Satisfaction,
And a day--
Around my feet,
Is rinsed away
In brown water swirling with clay.
Lacerations
Of the day,
Soapily stinging,
Nerves won't play
In brown water swirling with clay.
Affectations,
Had just one today,
Happy and working?
On soaked Saturday?
In brown water swirling with clay.
Neoconstructions,
Done today,
Standing forever
And a day,
In brown water swirling with clay.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Friday, September 18, 2009
Typewriter Blog, without the typewriter--editing's a snap!
Stop with the handshakes already. We're not monkeys or apes. We can do better than the primordial hand biting of chimps can't we? It's a silly thing and we can use our big people words to come up with an infinite number of greetings? Why? For one, I don't have a clue as to where your hands have been.
I wouldn't yank a cigar out of your mouth and puff on it, and I damn sure wouldn't wipe your butt for you, unless you were a tiny mothershead in diapers. But if your hands have been anywhere near your anus, and you "forgot" to wash your hands, and you smile and present your mitt to me as if I have some need to contact you, then I reckon that's close enough.
Besides, YOU don't know where my hand's been either! Rest assured, it was washed at poopy-shower-fun time in the morning, but since that magic moment, anything's possible. Most likely, I've laid a thin snot streak down my "pointer" finger at work since this time of year, someone's cut all my sleeves off to combat farmers' tan and I can't use them as snot rags. So think about that when you see me at JPLooneys.
The new thing n my life is of course, my Precious: The Nextel version of a Blackberry. I forgot the model number, but it's red, as in red hot! The only downside is that it doesn't do MORE! Sure it's great, two email accounts, video/still camera, chat, and sms and mms messages and web browser (sorta)--but it's not enough!
I want a phone that'll start my truck in the morning from an upstairs window! I want a phone that's a universal remote...for everything in the damn house! The TV's and DVD thingys, and all of it. I want a cell phone that's a fax machine and a scanner and a microscope and a rangefinder and a laser pointer and a radar/laser detector to dupe and duck the highway patrol everywhere.
Indeed, my Precious just doesn't do enough for me now. Maybe when my "no cost" Blacberry's two-year commitment is up, if it's still in one piece, Motorola will come up with something smaller and even more...useful for us old carpenters on the go! Maybe with a taser so I can feal safe in a high school again!
-rbm
I wouldn't yank a cigar out of your mouth and puff on it, and I damn sure wouldn't wipe your butt for you, unless you were a tiny mothershead in diapers. But if your hands have been anywhere near your anus, and you "forgot" to wash your hands, and you smile and present your mitt to me as if I have some need to contact you, then I reckon that's close enough.
Besides, YOU don't know where my hand's been either! Rest assured, it was washed at poopy-shower-fun time in the morning, but since that magic moment, anything's possible. Most likely, I've laid a thin snot streak down my "pointer" finger at work since this time of year, someone's cut all my sleeves off to combat farmers' tan and I can't use them as snot rags. So think about that when you see me at JPLooneys.
The new thing n my life is of course, my Precious: The Nextel version of a Blackberry. I forgot the model number, but it's red, as in red hot! The only downside is that it doesn't do MORE! Sure it's great, two email accounts, video/still camera, chat, and sms and mms messages and web browser (sorta)--but it's not enough!
I want a phone that'll start my truck in the morning from an upstairs window! I want a phone that's a universal remote...for everything in the damn house! The TV's and DVD thingys, and all of it. I want a cell phone that's a fax machine and a scanner and a microscope and a rangefinder and a laser pointer and a radar/laser detector to dupe and duck the highway patrol everywhere.
Indeed, my Precious just doesn't do enough for me now. Maybe when my "no cost" Blacberry's two-year commitment is up, if it's still in one piece, Motorola will come up with something smaller and even more...useful for us old carpenters on the go! Maybe with a taser so I can feal safe in a high school again!
-rbm
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Two hot for facebook?
-You’re okay. You’re okay, right?
-Right as rain. Right as rain.
-Yeah. You really look it.
-Well just give me a minute. Hold this.
