I know a little about a lot and a lot about a little but I’ll always know less than I don’t—and sometimes I don’t know anything at all…

Wednesday, June 17, 2015

Rimmed Dimmer, Rammed Dammer

If you're on this page simply looking for something to read, you may or may not be in a suitable place...

Chances are you've stumbled upon this blog while in search for info regarding a rock band from yesteryear...

Sorry, but I refuse to tell you things you already know and even if you didn't know, you're welcome just the same for learning that you know more than I don't...

I'd like to say that I know nothing because nothing actually means something and for those who think nothing of this, the notion of nothing itself has already been validated as something and thus some sort of meaning has been attached to this insanely boring piece of textual discourse...

Such is life, a big fat hunk of of scribble that can be made sense of at times and all is right with the world and then its counterpart, life, shows up and ruins everything and then we must rinse and repeat, mustn't we? Mustn't is one of those contractions that just had to come from something that meant nothing at the time but we're talking about life here as opposed to semantics over there....



which has often been compared with a box of this or a dose of that but to me it’s more like a twisted game of table tennis: back and forth and back to where we started. Wake up. Then it takes a spin and a slam and then we’re done. Game over. Ouch. A ping and a pang and a pong of pain’s powerful presence presides over us while we play, but nobody likes to lose, so let’s go two out of three million. We’re just puppies. We’re barely on the short side of being invincible...

We’ve been warned but for some reason we’re still dying to taste the scrapes-bumps-bruises and gashes that life’s about to hand us. How painful can they be? Bend over and find out. Many times we’ve taken it on the chin only to learn the eventual inevitability of taking it in the ass but if you like that sort of thing there's no need to wake up...

Somebody once told me that getting fucked brandishes two blades or maybe I just came up with that one on my own. Not. 

All of these things we do or don’t in our existence seem to matter but do they or don't they really. At least once in our lives we’ve come across a situation or event that we look back on and wonder if we did the right thing and what we might have done to ultimately change it and then wonder if it made a difference or not. What if? Regrets are many and chances ever so few. Bad times weigh heavy while the good ones tread so lightly that some days forgetting about a checkered past reminding me to wake up is usually how it plays out...

 My memories are all I have and they’ll go when I do or will they. Consciousness is a wonderfully tricky thing; we strive for it totally, yet we keep fading in and out of it. We’re truly sleepy in the sense that after the fact teaches us sometimes a lesson or two  but second chances don’t always follow epiphanies and it becomes harder to wake up.

 So we do our best to emerge, we think, in an attempt to figure it all out while making amends along the way to atone for and perhaps justify what we’ve done but what we’ve been doing all along is sleeping and squirming through fitful slumbers as we muddle through the drowse. Yet we seem to have more time, plenty of time and of time, ‘til the end of it, is as wonderfully tricky as the concept of consciousness.

You may already be thinking I possess somewhat of a dark disposition and maybe you’re right or maybe I'm just yankin your chain and I’m thinking what it really all boils down to is waking up—well, that and our degrees of exposure mixed with those of sheltered deprivation while not forgetting to mention the indelible flaws that accompany our genetic maps. Did I forget to include adaptation and run-on sentences?

What about ego and omitting all of those commas that would've slowed this shit down even more. Without a doubt there’s more, yet these imaginary concepts rent enough space in my head for today and the ones to follow. It’s difficult to explain why I do what I do and there’s an unlimited supply of existential crap I can throw at you, but that would be downright cruel. Wait a sec....isn't it all existential crap? You decide...

You can go back to sleep now because the chance to wake up may very well be the next time you open your eyes…

Saturday, May 31, 2014

I Fungi

                        Aye watched a sea of people die and eye laughed until i creyed.
                        i may have only laughed...
                         i had some breakfast made of mush that turned into mush made of breakfast or

                        Eye found the cure for all diseases, and told no one
                       As a sea of people died once more on a Spinning blue orb turned red
                       And i laughed again…:]…=D…:)…;)….eyes couldn’t help it.
                       I had some mush in the lunchroom or some lunch in the mush room or both…

                        i found a way to end all violence and it made no sense as a
                       sea of people died again, turning to much mush and I suppressed
                       the need to touch much and feel everything at once...
                       walking on the plateau of harmony alone
                        i watched reruns of the
                       sea of people and had a midnight snack and
                       i laughed until i cried.
                       eye may have only cried.
                       It must’ve been the mush or the  room made of mush or both....


