Thermoregulation/Deregulation

In the wee hours of the morning, all lights shine with the same level of determination. Indetermination, such as it were.

In sadness my thoughts have not left me, they have twanged me as though I were a guitar string. Wakefulness is curiously easier to come by in this state.

My perception, honestly, has waned, slightly, but so have the leaves of our plant. Though it stands, honored and high, it reaches ever lower, to give lie to the notion that we are not at it's mercy.

Time Waiting

Of cold floors we don't speak well
But then again they invite us
Well into the minutes of an hour
When the professor's late or sour.

As told by my notebook. As told to it by me while waiting on my, usually timely, professor. Usually I'm late, but the others assure me, nonetheless, that he, indeed, is punctual.

Love's Blunders or The Art of War

kill with your soft words, maim with your harsh ones, this is the prime of humanity, of derision.

Mayor's Woes!

Furious Fervor Felicitously Found Favourable Fanfare: Google Graciously Granted Guaranteed Gateway.

The first alphabet couplet.

Alphabet Song A-E

Alert Attendant Admonishes Absent Accreditation

Blowhard Badminton Baron Burns Bridges

Complacent Comptroller Courageously Cuts Culpability

Dwarfed Dean:
Dazzles Deferring Department
Demonstrates Definite Destaturatization
Dismisses Disgruntled Delinquents
Dodgily Debunks Delinquents Diploma

Earnest English Earl Egregiously Engulfs Enchilada

To Ask an Answer

he asked: ¿qui es?
he answered for her: c'est moi, ma cherie.
he asked: and you?
she answered: ¿qui es?!

not quite a routine, but it rang just so.

Lyopa's Dream

to clue in on the birds' immediate position
he slunk ever so quietly, leaves undisturbed,
as though his ears themselves, from hearing,
would trample upon his quest.

enchanted by

It carried so lazily in the wind, like the long string of a kite left wandering the sky.

The drawl of summer succumbed to the breeze of fall, the leaves succumbed and fell.

An antagonistic fervor rang out through the yards, just deepening the sense.

In weeks, all would be recorded in assigned essays, demoralizing, sealing the fate.

It stole away as a thief into the night.

color me rose

at 5 o'clock you ruled with an iron fist.
at 6 o'clock you asked for your gloves.
at 7 o'clock you were being baron at [your] dinner table.
at 8 o'clock you put the kids to bed.
at 9 o'clock you rested your head.

Sandboxes Fraught With Danger

Little do the dwindling stray thoughts know that they are dwindling, or that they are stray.
To themselves they are large, in charge and present. They are the bosses of the alleyways.
Cold swims bring thoughts floating to the top of the pond of that time we drank cocoa, boiled eggs.
Warm swims bring remembered wanderings through freezer aisles with yoghurt and cheese.

Remember when we stalked the playground for the best place to sling a camera?
It slung, we swung, the leaves blew, you sang. Those are thoughts brought on by caramel candies.

There was a shovel, some sand and an eagerly awaiting bucket. The little one took cars and trucks.

Speak Quietly

O chime in with thy sweet words, for they are only sweet if tasted by another tongue, heard by another's drum.

One may let all things of imperfection and all things that speak of the weather to slowly fall away from themselves, but for what it still comes to be owed to us, those things are not ready to fall away. They are yet to be spoken and yet to be dismissed.

Words of thunder and lightning fall to earth as so many dark clouds. Contemptuous of those that shelter from the tumult, they find cracks, flows once caverened by gold or water, and collect meaning within barricaded walls. Walls cannot hold the dark clouds from forming, they will fall another time.

Not for quick thrill or droll misunderstanding, sweetwords have only themselves to thank for existing.

death. o hamburger.

lend me a length of rope. what mast will go unchecked through the dissolution of the continuum of the rope is not of my concern. i do not skip this boat, so avert your questions.

willing the fulfillment of dreams and of voyages to be had is the place-holder in life. without the bookmark of..., of photos yet to be taken and scrutinized and condensed and proffered to the masses, what life would bother sinking its teeth into the unchewable future?

let that which is the witness of the middle days, the middle nights, be that which is remembered, not the mornings or the evenings. more especially, not the nights.

it is i

whose gift to mankind would only be the existence of the thought of the gift.
this gift would traverse time, time and time again and would fall out of the hands that would rather it disappear.
the annals of humanity would guide its passage, ever suggesting at its one-time presence. where it had just been.

whose son would not rule, but guide, not push, but reveal, not disperse, but diffuse.