-Got it.
-Fuckin’ take it.
-Got it.
-Lemme just feel…blood? See blood?
-No.
-That’s something. Umm.
-Can you stand up?
-Fuck no. Just hang on.
I don’t think I can do this without you hanging over my shoulder, giving me a sigh or chuckle or disapproving silence. I can try. Will try. I haven’t been this willing to please since I don’t know when.
Trust that a few bars will tell the tale. Will make us or break us.
-Can you get off the floor? At least?
-Mmm, I’ll try. Grab me. Yeah, now pull!
-Up!
-Up, yeah? Fuck. That’s good, better.
-Poor, baby
-Shut up.
-Hey, I’m trying to help.
-You helped all right.
-You weren’t complaining a minute ago.
-No? Shit! Did you see my face?
-Heh, no I didn’t. My eyes were closed.
I cannot think of anything better than seeing your eyes closed when you sit on me, when you lean over and kiss me. That’s when you’re naked, not when your clothes come off, but when you close your eyes and let me see you above me, enjoying me as if I weren’t even there.
-I noticed. I mean, when I wasn’t howling…
-You didn’t ‘howl.’ You didn’t make a sound until you—
-I know. I was there.
-Very nice. I WAS impressed.
-Well we aim to please.
-You did. Just can’t keep it on the court, eh?
-Oh…. That might be your fault, honey.
-What’s a girl to do?
-Ummm, give me a moment?
-I couldn’t do that. I have needs too.
-Yeah? Now I need a doctor.
I could feel your hands on my shoulders, pushing yourself away from me, grinding yourself down against me…again like I weren’t with you. But I was there with you, inside you, loving you. I was watching you, making yourself come to me, bringing us to the same place at the same time. I watched you rock and twist, and I tried to keep up; followed you across the bed…
-No you don’t, pussy.
-Keep talkin’.
-Yeah? Or what?
-Round two.
-Heh, you better have a drink first, baby. Better have a smoke.
-I’ll be ready. Will you?
-Always. Let me have it, big boy.
-Hmm
-C’mon.
-I will.
-Called your bluff didn’t I?
-You’ll get yours.
-I HAD mine…you weren’t complaining.
Did I have time? You’re right, I couldn’t stop us when I felt that glow start growing in me with every breath you took, with every gasp you huffed right by my ear, with every lunge we made together with me inside you. Your grip cloying and annoying and shifting us further than ever before, ever to the…floor?
-Well, that WAS a first.
-Yeah?
-I might be sorry.
-Why? I’m not.
-That’s ‘cause we’re such a mess.
-Nothing a –
-You know what I mean.
-Mm, do I? I’m not sure I did come.
-Pretty sure you did.
Sliding down? That’s not how it is supposed to go, with me grasping, and trying to stay with you, in you. I know you’re there and feel as if only I can keep you there so I follow us down. How could I not? How could I let you go alone without me and my love? I would follow us anywhere, and will.
-Sure I did. I always do, right?
-You’re a man.
-A tough man.
-Maybe not so tough. I might have seen a tear?
-Hell no. If I did I was crying in pain.
-Because you love me so much?
-Because I busted our ass.
-Because I busted our ass?
-Because we busted our collective asses.
-But you do love me, right?
-Not yet, but we’re working on it all right.
-rbm
-Right as rain. Right as rain.
-Yeah. You really look it.
-Well just give me a minute. Hold this.
-Got it.
-Fuckin’ take it.
-Got it.
-Lemme just feel…blood? See blood?
-No.
-That’s something. Umm.
-Can you stand up?
-Fuck no. Just hang on.
I don’t think I can do this without you hanging over my shoulder, giving me a sigh or chuckle or disapproving silence. I can try. Will try. I haven’t been this willing to please since I don’t know when.
Trust that a few bars will tell the tale. Will make us or break us.
-Can you get off the floor? At least?
-Mmm, I’ll try. Grab me. Yeah, now pull!
-Up!
-Up, yeah? Fuck. That’s good, better.
-Poor, baby
-Shut up.
