January is spaghetti month. Are you excited? All posts made during January have been brought to you by Spaghetti. Spaghetti and Communism. A very delicious combination.
A poem, in free verse:
A bird is on the Windowsill
Waiting
For his Tax returns.
He Stops
And looks
At his watch,
Which is a Knock-off
But resembles a Rolex.
A storm rises
In the East.
He Raises his head,
Sipping his diet soda.
Any Moment now, it will come.
A gust of wind.
He opens the mailbox
Blindly
Thunderously.
There is a bill.
There is a coupon.
There is an LL Bean catalog.
He takes it
And marches into the Shadows.
He will Buy some long underwear
And a new Tent.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
What to do with a walrus
Dear blog,
I need some friendly advice. I have a walrus, now, and I don't know what to do with it. It is not a physical walrus, per se, but it is taking up a lot of space in my room, which I usually keep clear so that I may fit a walrus, if one arrives. I have tried feeding it and bathing it, but it does not respond to physical phenomena but only to distinct spiritual wave vibrations generated mostly be listening to 2 Live Crew. And I am getting very sick of 2 Live Crew.
Has anyone else ever experienced this situation before? If you have, please comment with help and suggestions! I could really use the advice and support.
That's all. Holla to all my peeps in D6! You keep it rockin' like a dockin'! lol
XOXOXO
Walter Benjamin
I need some friendly advice. I have a walrus, now, and I don't know what to do with it. It is not a physical walrus, per se, but it is taking up a lot of space in my room, which I usually keep clear so that I may fit a walrus, if one arrives. I have tried feeding it and bathing it, but it does not respond to physical phenomena but only to distinct spiritual wave vibrations generated mostly be listening to 2 Live Crew. And I am getting very sick of 2 Live Crew.
Has anyone else ever experienced this situation before? If you have, please comment with help and suggestions! I could really use the advice and support.
That's all. Holla to all my peeps in D6! You keep it rockin' like a dockin'! lol
XOXOXO
Walter Benjamin
Friday, January 7, 2011
Death
This blog is dying. I wasn't sure, but now I know, since it says so, though I can't say where. Perhaps through its ear or tenderloin. You'll never know for sure. But you can know for uncertain.
That is why I am going to post twice. Once now, and once directly before now.
The label for this post will be completely absent, in respect for the departed.
3 Haikus
This dog is really great,
Wow, this is such a great dog,
Man, what a good dog.
Panama is not
A man, a plan, or a canal.
It is a country.
Sometimes I wonder
If Barack Obama's house
Is just a big party.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
A List
Two mice
One bagel
An ear of corn
Yesterday's newspapers
Inflatable neck rest
Christmas tree
Kleenex
Two statues
Photographs
Ice cream
Tapioca
Spoiled wine
Prime Minister Kretchen
Sirius
The Aeneid
Ishtar
Pulled pork sandwich
Gloves
Purple mountains
Tape
More tape
Double-sided tape
Four winchesters
Triple-sided tape
Aluminum can city
Mushrooms on the rocks
A drawer of snails
Telephone lockets
Magic
The world's best sandwich
Electricity without lightning
Pop art
Forty thousand dollars and ten cents in damages
An eraser and his brother
Chekhov
Your head (2)
Five old magazines
A bottle with another bottle inside it
School
Summer
All the bees
Plus one
Cheetah
Cheetah
Cheetah
Cheetah
Cheetah
Cheetah
Cheetah
Cheetah
Moose
Monday, September 20, 2010
Poshay
That's no good. That's no good at all. It looks so blank, we can't have that.
No.
Yes.
Here is a list of the things I did last Friday:
roller skating
roller baiting
roller hating
roller waiting
roller plaiting
roller dating
roller crating
roller creating
ice cream social
Ice cream is so good. I remember one time, walking around the wrong side of the barnhouse, I was assaulted by a thief. And there was Ice cream, riding on a white horse, pointing his noble lance upward as he galloped forward. Not only did he manage to catch the thief, but he also forgave him. First he forgave him for being a thief. Then he forgave him again for being a bad thief, since he hadn't assaulted me or stolen anything. Then he forgave him for being slapped upside the head by Ice cream for no reason. And that takes character, on all sides.
Sometimes, I wonder if I can ever be that good. If I want to be good like Ice cream, I will have to make my own Code of Honor, and Follow It, like a Magical Cat. It will take a lot of Marshmallow Fluff.
You aren't invited.
No.
Yes.