When to Go

try my flying machine, you will see
this earth as you've only dreamt of
dreaming, the people go away, the
wind grows quiet and the sun is
your friend, you sit atop the world
and smell, emptiness.

no, my sweet, you are not dead,
you are just in heaven.

Humdrum

O humdrum,
call thy name
and taketh
yourself away

Drowned and Downed and Danced

Save from the merry tree, the one that stood as if swaying with the wind, but never really moving, everything was green or orange or black for the festival. Smiles were green, tempers were orange and hair and skin and fingernails were black. It wasn't the festival that was the tedious labourer that brought on the autumnous colours, but rather the occurrence of mighty, come-from-afar, mice.

Collaborative Connundry

This is a note to the chancellor seldom-see-my-toes-McGee: (it's pronounced MC-ji, what a fluff of fluff!)

Dear Mr. McGee,

It has come to the attention of this committee that you've been quite after the inner memos of the inner circle of hell. Let my less-then-pleasant secretary take diction for this letter that you're reading, hey you weren't supposed to write that!
As to further induce fear, I will ask you to understand that your life is not in danger in the traditional sense. It's in danger in the non-traditional sense. What that means, I'm not quite at liberty to discuss--the Union, you know. All I can say is that it's unpleasant and even your wife wouldn't like it.
Either way, I'd like you to stop making inquisitions. They will lead to, ahem, Bridgette! don't write that!
What was I saying? Yes, NO INQUISITIONS! We have quite our own circle of dealings and we always to prefer to use, firstly, our loyal associates, and secondly, Union workers with a blue-collar family. If this is not to your liking, or if your company is losing its precious "Titanium Ring" of business then this is not my problem.
My problem is putting THEM where THEM don't want to go. It takes more than just a filthy broker to, I said don't write that Bridgette!, upset my balance! (Bridgette tells me that you're a Chancellor, not a broker. To me you broker deals between idiots.)
Your competence is appreciated.

sincerely
Ellipses Majori
Supreme Overlord of Human Resources

Touch, Tickle, Hear

to which the cranberry-snacking parrot replied, "and what've you got to say for yourself?" And that is why Farmer John now faces state and federal charges regarding his "pesticide" distribution process.
--from the Distributed Works of the Disenfranchised Two-Legged-Two-Winged


There be two carriers of pride. The ones that hoist it up on their shoulders and whine and the ones that hoist it up on their shoulders, full stop.

To the untrained eye all things about both types of carriers are the same. Actually, to the eye there's barely a way to disambiguate the two. It takes the collaboration with the body's other sensory organs to really get the difference. Namely the ears.

Touch and tickle and you'll hear the swelling of pride within the first kind. Touch and tickle and you'll get a fist to your nose, with nary a sound, from the second kind. That is the difference.

Hollow

Hollow be the fellow with two eyebrows but nary a furrow. He squints and he shades his eyes. He grimaces at the prospect of forgotten tomorrow and unimaginable yesterday. The stories stray too far from truth, but only written record can give his lie and scholars haven't come this way in at least THIS MANY moons. Again, for who can stand and doubt when the records have all been swept away, and thank you for noticing.


He calls his friend, the hawk that sits the tree and catches the wind with her beak, the occasional gnat also makes for meager sustenance. The adventure was to begin yesterday but who could say for sure? The road is winding towards the sun, but the sun shifts and the road shifts with it. And it was the same road the last time they had a meal. So who could say if it was his story or he the story of someone else

Up until this moment his furrow had feared reprisal, but at long last it tugged his left eye. Now there was something to not know, not just to forget and not imagine. The road split in twain and tomorrow was already on its way to being forgotten. Was it left or right that they went?

The wind, the sun, the scholars will find them, but good journeys together for the two friends. It's true, it happened yet! And show me your badge, you're not a scholar!

The World of Spin

Lucky There Were Bells


State your name and business. Name your business and state. Busy your state with your name.

A cacophony of bells rings louder and louder until the sound waves reverberate through the ground to the other side. A paper airplane is loaded with some ink and flown in the direction of the sound, against the rotation, of course. Shrilly, the whistle is blown, all bell cacophony to stop immediately. Busy yourselves, right your mounts, sound your steeds! At dawn we march.

At dawn they marched towards the direction of the airplane's apparent launching point, against the rotation, of course. Tails tucked under, so as to keep the wag down and the delicate cups up [on the shelves], the meeting takes place and takes time and is relatively docile. Watch those tails, Sergeant!

Agreed, twelve tolls to signal an hour, but no more than twelve. To keep it quieter, the tolls will be regarding the hour, no need to celebrate every one. We'll do twelve twice. Building up to it each time. Planes will now come laden with spices, people, and dreams.