-Hey, I’m trying to help.
-You helped all right.
-You weren’t complaining a minute ago.
-No? Shit! Did you see my face?
-Heh, no I didn’t. My eyes were closed.
I cannot think of anything better than seeing your eyes closed when you sit on me, when you lean over and kiss me. That’s when you’re naked, not when your clothes come off, but when you close your eyes and let me see you above me, enjoying me as if I weren’t even there.
-I noticed. I mean, when I wasn’t howling…
-You didn’t ‘howl.’ You didn’t make a sound until you—
-I know. I was there.
-Very nice. I WAS impressed.
-Well we aim to please.
-You did. Just can’t keep it on the court, eh?
-Oh…. That might be your fault, honey.
-What’s a girl to do?
-Ummm, give me a moment?
-I couldn’t do that. I have needs too.
-Yeah? Now I need a doctor.
I could feel your hands on my shoulders, pushing yourself away from me, grinding yourself down against me…again like I weren’t with you. But I was there with you, inside you, loving you. I was watching you, making yourself come to me, bringing us to the same place at the same time. I watched you rock and twist, and I tried to keep up; followed you across the bed…
-No you don’t, pussy.
-Keep talkin’.
-Yeah? Or what?
-Round two.
-Heh, you better have a drink first, baby. Better have a smoke.
-I’ll be ready. Will you?
-Always. Let me have it, big boy.
-Hmm
-C’mon.
-I will.
-Called your bluff didn’t I?
-You’ll get yours.
-I HAD mine…you weren’t complaining.
Did I have time? You’re right, I couldn’t stop us when I felt that glow start growing in me with every breath you took, with every gasp you huffed right by my ear, with every lunge we made together with me inside you. Your grip cloying and annoying and shifting us further than ever before, ever to the…floor?
-Well, that WAS a first.
-Yeah?
-I might be sorry.
-Why? I’m not.
-That’s ‘cause we’re such a mess.
-Nothing a –
-You know what I mean.
-Mm, do I? I’m not sure I did come.
-Pretty sure you did.
Sliding down? That’s not how it is supposed to go, with me grasping, and trying to stay with you, in you. I know you’re there and feel as if only I can keep you there so I follow us down. How could I not? How could I let you go alone without me and my love? I would follow us anywhere, and will.
-Sure I did. I always do, right?
-You’re a man.
-A tough man.
-Maybe not so tough. I might have seen a tear?
-Hell no. If I did I was crying in pain.
-Because you love me so much?
-Because I busted our ass.
-Because I busted our ass?
-Because we busted our collective asses.
-But you do love me, right?
-Not yet, but we’re working on it all right.
-rbm
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Ruminations
One:
We moved into that house in 1979. I didn't leave until 1984 when I was requested to leave "with extreme prejudice." My mother didn't leave until she died there in 2001.
But.
From 1979 until 2001, there was a dish of soap in our bathroom that was not to be used, only looked at and never touched. I'm not sure why. After Mom died and people came over for the hand clasping and the head shaking and the warm, squeezing hugs and the pats on the back, I went upstairs, to "my" bathroom to use it instead of the one below.
Of course, there was that dish of soap...I took one.
Only now it was useless. Only now it was a hardened, dust-caked rock instead of the rose-shaped soap it had been. Insoluble and filthy, it neither lathered nor cleaned my hands.
I could stop there and some would understand yet some would not. Would not see that a lifetime spent reserving things for the future, for a posterity unseen, is a fool's errand.
When you're a Mothershead now, you will use the soap that smells like trees on a hill. You will light a dusty candle before you forget where it came from. You will consume kerosene in your lanterns. You will scratch your records, and you will break your glass.
Two:
The truck's been washed twice since 2003, October, and neither time did I raise a brush or a towel against it. It's cocoon of dust outside, and the sun protection factor of empty sunflower hulls inside keep him happy and safe from the sun, and the rain, and the occasional tree branch.
Worrying about something you don't sleep with is a waste if time. The worship I see of automobiles reminds me of the aforementioned bars of soap. I know people who measure success by the dents in their trucks which may be a good bench mark for people who think more about their cars and H3's than their own kid's home room teacher's name.
