Five Dollar Boom Boom...again and again and again.

My mom's from Vietnam.

I'm first-generation-born-somewhere-other-than-that-place-guy. My older brother was born there too. Why don't we have the obligatory X-Men-Cyclops eyes? Don't know. Don't care. I always look tired anyways, so it doesn't make much of a difference in the long run. I had a bad mother. She's nice and all, but sucks in a lot of departments when it comes down to the final inventory. No big deal. No bad feelings. No skin off of the Irish-Vietnamese back. Tonight at the bar, I was engaging in some type of conversation that I thought was important, when I heard my name being called...There was a small, smiling lady selling something. With my bad vision, I thought that it was roses. But it wasn't. She was lugging around a wooden display case full of bracelets. That was probably why the lady was brought to my attention. I'm one of the only guys left with a girlfriend. So everybody was directing the lady towards me. Nobody wanted anything. The bracelets were okay. Nothing special. What was special was that I bought one. That she was smiling, even though that she had to try to sell cheap trinkets of homemade beauty to a bunch or worthless kids. What was special was that she always had a smile on her face. What was special was that I could hear people making racist comments behind her back, even though two of them were black. What was special was that she danced to the live band that was playing as she left the bar. The only money that she had was what I gave her. She danced away with a smile on her face as people made fun of her. These are the same people who probably made fun of my mother years ago when she came to this country. The only reason that she was here, and the only reason that I exist is because she met a handsome white guy. A guy that gave up the job that he loved, to shack up and do the nasty with a beautiful girl. Nothing mattered. All that my father wanted was what was best for the both of them. The friends asked why I bought the cheap bracelet. I half-joked that I was watching out for my own. I told them that that was my mother who just left. They said, why, because she was Vietnamese?

I said no...because she was a person, you fucking idiots.

Roberta was angry because Liam kept on stealing her hairbrush.

She knew where it was. It was in the backyard, by the little storage house. Liam always used it to brush the next door neighbor’s pony’s hair. He was five, but that was no excuse. This was the second brush that she had to replace. The last one Liam couldn’t find. He said the ponies must’ve stoled it. But the horses didn’t steal it cuz’ Roberta found it by the play set a long time after. She tried to tell Dad about it, but he usually got mad if you tattle-tailed, so Roberta stopped and just made sure to punch Liam hard before dinner, but then Liam told dad that Roberta punched him for no reason and when Roberta was trying to explain, she got in trouble for being a “brat”, and that she was older so why did she always have to be so “violent” and then she had to go to her room and miss supper. Not that she minded because it was the same old, stupid fried rice that made the whole house smell like fish, anyway. The only good parts were the egg and the shrimp. Dad only made it because he made the same things anyway. He always made spaghetti too, which was good if you put a lot of sauce, cheese, and black olives on it. If they had it. But than dad would get mad if he saw that you put too much stuff on it. He’d tell you not to be “greedy”. Roberta thought that she wasn’t greedy. She was just trying to make it taste good and not like the noodles. The noodles were gross-tasting and why didn’t they make more of the other stuff? Why not just have it with the sauce and the cheese and olives, then? The only good time that they had spaghetti was when Liam was carrying his plate with the spaghetti and his milk and saw the Spiderman movie commercial on TV and dropped the plate of spaghetti on the carpet and then dad got mad. That was funny because Liam cried and had to rub the carpet good with a rag while everybody ate. That was the only time that the spaghetti tasted good. Roberta even had seconds.

And They Should...

carry our bodies down by the river after we die. There, they will bathe us, wrap us in fine silk and then let the slow currents whisk us away. They'll watch until we're out of sight - we might get snagged by a jutting rock or a stray bush branch - then, they'll wade into the cold water and free us from the tangles. They'll hope for unimpeded progress down the river...either that or a peaceful descent down to the river bottom. Either way...out of sight, out of mind, out of their hands - into someone else's. Straight down the middle or a slow descent to the bottom. Either way is fine.

Godspeed.

no matter what you think
the day is going to be like
no matter what your plans are
no matter what lyrics
you compose for yourself the night before

time passes
no matter what you think or hear
today is a symphony
that sounds far away from yesterday

talktalktalk
thinkthinkthink
bebetterbebetterbebetter
begoodbegoodbegood
belikewater
learn
live
breathe
focus
shooosh
so pretty, so pretty as she strokes your head
calm down, calm down
don'ttalkdon'ttalk
don'tthinkdon'tthink
bebetterbebetterbebetter
what'sgood?what'sgood?
belikevapor
rise to the top
realize that falling down
is natural
dripdripdrip
goes tears
dripdripdrip
thank you, says
everything beneath you

Sweating in orchestra pits

upside down

thank you, says
everything above you

no matter what you think
the day is going to be like
no matter what your plans are
no matter what lyrics
you compose for yourself the night before

time passes

I'm Not Going To...

Write just because I have a computer in front of me.

Last night was crap and I wanted to get out of there as fast as I could. Too many memories. When I got home I was exhausted but found my roommate and his band rehearsing in the living room. I sat cross-legged on the table and listened while having a couple million drinks. It was probably one of the best things you could walk into...besides a porn convention, of course.

Yes...

Scrabble belongs in your bar.

So, shut it.