And that's how: global communication, time keeping, trade, air travel and talking came to be. Also tails were abolished for there were too many delicate china shelves out there.

Lucky there were bells.

Twinkle One Eye

Beautifully angled Axis of Rotation seeks able bodied symmetrical object to share solar journey, affect and have spin about. Likes: not budging, ever, maintaining orientation, will revolve around sun under right conditions. Will accept some polarity, surface imperfections (as long as there's a good core). Dislikes: no atmosphere, too many moons, rings, gaseous consistency (we're THROUGH, Jupiter!!!).

The Tides of Tidiness (and milling praise).

It sang phrases like "Choo, Choo go the very few." It also sang obscenities like "Chirp, Chirp you little twirp!" When we got rid of it, it sang a greeting "Hello, Hello I am your fellow." But hard as it fought, it all came to naught.

Musical Chairs

It seems that with every single song, there's a race to get my attention. Will it be the webternet or the book? To sigh is an easy task, but to kvetch about it... whoah there.

Free form literacy is the kind of project that we should undertake. It includes both the definition and the study of literacy. A highly polished thinker, or highly polished tinkerer brush up on whatever subject they choose, whatever expertise and call themselves an expert. Wait, no, that's consulting. I shouldn't quit my dayjob.

I have never truly appreciated the difficulties of living until I was forced to do it overtime. It never occurred to me that going to school, more or less full time, working more than full time and being married are very difficult things to achieve all at once. How do people do it? More booze? Less booze?

This blog was supposed to be an indulgence of my literary traipsery but instead it will be my literary musings.

Dish of the day: chicken breast butterflied, pounded just a tad, very lightly encrusted in red pepper flakes (let's be gentle here), rubbed down with oil (extra virgin), salt and pepper, seared for 60 seconds per side (on a buttered pan, yes BUTTER, learn to control your temperatures!), slow oven (300 degrees). served open with a topping of chopped parsley, pine nuts, and sauted red onion. Onion to be sauteed with juice from chicken, service with sautee sauce drizzled over.



Organic chicken: worth the price.

To Send is to Receive

A touch to the nose reveals: of puppies, health, of humans, ticklishnes, of Lyopa (my mom's cat), mood. It is a litmus test, but one that doesn't waste any trees or turns purple.

On this night of nights, one may find oneself studying one's words for one's test, test of next-steppery, if you will. To some, this next step is necessary, to others it's more necessary. To others still, it's a step backward. What's it to me? It's a step forward in a direction that was trod on years ago. Overtrod, that's a word, I'll bet you two other words that it's a real word. Interestingly, though not ironically (I love commas, have you noticed?), I find myself stepping forward into the past.

My many peers, and during the course of my illustrious career as a student I've had many many, have all aquired the studious gall needed to INDULGE in next-steppery while they were still manifesting their various hormonally driven physical attributes (puberty), (let's put a comma in, grammar, after all, is but a tool of the learned, and a weapon of the unlearned. Like a monkey with a mean streak, a grenade and only one thumb). For me, however, this gall is only now being aquired. Now, at 2:22AM on a Wednesday morning, the morning of an exam that I should be wholly prepared for.

What the hell am I doing writing? Nothing. I had something to say, it all went awry at the mention of the monkey. Where'd that other thumb go?


back to studying, and raise a brow to my next-step. may it not be overtrod in memory.

Frog's Response to Big Toe's Unabashedness

"Ribbet," and "Ribbet!"

To Quote Big Toe

"






        ," and "




"

c'est la Snow

So, the snow, it falls and it blows. Twelve inches or less, or twelve inches or more, it still coats and we still coat over to keep from coating under. But the solmenity of white [powder] on red [bricks] doesn't make a morning commute any more friendly. That being said, school was not going to be an option today...

This week I told the professor that I was a Veteran Student. That's gotta be accurate. Few can make that claim, fewer still with a straight face. I asked if I could raise tumult and kick open a few eyelids during class. Philosophy is just boring if you don't at least ponder the shaving of a few ideas short of fruition. Give new mustard to that question your mother always (at least should have always) asked you, "if your friends jump off the Brooklyn Bridge....?" The mustard in question is of course what you put on the plate before introducing the hot dog or knish, how to answer that question or how to eat that snack.

The whole point of this is, it's snowing; and as a veteran student, I don't see the need in stressing my AARP Student ID with a daring ride into the ever-unknown just so that I can get a good seat at this weeks buffet.