Monday, May 26, 2014

As They Continue to Fall

How shall we remember the fallen? I believe we should do it by being hypercritical of world governments possessing penchants for power and the selfish glories that come along with the territory of destroying the enemy….

Standing up for what’s right is obviously open for interpretation and misinterpretation as well…

World leaders themselves, both past and present, couldn't  possibly fight their own battles... 

Breed little mothers,
With tired backs and tired hands,
Breed for the owners of mills and the owners of mines,
Breed a race of danger-haunted men,
Breed little mothers,
Breed for the owners of mills and the owners of mines,
Breed, breed, breed!

Breed little mothers,
With the sunken eyes and the sagging cheeks,
Breed for the bankers, the crafty and terrible masters of men,
Breed a race of machines,
A race of anemic, round-shouldered, subway-herded machines!

Breed, little mothers,
With a faith patient and stupid as cattle,
Breed for the war lords,
Offer your woman flesh for incredible torment,
Wrack your frail bodies with the pangs of birth
For the war lords who slaughter your sons!

Breed, little mothers,
Breed for the owners of mills and the owners of mines,
Breed for the bankers, the crafty and terrible masters of men,
Breed for the war lords, the devouring war lords,
Breed, women, breed!

This day shall be in remembrance of all the fallen soldiersand Lucia Trent, a woman whose message in 1929 still breathes heavilya passion for putting an end to the tyranny and violence…

Thursday, May 8, 2014


Don and Heather were on the phone fighting about something petty. Most of their fights… futile feudal and brutal. She ended up hanging up but she’d usually call back within minutes to continue with the futile feudal brutal bitching. The phone rang again. Don figured he’d be clever.
          “Tito’s Taco and Sushi Deli, may I help you?”
          “Is this Don?”
         “Yeah. Who’s this?”
          “It’s me, Don. It’s Dawn. I’m not sure if you remember or not, but we met at...Stages. We went to a motel few months back and…this is embarrassing. Do you  remember what we did, Don?”

 Don stepped on his tongue. The voice on the other end had a southern drawl to it. 
          “Uhh….Yeah.” Did the rabbit die?
          “Thank goodness! I took a big chance hoping you’d remember. So how are you, Don? 
That was a funny way of answering the phone. You did give me your number. Were you
expecting someone else, Don? Are you still together with your girlfriend?”
             “Excuse me?”
             “One question at a time.”
            “Sorry. I’m a little nervous.”
             “Is there anything to be nervous about?”
             “No. Nothing’s wrong, if that’s what you mean.”
             “Sorry. You caught me off guard for a sec. I’m still together with her, I think.”
            “You think?”
            “Well, she just hung up on me.”
            “Is this a bad time, Don?”
 Don paused long enough to remember the tryst….

             “Are you busy?”
            “What’s up?”
             “I thought maybe we could get together, Don?”
             “Is that ok?”
            “Do you know where The Cove is?”
           “The dive on Fifth?”
           “That’s the one. Can you meet me there, Don?”
            “I’ll see you in 20?”
            “Sounds good!”

 Don didn’t even glance at the mirror. His mind and his downstairs brain did the split-second arm-twist and he submitted. Heather’s face flashed in his head, that loveable screaming face. She didn’t used to be like that.  He pictured Dawn’s infectious smile. His porch-light flickered as he backed out of the driveway.
 Heather’s birthday fell on a Friday. Don played it off the entire week like he didn’t even know she had one. He thought he’d surprise her with some traditional shit. He smiled while skipping every other step of the stairs on the way up to her apartment…
               “What’s wrong?”
               “As if you didn’t know!”
               “Know what?”
                “You forgot, you son of a bitch!”
                “It wanted it to be a surprise, sweetie! I made reservations at the steak house. I had to call two weeks in advance.”
               “Well it’s too late now!”
               “Because I’m goin out with my friends. They couldn’t believe you forgot either!”
               “But I didn’t forget. I just wanted to surprise you.”
               “Well I don’t like surprises, asshole!”

 The argument worsened with every word. Heather called him every name in the book twice.
             “Where do you think you’re going, you bastard?”
 He almost fell flat on his face trying to skip every other step as he bolted down the stairs. She didn’t used to be like that.

From steak house to meat market, Stages really packed 'em in on Friday nights. Familiar and strange faces appeared as Don squeezed his way to the bar. More girls than guys, strangely, but Don didn’t argue. Atomic Dog blared through the sound system as the strobe light kept rhythm with the beat of the backline. Those who weren’t already on the floor chair danced while the wannabes held up the walls.

