Wednesday, April 16, 2014

in defense of leisure...

I've heard recent arguments in support of doing nothing. 


one cannot no-thing do. 

since do-ing is always some-thing.

however, certain actions, activities, and work seem to be more valuable to some, have more merit, and/or are tacitly productive.

it's all just killing-time, plodding, picking fleas, or as Vonnegut once said, "farting around."

we had thought technology would create more time for leisure, yet all we do is cram in more farting around. the work week hasn't gotten any shorter.

join us in detachment. the proactive acquiescence in expectation of inevitable defeat. they are many. we are one. though it's never true loss if we succumb early and obviously. they only know surface, so their triumph is vain. our deep scored patina reflects this skim. this veneer. do not mistake us as magnanimous, but as magma. roiling in the hidden tombs, shaping the landscape to come. hot as the surface of the sun reducing the rock-of-ages to viscous putty. 

Tuesday, April 8, 2014

surrender is the new black flag

I don my shoes, shorts, and thrift-store long-sleeve. aiming for a jog I jack-in and poke my head outside to test another grey day with howling wind and screaming adolescence fresh from another school day. 

"fuck it." I say. 

I replace my shoes with some sweats and brew a cup while I unplug. 

I enjoy crash-landing into this chair with a fresh brew, book, blanket, and tobacco. 

the cat climbs onto my lap. he knows the score.

I scratch his chin while searching for the right tunes. I'm looking for the proper ambience for my ambivalence. I settle for some obscure experimental noise while I tuck into another volume of escapist fiction. 

let the wind blow and the clouds roll on by. let the kids set each-other ablaze. let armageddon pass over me. 

Monday, April 7, 2014

by the balls...

years ago, while my father was still lucid, he told me I "had the world by the balls." 

according to an online slang dictionary, this means that one is in a good place in life, or in business. 

at the time, perhaps I did have the world by its balls? however, it felt like the world had me by the short-n-curlies. 

We were in Canada on dad's little boat fishing, and I told him that all I really look forward to everyday was my next meal. that's when he mentioned my grasp on the world's testicles.

I was in college at the time. A decent one, in a decent city. I was studying frivolity on the GI Bill. Outwardly, I was doing well. Inwardly I was wrecked by self-loathing, doubt, and fear.

I was a sham. I picked an easy major so as to put off getting a proper job. I fantasized about graduating and expatriating to a foreign city and discarding my identity and debts. Maybe writing a novel? Or become a male prostitute?

that didn't work out. 

Sunday, April 6, 2014

too old to be new

starting over sucks.

Lets skip to the denouement?
save the conflict for someone who is invested, someone who values rising-action. 

why not simply create ambience and atmosphere? a place to kick-off one's shoes and socks to grind those well-manicured toes into a plush carpet so-to-speak. everything should be plush and room-temperature. let us lower the stakes and take time.

when did being honest become embarrassing? I don't want to make a mistake. I don't want to look stupid. I want to be liked. I don't want you to touch me. stop breathing like that. go away. where are you? come back. hello? 

I feel feeble. meek. I eek out an existence. petrified. afraid. I don't recognize this man. this man I see reflected. I was going to do something significant. I'm running out of time. yet I'm embarrassed to hurry. they'll see me running to catch-up and know that I didn't properly prepare. I don't want to be left behind, but these things that seem important to them don't seem so to me. they told me vanity was bad. pride was bad.  selfishness bad. but it all seems prideful, vain, & selfish. everything. we help in hope to be helped. all points of view benefit the viewer. 

gravedigger is the only honest vocation. there's no rush and plenty of earth to move. we'll never run out of bodies. can we buy coffins online? Skype a funeral? 



Thursday, March 6, 2014


to fail with flair,
to plummet with panache,
to excel in mediocrity. 
cannot areté have variety?
rather a sore-loser,
engorged on sour-grapes. 
than a numb victor. 

Sunday, February 23, 2014

an attitude of decrepitude

casual discussions about beliefs' akin to public defecation. 

every believer a sadomasochist. the agony of eternal hell and damnation motivates. someone must suffer for another to succeed. the possibility of their own torture provides a sunday-school erection. 

piety is the steaming pile. 

Tuesday, February 11, 2014

A xenopologist on earth...

or, the sole lunar colonist...

or stranded adrift, alone amongst the stars...

pretend this space, this cold, dark basement dwelling is my habitat, craft, or remote outpost...

music, books, film, and the occasional resupply mission to Station-Wawa for rations. 

sometimes the indigenous lifeforms attempt to interact with a barely working lingua franca.

best to avoid them.