My rental car stalls on a country backroad. I turn the key, and it chugs away helplessly. I get out and start walking down the gravel pathway. The sun is shining pleasantly. I soon see a small farmhouse in the distance. The grass along the road is tall, and amber colored, it whips along with the wind. Behind me, I can hear what sounds like rainfall, or popping corn, only faint, as if at a distance. I turn around and see the undulating blackness of a locust swarm. It was coming my way, like a filthy blanket…rolling.
Bob recently fractured his femur and wrist while in the Bahamas during his latest money-making scheme, The Bob Hudson Poetry Cruise. He was whisked from the cruise ship to a secret underground medical facility where they rebuilt him and made him better. His collections include the majesty of the past, into the cold wind, the train, women not my wife, trance of paranoia, she lets me and no gunshots right now.
Under pressure of an impending deadline, Gabacho gets to work Gabacho and the Gutenberg
“Hearing other parents’ stories, I suppose we were lucky they didn’t lock him up in a closet or restrain him.” (from my Thursday post)
Huge ragged holes open the knees of my jeans, deep crescents of shadow banding my spindly legs. Bulky engineer boots, comical fat-soled knob-toed Frankenstein feet sprouting from calves as thick as my forearms.
Toss on my leather jacket and trench coat on top. Its cold outside. West Texas cold. Fonzerelli scarecrow shivering in the darkness.
Footsteps echoing along the concrete walls of the underground parking lot. Sounds sharpened by the chill.
Hey, look at that ad. Cute girls in my area want to meet 42 year old men! What a coincidence, as I am 42 years old!
Some mornings, I know right away. The drift is already sideways by the time my bare heel finds the belt buckle on the floor beside the bed.
When your first word of the day is an expletive, and you must then check for bleeding, it is a sign.
All my silly human plans are about to be derailed. Embrace the suckage, for it is nigh.
“This is an important message from NCO Financial…”
That is about as much of the robo-message I listen to before hitting the delete button on the answering machine. Then I pause for a moment to think to myself that this is a really stupid way to try to collect on a bad debt.
Before you get the wrong idea, I am not a deadbeat. That is my girlfriend.
Negative connotations of sunglasses after dark:
1) Person is high
2) Person is blind
3) Person is a liar
4) Person is “trying to be cool.”
For the last week, I have been thinking of what to write about for my first post on an internet blog. Since the practice of blogging usually seems personal, I decided to write on experiences that contribute to the thinking process that promotes the art-creation process. I’m intrigued by creativity: where do ideas come from? I thought that by blogging on readings, exhibitions, and other input that spark thinking, we might shed a bit of light on the output.
Me: “So, Martin Luther posted those 95 things that he disagreed with right on the door of the Catholic Church.” My 12 year-old son, R.: “Why didn’t he just post them on his blog?” I never thought I’d be one of those parents–the homeschooling kind….
I was sixteen, and darkness had fallen and we’re riding our bikes. The boys I’m riding with turn onto 95th street and I follow even though we’re headed towards a white neighborhood. I figured we were going to turn around as the first set of…
(It’s one thing for a knockout brickhouse to make such specific demands for a husband as we see below, at least you’d have something to look at, but an overweight woman (this is Craigslist after all) that is too ugly to actually be captured on…