Night Maneuvers

I maneuver my

Terror knife to private zones.

Habitual me.

Lousy memories,

Fantasy and irony

Fuel my hate nozzle.

In praise of the plunge,

Long patterns leap from the gut

Painting fluid clouds

Not of mundane shape

But of soft diffusion and

Dark, growing splendor.

Now, calmly cleaning.

Ever mindful of the warm,

Rich cherry desktop

Zone of habitual terror

Zone, praise, terror, fantasy, lousy, memories, private, patterns, gut, desktop, plunge, clouds, mindful, irony, mundane, knife, nozzle, habitual, diffusion, maneuver

　

“Watch this maneuver” I say to Jeremy, elbowing him in the ribs, as I jump from my moving Segway onto the pale green lawn surrounding the governor’s mansion.

“Park Core” he shouts and launches his off the sidewalk and into a small fountain nearly toppling the perched gargoyle onto some unsuspecting penny wishers.

“I wish I wasn’t soaking wet” says the oldest boy, wringing water from his t-shirt. The picture on it is of Garfield with books strapped to his back and the caption “learning through osmosis”.

Its funny that the word “osmosis” actually means the diffusion of water through a semi-permeable membrane. Surprised you didn’t know that.

Wreaking havoc in public places and correcting the improper use of words and phrases is nearly habitual for this merry band of pranksters. In times of economic woe, like the one we suffer from today, their dubious acts are aimed at public officials and corporate fat cats who‘s excesses are abundant and a constant slap in the face for your average work-a-day Johnny.

Jeremy and I pull our plastic forks from the fashionable blue JanSport backpack he’s wearing and begin to assemble the words “free nozzle” on the governor’s lawn, but before we can finish an husky security guard whom we’ve tussled with before is bearing down on us with a can of pepper spray in one hand and a 3 inch pocket knife in the other. Lord only knows what he plans to do with the pocket knife, but sufficed to say we’re afraid to find out. I assume his job is just so mundane that to cut up a couple punks would be the adventure of a lifetime. Also, because he says “I’m gon’ filet me some street toughs” in a thick southern drawl.

I’d call it irony when the Segway in the fountain starts to short out with a loud POP!, CRACKLE! and SNAP! And then a flash and a plume of smoke causing the ever approaching security guard to briefly turn his stone gaze away from Jeremy and I. Mindful of our opportunity for escape we start running in the direction of the clouds which are looming ominously over the subway station just a couple hundred feet away. We plunge down the staircase and over the turn-style hopping the bar with one hand while flipping the bird with the other. The grizzly looking recipient of our protruding appendages slides over her desktop like the Duke boys used to slide over the hood of the General Lee and sets after us minus one pair of pumps and one crimson red wig, the former for speed, the latter completely unintentional. When I see the hairpiece falling to the ground I double over in laughter holding my gut. WHACK! Suddenly she thumps me with her nightstick and I’m falling to the ground. The last thing I remember is thinking how weird the patterns on the floor seem in intersecting lines of grey and white tile.

At some point later I wake up in a private room. My arms are handcuffed to the back of a metal chair. I’m alone with my thoughts and scour my memories for anything that can help me out of this untimely situation. What happened to Jeremy? Where is everyone? What the hell does “free nozzle” mean? The room is damp and lousy with the smell of grape drink and cigarettes, mostly cigarettes. Briefly I return to a fantasy I had in high school wherein I was seduced by my home-economics teacher, only…where were the cinnamon rolls? But this isn’t a fantasy, the feeling fades and in enters one of complete terror. Is this it? Am I finally going to be held accountable for all the years of public disturbance, uncivil disobedience and absurd for-instance our rabble rousing crew of pranksters has unleashed upon the fair city of Chicago. Suddenly it hits me…praise Jesus this isn’t real. Its merely a pretty lame episode of The Twilight Zone.

Private Melanie for work-a-day Johnny

 Zone, praise, terror, fantasy, lousy, memories, private, patters, gut, desktop, plunge, clouds, mindful, irony, mundane, knife, nozzle, habitual, diffusion, maneuver


I work at Auto-Zone three days a week. 10 hour days slinging oil filters and answering questions about the which spark plugs fire quickest and whether or not you need a gap wrench at $7.95 to ensure the pre-spaced Split-Fire spark plugs are sized appropriately for your 1997 Honda Accord. Praise God if it isn’t complete terror. I spend the day lost in fantasy about my one true love. To say I’m a lousy salesman would not be an understatement as each benign question only beckons memories of my soul mate Private Melanie Rundel, 82^nd Airborne division based out of Fort Bragg and currently serving in Baghdad. Its somehow easy for me to relate the sale of simple quart of 5w-30 with the time she taught me about the importance of using natural oil when applying patterns of camouflage during recon missions in Iraq. She is the ultimate soldier with the mind of Sun Tzu and the steel gut of a commercial grade Dixon model 3200 trash compactor. I love her beyond words and constantly day dream of the next time I swipe clean the nearest desktop and plunge my love piece into her waiting flesh clouds. I’m mindful that my comparisons matter little to the customer. All they care about is getting whatever technological miracle will make their car get to their next appointment. Isn’t it irony that what they want and what I want could be so different yet matter equally little in this mundane existence we call lives. It’s a knife in the back every time some one requests a nozzle, radiator hose or otherwise. Its almost habitual to think of her. Jokes aside, I long to hear that pet name and for her to “turn me on.” Diffusion is my only recourse, and so I jest with each sale of power steering fluid until my gal returns. Only one more maneuver behind enemy lines and her tour is complete. Auto-zone is promising me a week off.

According to the newspaper in my hand, it was Monday.