Here is a list of the things I did last Friday:
roller skating
roller baiting
roller hating
roller waiting
roller plaiting
roller dating
roller crating
roller creating
ice cream social
Ice cream is so good. I remember one time, walking around the wrong side of the barnhouse, I was assaulted by a thief. And there was Ice cream, riding on a white horse, pointing his noble lance upward as he galloped forward. Not only did he manage to catch the thief, but he also forgave him. First he forgave him for being a thief. Then he forgave him again for being a bad thief, since he hadn't assaulted me or stolen anything. Then he forgave him for being slapped upside the head by Ice cream for no reason. And that takes character, on all sides.
Sometimes, I wonder if I can ever be that good. If I want to be good like Ice cream, I will have to make my own Code of Honor, and Follow It, like a Magical Cat. It will take a lot of Marshmallow Fluff.
You aren't invited.
From the Heart of the Smart
"I must be insane," I told myself, staring into the bitterly brick wall. It was that kind of an evening. I had just gotten drunk off a moistened turtle. I turned the corner looking for a towel. But what I found was myself, instead.
"I must be insane," I told myself, and then I ran faster than a very, slow, cat up the walls and into the sky. The sun was getting hotter and whiter. Then I woke up in a white room, covered in pads.
"I must be insane," I told myself, since clearly I was hallucinating. There was no way I was in a mental institution.
That was tough. Because I knew I was in space, really, and every sane person around told me so. "You must be in space," the one-eyed troll Mitch told me, over poker. "Otherwise, why would these cards be so sparkly?"
And he was right, and I knew that, but it was tough. Once you're really crazy and you get it in your head that you're actually in a mental institution, instead of floating among the cosmos, it's pretty difficult to go back to the day-to-day hassle of encountering aliens and coasting the borders of burning nebulae. I kept passing stars and asking, "Is it time for my medication?"
"No," they harrumphed, "we're stars, not nurses. You're not in an institution. You're just in boring old space, and you need to come back to your family of transcendental astral gods."
"My family isn't a bunch of transcendental astral gods," I would counter. "They're middle-class suburbanites who are worried that I've been institutionalized. They wonder how I'm going to get through school. My dad is trying not to be disappointed in me."
It wasn't until I encountered a cluster of white-hot space squirrels that I ended my insanity. It was really simple, actually. They just asked me what I was committed for. I muttered that I was late for dinner. But then they offered me cherry ice cream and... well, I was intrigued.
So now I'm back in the cosmic throne, taking lollipops from elves and giving them to elfephants (only the good kind). And I'm glad, too. But I do miss being able to eat normal ice cream.
So that was how I spent my weekend. And now it's Monday, and I'm back, and this blog is perilously blank. It was a long Sunday, perilously blank. I rolled up to the bank.
Cash money.
A poem, for you:
James the barber slipped and fell
And landed on a mouse,
And when he got up, he could tell
That he was being sued for physical and mental anguish.
One thousand dollars for the plaintiff,
And a block of cherry cheese.
"I must be insane," I told myself, and then I ran faster than a very, slow, cat up the walls and into the sky. The sun was getting hotter and whiter. Then I woke up in a white room, covered in pads.
"I must be insane," I told myself, since clearly I was hallucinating. There was no way I was in a mental institution.
That was tough. Because I knew I was in space, really, and every sane person around told me so. "You must be in space," the one-eyed troll Mitch told me, over poker. "Otherwise, why would these cards be so sparkly?"
And he was right, and I knew that, but it was tough. Once you're really crazy and you get it in your head that you're actually in a mental institution, instead of floating among the cosmos, it's pretty difficult to go back to the day-to-day hassle of encountering aliens and coasting the borders of burning nebulae. I kept passing stars and asking, "Is it time for my medication?"
"No," they harrumphed, "we're stars, not nurses. You're not in an institution. You're just in boring old space, and you need to come back to your family of transcendental astral gods."
"My family isn't a bunch of transcendental astral gods," I would counter. "They're middle-class suburbanites who are worried that I've been institutionalized. They wonder how I'm going to get through school. My dad is trying not to be disappointed in me."
It wasn't until I encountered a cluster of white-hot space squirrels that I ended my insanity. It was really simple, actually. They just asked me what I was committed for. I muttered that I was late for dinner. But then they offered me cherry ice cream and... well, I was intrigued.
So now I'm back in the cosmic throne, taking lollipops from elves and giving them to elfephants (only the good kind). And I'm glad, too. But I do miss being able to eat normal ice cream.
So that was how I spent my weekend. And now it's Monday, and I'm back, and this blog is perilously blank. It was a long Sunday, perilously blank. I rolled up to the bank.
Cash money.
A poem, for you:
James the barber slipped and fell
And landed on a mouse,
And when he got up, he could tell
That he was being sued for physical and mental anguish.
One thousand dollars for the plaintiff,
And a block of cherry cheese.
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