't sure when he started wearing the ski mask. The ski mask was definitely after the yard work glove. He remembers because after the hell his wife gave him for wearing one glove (with the elastic wristband, velcro strap, cutouts at the knuckles) the ski mask went down easy. At least when he wears that damn mask, she yells over the din of the tvs (four of them haphazardly piled one atop the other: a fools' tower of babel comprised of shrieking upset housewives and enthusiastic hirsute salesmen). There is plausible deniability and it spares her some of the grief. She pleads with an invisible police officer who has apparently wandered into the room. She has never seen that man in her life, she wails. Her mock innocence morphs into frustration as her gaze falls on a box of chocolate-covered raisin just outside the reach of her grabber. Now she needs him, he thinks.

His failed attempt at vigilantism is becoming a common topic of discussion around the condo. He leaves the fanny-pack in the glove box and the wiffle ball bat in the trunk. He's not ready to answer those questions yet. He has been drawing unemployment for two months. That is one method for measuring it.

Most superheros do something for the greater good, she yells. Fuck her, he mouths into the mirror on the outside of the bathroom door down the hall from her room. He leans in very close and says it just loud enough that he can barely hear it. The steam on the mirror charges up under his nose and leaves an angry wet dot. He turns the steamy smudge into a grimace and takes pleasure in watching the bullet hole of his noseprint dripping lazily down the vapor-man's stark visage. He tries to match it. He isn't convinced.

The youngest child opens the door an inch, shrieks and throws it shut. As the door closes he can make out two more children in the tub and a third standing on the toilet seat playing in the back of the tank. He heaves a great sigh, pulls the mask back down off his brow and snugly under his chin. He mumbles something about going to the store and smokes a cigarette in the Skylark instead. There are now only two left in the fanny-pack and the four flimsy matches in the Stop-n-Gulp book. Some clerk wrote 'you will die' on the inside of the matchbook. It's true.

The Skylark takes several minutes to warm all the way up, while various dash lights come on and off and the car makes noises like a motor boat regulating ballast water. Most times the light-headedness of the second cigarette wears off just as he's pulling out of the condo lot onto rural route 23, but today he waits til he's out on the open road to light up that penultimate dale. Terry's going to get it tonight, boy.

wr_post38:subj_nonfict

A HIGHLY SENSORY NIGHT

i saw buckaroo banzai in the 8th dimension. jon lithgow, jeff goldblum, christopher lloyd. in a movie about worlds within our worlds inhabited by aliens who are inherently racist. or something. the best/only good part was at the end when all the characters marched through a water runoff ditch in VERY 80s clothes to a happy, upbeat keyboard ballad. there was much footloose and fancy free walking afoot (every pun intended).
then i went to old cabell and listened to yyyy play the piano. i had this startlingly obvious revelation. the piano, in its form, is a beautifully self-limited instrument. one can only link notes that are near one another. if one desires dramatic pitch change without silences it becomes necessary to create two patterns or progress through the scale. there are no overly dramatic changes and yet theres this wonderful synthesis. its the kind of realization that makes you want to drop acid and look at the keys as they depress. the beauty of all things that can only be truly experienced through drugs (i assume...because though i wouldnt do them, the thought haunts me. comprehending the secrets of something. finding the world within inanimate objects. finding the life that people put into things when they interact with them. like the velveteen rabbit. the love made it real. the piano is real...or something). yyyy said something that triggered all this. its on my hand. i HAD to write it down, but the idea still alludes me. if i wrote poetry, THIS would be a fucking amazing poem. Everywhere and in everything i try to define aaaa. how it makes me feel. to the point that i stretch to connect things. songs, phrases, emotions that are at the core of everything we see and do. its fucking 3 am and i dont know what im saying and THAT is truth. this is the basis of my thought. sleep deprivation and nervous energy. unlinked dijointed paragraphs of words that, when read in the right sequence (not necessarily sequentially) reveal the meaning of my thoughts. the random quotes. to quote something the "vomit from my mind". ahh arthur miller, you sad bastard. the RAW ACID TRUTHS!!! the concrete its all i want. but back to the point....what yyyy said. it's been trying to play this song for a couple years (and i cant tell that anythings wrong with it) but it says it still eludes it. and it said...heres the money shot:
"I KNOW EVERY NOTE, I CAN SEE THEM IN MY MIND, BUT MY HANDS DONT MOVE FAST ENOUGH."
thats it. i know, or think i know, what it needs. i could be everything for it, if i could get my hands to move fast enough (and thats to be read symbolically). get it? theres some aspect of the execution thats missing. if i could get it right i would have it all. i would know what came next...
[TANGENT: I am a perfectionist]
then on the way back here i found a great big horse chestnut on the ground. it was smooth and brown with the grainy whitish spot on one side along with the indent. i tossed it around a bit. chucked it up and down the stair wells in rogers and holmes. then i peeled it open and looked at the meat of it. it reminded me of a walnut. so i ate some. it tasted like a really shitty walnut. like vomit or plastic. then steve had some too. i had to get a dew to kill the taste. i am like a fucking infant. i experience the world through my mouth. people were tossing the left over oreos at the picnic yesterday and i caught one and ate it. or the chicken nugget i ate off the commons floor at EHS. it would make me feel stupid, but i've done much dumber shit and im not done yet.
speaking of the picnic...i found a tennis ball at some point yesterday and spent most of the picnic trying to get it stuck on a ledge midway up the buildings surrounding the quad. i tried back spin, approaching it sideways to give it room to slow to a stop...nothing. then finally BBBBB chucked it on the roof. i think its in the gutter. thats sad. its not really what i was trying to achieve. im beginning to have a distaste for BBBBB. its a braggart. it cant really help it, but its stories go on and on and on. av;bheriaoghkj;fhbrd;lkahfg;lah. oh well. we all have problems and if this is the worst of mine, i'll consider myself very lucky.
it smelled like fishing (dead worms) again tonight. muggy muggy muggy.
i tried to slide down the wet grass near the amphitheater, but it was at the stage where it wasnt QUITE slick enough. i just stuck and nearly fell over.

wr_post37:subj_poetry

(untitled)

two trees wrapp'd as one,
their branches intermingling,
i have to go poop...

wr_post36:subj_poetry

FIVE FUNCTIONS: MORE BAD POETRY

bob left me and jimmy needs new shoes.
how am i gonna put them through college?
i am a single mother.

jimmy and bob got the black lung.
yesterday the mine caved in.
i work in a mine.

bob set the axe against jimmy's throat.
"why'd you eat my chicken pot pie."
i am a conflict resolution therapist.

jimmy cracked corn and bob didnt care.
it's an awful shame how much corn gets wasted that way.
i am a transparent eyeball.

bob was entirely abstract and illusive and jimmy couldnt get through to him.
the relationship had really hit a roadblock, metaphorically speaking.
i am an avocado.

bob took jimmy's hammer.
now he can't hammer things.
i am a tool.

jimmy got the flu, but bob wouldnt get him cured.
surely jesus will save them.
i am a christian scientist.

bob says its his right to carry a gun, but guns scare jimmy.
"read the second ammendment, boy"
i am moses.