once upon a time or maybe not

11 Jun

it was like waking from a dream and remembering only some drift wood equivalent and then that slowly slipping from grip and view……the dream memory becoming¬†blurry rain drops down a windshield and then nothing but an empty racquetball court, all white, pale, not a single solitary letter of the dream’s script. where we came from achhhhhh! the creation hardly mattered anymore, only we were here did. we are here.

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on endangered languages, but the good news is…..

6 Jun

I read somewhere about a strange surge in dialects, strange since languages are apparently going extinct.

I have a theory.

As more and more people grow their own weed and tomatoes and maybe keep a goat grazing in the backyard, eat local organic produce and what not, they value what’s around them, the quickie marts and evergreen trees, taxi drivers and homeless people, local bars and well, dialects stay strong, new ones emerge.

Maybe I could get a 20,000 dollar grant from the local university to do some research on this topic. I could quit my job and visit and meet all these local gems, absorb them, become my own guinea pig experiment and get paid doing it.

i might buy a bird feeder

5 Jun

America’s funniest home videos had a segment on humans and birds a few weeks ago, mostly birds attacking humans. Apparently, there are 50 birds per person. I figure since population has grown so exponentially as of late, there must have been 100 or maybe even 200 birds per person not too long ago and yet, birds as killers never really came to be. For the most part, the birds don’t kill us except in that Hitchcock movie.

i bought a book one day

4 Jun

it was a simple day or maybe not; maybe it started out complicated; maybe i had a mini existence crisis, too much time and not knowing what to do, anxiety, slow breaths, sexually deviant thoughts, but the sun was out so I roamed all the way to Milwaukee’s north west side or I took a bus. I forget. Maybe I was at a baseball card show at Gonzaga Hall, inside the St. Alyosius Church on 92nd Street. I can’t remember all the details except that I wound up at a book store and bought a book about Harry Houdini, detailed enough for adults, but simple for kids too. He was born up north in Appleton, Wisconsin. Then I walked into the valley and looked at some trains or maybe I’m combining different days from my past?

the mafia in us all

14 Mar

there weren’t amputated fingers in their soup,
barely even a curse word,
but for some reason or another,
the mother didn’t talk with her father
and then the great grandson got into some rivalry with his brother,
the sister hated the mother
and the world is a bruised apple,
kshh kshh kshh of a record refusing to finish
but out of now here
some meaty white apple parts.
juice.

Jong and Trump dancing

3 Dec

I work with a lot of people from the Philippines. They told me about training spiders as kids or not training them, but starving them and then pitting them against each other like cock fights. I guess it was a pre-TV, pre internet, pre-smart phone past time. It got me thinking about Donald Trump and Kim Jong. I have nothing against the good old people from the United States or North Korea. In fact, I suspect there are great poets and singers from both places, great people who work in factories from both places too. It’s just Donald Trump and Kim Jong that don’t like each other. So I have an idea. Why don’t we pick a neutral country and city, say Tokyo Japan where as they say, the two leaders can settle their differences, dress up in Sumo Wrestler gear with the thick thong and what not or since neither one of them probably knows the Sumo technique, they could square off in a cage match. What will probably happen is that they’ll discover they’re exactly the same, that they both suffer and bleed. Then, we can go back to a never before normal, that is, citizens of North Korea can discover American writers and poets and citizens of the United States can discover North Korean writers and poets.

fur coat

2 Dec

there are no more leaves on trees.
fluffy days are gone.
branches scrape the sky like finger nails across heaven

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