 Don sucked the first cocktail down in eight seconds, about ten minutes ahead of schedule.
 Dawn already picked out a table in the corner at The Cove.  She didn’t seem to mind sharing. Don leaned on Dawn about Heather and the brutal bitching. She put up the stop-sign hand.
              “I really enjoyed myself the last time we got together, Don, and you mentioned your girlfriend once or twice, and that’s all you get this time, so we’re done with her!”

The smile never left her face. Don suddenly realized—meeting Dawn didn't feel like a mistake at all, no excuses. That’s the way it usually happened with Don, completely wrapped up in his own words—debating right from left—and then a woman like Dawn came along and injected some true conviction. The accent remained but not as heavy.
 They stayed at The Cove for an hour or two, talking about everything and nothing.
            “Wanna go to my place, Don? I’d be sad if you said ‘no!’”
 Work nights and time mattered less as he followed her home while staring at the tail lights of her sports car.
Don turned around again. One of the regular cocktail waitresses handed him a Kamikaze. She shouted over the din.
           “Where’s Heather?”
           “Out with her fuckin friends!”
           “You guys fighting again?”
          “Maybe this’ll cheer you up. That pretty woman in the corner thought you might like a chaser.”
           “Which one?”
 The waitress pointed to a cluster of hotties. Don simply smiled in their direction, tipped his glass and slammed it. Less than ten minutes passed before the next Kamikaze made its way over.
            “She must really like you!”
             “Which one is she?” Are you dense?
              Don’s voice trailed off as the waitress left with a tray full of bad possibilities. He felt a hand on his shoulder.
             “Hi there! I Hope you like Kamikazes. My name’s Dawn. What’s yours?”
             “Don.” Nice rack, by the way.
             “You’re kiddin me, right?”
              Don pulled out his ID.
             “Oh my goodness, Don! This is weird. I don’t normally do this. I just moved out here from Texas. I’ve been married for eight years and I left everything behind, including him. Am I talking too fast, Don? I feel like I’m saying my own name. I guess I am. I don’t normally do this. Let me start over.”
              Heather who?
            “Would you like to dance with me, Don? I’d be sad if you said ‘no!’”
 They drank more than they danced until closing.       

         “What would you like to do now, Don?”

 He liked hearing her say his name, and he tried to resist. He thought about Heather and Stockholm.
         “I have a girlfriend,” Don muttered, almost ashamed.
          “That’s ok, Don. I won’t tell if you won’t.”
           “Wanna get some coffee, and you can say my name some more?”
            How ’bout I do it at a no-tell-mo-tel...
 Dawn giggled as she pulled Don’s shirt off and pushed him back on the bed.
They screwed themselves to sleep. Nobody came but nobody left.

 Noon and pie-eyed...
             “Last night was fun,” she said, “But maybe next time we could be more sober, Don?”
           “I don’t know. I’ve got a girlfriend”
        “Yeah, you told me. Do you live with her, Don?”
       “No, but she’s there a lot.”
      “Then I’ll hang up if she answers. Does she have a key, Don?”
        She kissed him on the mouth.
  “I’ll see ya later, Don, and thank you for your company.”

 Dawn opened her front door and Don couldn’t help but notice. Spotless silent entitlement. She didn’t smoke but she brought him an ash tray. Heather never did that. Not  Heather. Dawn liked PDA and Don liked Southern buffet. She kept saying his name over and over again. Rhythmic panting echoed throughout the room and gained strength as Don exploded. He came hard. Dawn’s body shivered. Hit the spot—didn’t even have to ask.
 Don woke up again, twice in one night.  They talked for a while; a bit unusual for Don, talking after sex. He’d usually fall asleep after doing Heather and she brutally bitched about that too. But they were talking, and he liked it.
           “That was incredible, Don! Nothing like the first time.”
           “Are you looking for a boyfriend or just a bop-friend?”
          “That was cute, what you just said! I wish I could lock you in my closet so you wouldn’t get away from me, Don. I’m not lookin for anything permanent; in fact, I think I’m still married.”

 Don asked about him and she clammed up. He didn’t push it. The clock ticked faster but late didn’t matter.
           “I don’t want this to end, Don, but I know it has to, Thank you for the perfect night, and thank you for your company.”

They went at it again.

 4 AM and Dawn smelled good, really good. The aroma followed him home.
Heather’s loveable and screaming face flashed and flickered in Don's eyes from the glare of the porch light as he pulled into his driveway…