My truck's stained with blood, sweat, tears, vomit, and sharpies...a rolling bulletin board like this blog. How's my driving? Call 336-382-3399.
Three:
Health care reform? I don't know a thing about it, and I suspect not many of us do either. I don't know or care what the hell's going on, BUT, I will say this. As a carpenter, it is only a matter of time before I'm back in an Urgent Care center or emergency room to have something reattached or sewn shut or plastered immobile.
I'm always shocked when I notice these places have two mindsets when approaching injuries. One is the no holds barred, pull-out-all-the-stops (yippeee!!!) it's worker's comp let's make some money. The other is, oh, he owns his own company and he's gonna pay with a check....(dammit)
The former is always at least 1200 dollars, the latter is ALWAYS 247.00 dollars...which of course speaks volumes. I've noticed Americans love to milk insurance companies...and that's the rub isn't it? Some see a free ride,a gravy train with biscuit wheels, and they jump right on...
I've never done that. I got my thumb stitched, I got my truck fixed, and I told rehab and the auto "refinishers" to kiss my ass...
Four:
Just something to think about I reckon. Use your damn soap, stop kissing your car's ass, and stop getting carpal tunnel cause you need six weeks vacation, America.
We moved into that house in 1979. I didn't leave until 1984 when I was requested to leave "with extreme prejudice." My mother didn't leave until she died there in 2001.
But.
From 1979 until 2001, there was a dish of soap in our bathroom that was not to be used, only looked at and never touched. I'm not sure why. After Mom died and people came over for the hand clasping and the head shaking and the warm, squeezing hugs and the pats on the back, I went upstairs, to "my" bathroom to use it instead of the one below.
Of course, there was that dish of soap...I took one.
Only now it was useless. Only now it was a hardened, dust-caked rock instead of the rose-shaped soap it had been. Insoluble and filthy, it neither lathered nor cleaned my hands.
I could stop there and some would understand yet some would not. Would not see that a lifetime spent reserving things for the future, for a posterity unseen, is a fool's errand.
When you're a Mothershead now, you will use the soap that smells like trees on a hill. You will light a dusty candle before you forget where it came from. You will consume kerosene in your lanterns. You will scratch your records, and you will break your glass.
Two:
The truck's been washed twice since 2003, October, and neither time did I raise a brush or a towel against it. It's cocoon of dust outside, and the sun protection factor of empty sunflower hulls inside keep him happy and safe from the sun, and the rain, and the occasional tree branch.
Worrying about something you don't sleep with is a waste if time. The worship I see of automobiles reminds me of the aforementioned bars of soap. I know people who measure success by the dents in their trucks which may be a good bench mark for people who think more about their cars and H3's than their own kid's home room teacher's name.
My truck's stained with blood, sweat, tears, vomit, and sharpies...a rolling bulletin board like this blog. How's my driving? Call 336-382-3399.
Three:
Health care reform? I don't know a thing about it, and I suspect not many of us do either. I don't know or care what the hell's going on, BUT, I will say this. As a carpenter, it is only a matter of time before I'm back in an Urgent Care center or emergency room to have something reattached or sewn shut or plastered immobile.
I'm always shocked when I notice these places have two mindsets when approaching injuries. One is the no holds barred, pull-out-all-the-stops (yippeee!!!) it's worker's comp let's make some money. The other is, oh, he owns his own company and he's gonna pay with a check....(dammit)
The former is always at least 1200 dollars, the latter is ALWAYS 247.00 dollars...which of course speaks volumes. I've noticed Americans love to milk insurance companies...and that's the rub isn't it? Some see a free ride,a gravy train with biscuit wheels, and they jump right on...
I've never done that. I got my thumb stitched, I got my truck fixed, and I told rehab and the auto "refinishers" to kiss my ass...
Four:
Just something to think about I reckon. Use your damn soap, stop kissing your car's ass, and stop getting carpal tunnel cause you need six weeks vacation, America.
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