The Spaces Available In My Heart Are More Important Than My MySpace...

I'm packing on new days like a fine layer of moth wing dust.
Please treat me gently.
I may seem ugly.
But.
Regardless.
I might be beautiful in your hands?
Maybe a delicacy to some in other parts of the world.
Or a pest.
I can fly when I want to.
I can bite you when you sleep.
You can easily squash me, smoosh me or preserve me in a jar.

I'm attracted to your glow, though.

Be gentle, fucker.

Leaves Of house...

Get up, get up
says your trainer

I feel tired
you say
please
just let me
lay down

Oh, no, no, no, you big pussy
you're much stronger than that
why do you think you're here
in the first place?

Because I never knew what else to do?

Exactly, asshole
now let me stop that bleeding
keep your guard up
and punch, jab, punch, jab

He must be tired
you say
please
just let him
lay down

That's it, that's it
says your trainer

Each Day...

Each day is like a unique fingerprint, a strand of DNA, a snowflake.

Each night has been a "day"mare, a slow trudge through sucking muck, a lance splintered into the soft flesh and steel of charging calvary.

Today and all the days before this one have been tough and far too easy to bend and shape to my dreams if maybe I wasn't so whimsical and soft.

I have an atrophied heart stricken with bouts of emotional Tourettes Syndrome and a will made of petrified Silly Putty.

I am me, just like before. Stronger and weaker - for better or for worse.

I don't miss myself or miss my missed opportunities.

I just want more hits as I'm swinging and a lot less misses, Missus.

Love and kisses.

Yes, This Site Is Boring.

I know this.

But, at least it's FREE boredom.

As Far As This Last Year Goes...

I want this next one to be totally Boo Radley as opposed to this years horrific Liberace naked jumping into a pool.

The Horror...

Christmas sweaters...EVERYWHERE!!!

Egg...

Everything that I wished for before I now have
and everything I now have is nothing compared to what I had.

Alto...

I collect brilliant scraps of life
like you do tickets

I'll start writing my shit down when
you learn how to FUCKING drive

Truth...

Having a hole in your sock
sounds much better than
having a sock in your hole.

Christmas Craptacular...

Downloading songs for my work's iPod. I'm in hell. Bing Crosby helps, though. Sammy Davis Jr. does not. I want to shoot him in his glass eye.

Items I'm Watching...

I wish the rest of my life was as perfect as my eBay feedback score.

Fat Free Milk Friends...

Awww...man. I'm really touched but no, my house didn't burn down. I rent anyway. It's true that all of my crap is gone but that's only because my ex-girlfriend has it all.

Crap. I feel bad. I'm fine. Kind of. Same old me. Thanks, guys!

Oh, What A Tangled Web...

Fire's out but I can still smell the smoke. It permeates the air, my clothes will need to be washed and I'll need someone to look at these burns. My house is gone. Smoldering ruins. My pets are nowhere to be found. I'll miss them dearly. All of my possessions, the comic books, my passport, TV and computers are blackened husks. Not so important I guess, but all of that will be hard to replace.

Today's my first day of starting from scratch and so far...

This poem is all I own.

Robinson Crusoe Meets Jack The Ripper...

Haven't been writing on this old friend, here, Fat Free Milk, because of big life changes and a lack of a computer. Revisiting a lot of the ol' pen and paper Deus Ex Machina. Maybe I'll end up getting more done. We'll see...

Malaysian Emperor Cicadas...

Each bruise on my body tells a story.

I Am A tiny Man...

Very small.

"You Get So Alone at Times It Just Makes Sense"

Bukowski knew.

And I think that I'm just beginning to get it.

Kyle Was Right...

Fish and chips at the old pub was a lot better than eating with the blue-haired ladies at Carrows. True, true.

So Sweet...

You save our honey bees and I'll spend my time building natural sized cells, and virtually eliminating my Varroa and Tracheal mite problems.

He who tries to forget a woman, never loved her...

Which one are you?

The one I miss now?

Or the one I loved before?

Ear Noises...

Choosing not to write is sometimes the best way to express your feelings.

Hey Kid...

One day you'll grow up.

One day you'll have an important moment of clarity that spirals through your brain and explodes outward through your heart.

The newly-found, diamond-like focus that suddenly envelops your eyes will cause them to well up with tears because what you've just learned is so, so beautiful...

You grew up...

You finally get it.

And now you're too old to do anything about, kid.

Yom Thorke....

Time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a banana...

Raoul Duke: There's a uh, big machine in the sky, some kind of, I dunno, electric snake, coming straight at us.

Dr. Gonzo: Shoot it.

Raoul Duke: Not yet, I want to study its habits.



Yesterday's Hippies call other people "Hippies" now.

Think about this...REALLY.

bis vincit qui se vincit in victoria

He conquers twice who conquers himself in victory

im the guy

right now

writing about things to write

my soul is the Earth’s sun 8 million years from now

and my heart is chum, constantly thrown into oceans

jotting down ideas

and always writing about writing

and my writing

always takes a lot of rewriting

i’m so tired

and so ready

to cultivate the paddy fields of your mind

mine your ore

and excavate your precious resources

i am big business

when not writing about not writing

you’ll never see my greatest moments

and if you do?

then I’ll see it first

because,

im the guy

right now

writing

trying