My head was pounding. I had vomited, twice.

I sat in the diner for what seemed to be hours, looking at the same page of the paper.

If I actually tried to read, the nausia returned. I could not focus my eyes.

My cigarette burned to the filter.

What remained a mystery is, what happened the night before?

According to the newspaper in my hand, that would have been Sunday.

Christmas Vacation View-off 2010 - week 4

It's a barn burner!
Ho, Ho, Ho.

Listen

Just because there is a banjo it does not make it Bluegrass. Understand?

Christmas Vacation View-off 2010 - week 2

Christmas Vacation View-off 2010

It's that time of year, the 2010 version of the Christmas Vacation view-off is in full swing. We are off to a feverish pace this year. See the results from the first week below. Wishing you and yours a great holiday season... from this side of the nuthouse.

I love fermented honey too!

I love beer.

More...

Resume 1984-2009

Here in the red dawn heat my young blood heats and ventures to dirty dance. Then the mid-day sun steels it away and growls like a Warsaw tiger. So drive me to the back alley, the fringe, the road house. And notify my next of kin. Even the ghosts have their breaking point.

Humbly still I thank God this city knows joy. And thank Bill Cosby for the joys in fatherhood. Because real life won't thank Wong Foo for anything. You, friend, get three wishes. And don't waste them on a black dog turd dream. Killers forever write letters to Lulu. While green snap peas and puffed dragons shun killers.

Fear not the dark, Donnie. Oh the Reno sunrise! Can't we dance, if only once, knowing the bus leaves at 11:14? Let British people tell their mums that we were animals, you a fox and I the hound. And for each other, there was no way but "jump". And to know we had a Wonderland Christmas leaves my otherwise bruised heart powder blue.

Honorable Mention:
Skatetown, U.S.A. (1979) - Ace Johnson
The Outsiders (1983) - Darrel Curtis
Uncommon Valor (1983) - Kevin Scott
Grandview, U.S.A. (1984) - Ernie 'Slam' Webster

Spoon

I am pretty sure I've gone on in detail somewhere, be it this space or elsewhere, about my lunching habits. Like some, I work at a job. I have a desk and a computer. A lamp too. Around 12:00 noon everyday my tummy rumbles and the only way to appease the gasto-god is to offer sacrifice. I tend to skew most often to bringing vittles from home. And if I am honest, cost is the main determination in this decision. But I also find solstice in that 60 minutes at my desk.

My lunch routine and my reasoning behind it are purely meant as set-up though so please prepare yourself, now that the formalities are behind us, to be shocked and awed. Awed and shocked.

Are you ready for it?

Spoon. Yes I said it. Bam!

No not the indie band that Pitchfork once describes as " a dark horse in an industry that values the easily, tritely categorized; every album was a shift in sound, subtly tweaking prior formulas, distilling an already minimal sound into something even more distant".

I shall melt your mind with the utensil that the dictionary on my computers calls "an implement consisting of a small, shallow oval or round bowl on a long handle, used for eating, stirring, and serving food." Funny that I say "melt your mind" cause some folks claim to be able to melt spoons with their minds. Did you see the cleverness there? No? Oh.

I have decided to spice things up because to me life is not filled solely with grand moments but rather I tend to live within minor revolts and mini movements. Its less messy that way. Along those lines I have decreed that from this day forward all my lunches with be eaten with a spoon. No fork. No knife. No. A spoon.

I'd love to say that I plan to document this journey here with you, but as I said this my revolt. My movement with spoon. So go get your own.

Honey,wine?

Played God. Set forth a struggle between foes that stretches back millennia.

Mated regurgitated nectar in its raw state clustered with pollen and wax with two parts hydrogen, one oxygen; the Purifier. The two amalgamate. No longer themselves but reborn as Must.

Simultaneously the mighty K1-V1116,from the kingdom of Fungi also converged with the Purifier and amassed an army. Unlike the delicate meld of the prior this marriage incited riots in the street.

Density. Bound to do my bidding these grand adversaries were forced together to wage my war. At first silent and still. Waiting for the conditions to be right. Slowly in the dark, Saccharomyces cerevisiae gathered strength and began its relentless attack gaining nourishment from each blow. Stronger and more frantic. Their numbers swelled. Turmoil, foam, chaos, bedlam teemed. It went on for weeks until the scale tipped.

Punch. Drunk and spent. The veracity of the battle dwindled, and so the health of the strain. Thousands sacrificed for the grand design. Endurance tested on a epic scale.

Yet neither side prevailed in this endeavor; the culmination needing much time to clear. Eventually the prize for such toil will bloom into a sweet, intoxicating ambrosia fit for the Gods.

The Bull Pucker

12 oz Pucker, any flavor
3 oz Red Bull
1 oz Bull Semen

On the rocks
Swirly straw
In a trucker's big plastic coffee mug

Read more

Sinning Mormon Margarita

1 oz. Patron Silver tequila, chilled
8 oz. Water, Brita

White Hall

Wedding
Beers at the lake
Stones in a vessel
Sturgeon vs. Brown Trout
Let's just say...
Trout always wins
Carmen/Peter
OBERON
Typical
Car bomb - Irish persuasion
Pink shots with the Reverend
Instruments and campfire
Wish I could remember
Do you?
What a great time!
Classic

an axe is indispensable and sublime

But then, you already knew that.

Born in The W.T.F

Don't let freedom fool you
There is no price to pay
What you see is what you get
Guaranteed the same each day

All the propaganda aimed
At cheapening the goods
Is ludicrous, amateur
Not misunderstood

But compared to other places where
Humpers reproduce
Nothing hardly quite compares
With red, white, blue and Bruce.