Where the Water Goes

If my feet are on the ground, am I grounded?

If I’m on a boat am I then flying?

These fish are flying which is why I won’t catch them. They laugh at me, but I couldn’t hurt a fish. They are too precious. They have a life as good as mine.

What makes a life good? Is it the air we breath, the blood that flows through our veins? The things we spend our time on? Those we spend our time with? Can those make a life bad? Or can only you do that?

I have to make a living somehow and I like seeing the fish, their smiling faces, so I work on this boat. I clean the halls, wash the dishes. At night I stand on the deck and watch for the fish. I can’t see them, but I think they are there. I sing to them because they need someone to keep them company through the long night. The others are asleep, not around to laugh. My flying voice meets these flying fish. And we rock through the night.

Every night it goes like this. I suffer through the day until the night comes and the fish feel safe. They know I won’t catch them. I can never see them, but I can hear them down below, churning the water. Why couldn’t fish dance the same as us?

I think about the land sometimes, but I have nowhere to go. No money, like I said. Besides I think the fish find comfort in me.

I’ve worked on the boat for many seasons, but tonight was the first night the boat touched ground. When I came out of my cabin the ocean was gone. We had soared all the way to the floor of the sea. I saw the fish and the seaweed and the corral, but there was no water. I sang like I always do.

A large fish flew to me and began to speak to me. He wondered if I didn’t want to join him where no one talked and everyone smiled. He said that I was the only one who ever cared for the fish. He opened his mouth for me to climb in. He was large, and I fit nicely. And the water came back, and the boat lifted up with the waves once again, only I was down below. From my new home I could sing all day. But there was no ground to stand on.

Why Would Anyone Read This

Earth Mother cried in the desolate gray space which had become her abode, and waited for her daughter to come back to her from the rave. The raven sang sourly that beauty had left the earth, the color had dried up, music had become one note and communication had been reduced to dull drags on cigarrillos.

Ye High

People who say about yea high are a certain kind of people. Ever noticed that? There are like 3 or 4 people you’ve known that say it, and I bet you can picture them exactly. They all played baseball for some reason.

Can’t you just see them squinting, with a poopy grin, raising and lowering their hand till they finally say, “About yea high.” Actually I think it works better when they don’t give any indication of the height they mean and just say, “Yea high.”

And when you produce an album about being a college dropout you gotta be about Ye high.

Try Out Hate Poems! I Love Hate Poems!

Hot damn, you feel the power in all consuming words.

Bet you aren’t even thinking,

you think like the light sequence in 2001,

you’re in such a hurry to cough the words out of the back of your throat like their some sort of infection,

BRO:

they aren’t gonna to bite ya,

just slow down and take, a, breath,

On your way through Candyland you always take all the Chutes and Ladders,

So suddenly this thing you call consciousness and we call uncertainty is everywhere and not a person on the pale speck can check it,

your eyes light up because the hare is more fun than the tortoise,

and when you reach the finish line without so much alerting the referee’s that their stopwatch fingers should be primed and their cocktail glasses lowered you confound with – “it was crazy.”

Do you realize that there is a tipping point?

If everything is crazy,

suddenly nothings crazy,

except (maybe) the teller.

Do you understand how words can lose their weight?

It’s not like working out,

when you use a word so to a degree that “it is crazy”, you can see the muscle drooping, quivering and fading away in atrophy,

and the inverse is true… don’t we all wish for a little balance?

I know you want to share that feeling that courses through the landmass of your skin,

I know you’re at most Times nothing less than a cardboard box full of jelly donuts and military grade explosives.

I can always see it in your eyes in how they dart about

life, and the way you stand up and play with your hair,

sometimes I want to tell you that all I see are the big O’s and tight lines and that I can’t understand a word, but I think you know that,

anyway you sometimes say you do.

It’s funny, almost

like you know that you’re going too fast, that these words will never get what you want across, maybe

and maybe that’s why you raise your voice to fill the room spouting “crazy” like a broken sprinkler, over and over,

could it be that the words are just filler,

and that the meaning is actually hidden behind the words in another world

we hardly even realize is spinning just because we can’t see it.

Are you some sort of warlock tapping into the energies of another plane,

or are you just

bad

at explaining things?

***

LOve poems? try out hate poems! I love hate poems.

I’m going to be the best hate poet ever. I’m going to write the sonnet 130 of hate poetry, you dirty fuckfaces.

The Will of Jeff

Alegro finds himself in a hallway. It twists and it’s lit by deep purple lamps that swing like there’s wind. Darkness ascends like heat, and there’s no roof to hold it. Rather, an anti roof. Alegro spends a few hours trying to wrap his head around it.

Alegro finds himself in front of a door. It seems familiar. There’s a soft sweet feeling as of beautiful words, but also an aching of the eyes. The door opens and there’s a short roman buttress holding up a mixed drink. It has a little folded-like-a-tent card in front of it that reads: Cowardice w/ a touch of chives. Alegro moves forwards and takes the drink. The door shuts behind him. The drink tastes about how he’d expect. Tastes green, with a bite.

A squad of curtains open around Alegro. Alegro tastes stage fright in the back of his throat. It’s not at all like he imagined being on stage would taste like. Tastes halfway between Banana Orange and Purple Mountain’s Majesty. There’s so many buttons and pleasantly smiling faces. It’s exactly like he imagined being on stage would be like: the bright light of the control tower where little bug men play with switches stops you from seeing anything. He’d had that streamed to him before.

There’s a laughter around him, and Alegro takes a smile. He looks down and sees that his pants are wet. Alegro crumples to the floor. A bald man in a light blue button up shirt steps on to the stage, right over Alegro’s form. He looks 51, well preserved. His belt buckle looks like a million bucks.

“You want this End?”

“Yes,” says Alegro.

“And where would you like that End shipped? You can sign in for one click shopping. Would you like free two day shipping with that? We can give you free two day shipping if you sign up with us.”

“What are you talking about.”

“You can also take forty dollars off your order right now, easy peasy, if you sign up for a credit card through us. You’re over 18, aren’t you.”

“Yeah.”

“Excellent!”

The bald man bends his torso down to lower his head down to Alegro while keeping his legs completely still. His head seems to float around in Alegro’s suffering vision.

“Excellent!” he repeated.

Alegro backs away on his hands and knees.

“No. I don’t want it.”

“If you could just put in your shipping address here…even if you don’t want it, it’s really best if you put in your shipping information here, just for ease of use later…”

“No!”

Someone cheers from the audience, and that’s when Alegro notices that they have stopped laughing.

The creature before him bends upright to his full height. Then he cocks his head to the side.

“Perhaps you want a tablet?”

Alegro stands and runs to the front of the stage, and it is there that he is captured by the magnificence of the world before him. He can’t see any of it, but somehow he can feel it in his stomach. Some emotion he doesn’t understand begins to rise in his gut and makes his liver sing a happy, jaunty tune. Increasingly his heart skips a beat which he thinks may be unhealthy. Lowering from the rough wooden parapets above, a few hooks latch into his shoulders, piercing right through the bone, and lift him up in transcendental ecstasy!

“I am a free man,” he says as he rises. “I need no river to bring me happiness. I need not mechanical wings to bring good tidings, for good tidings are here. Indeed I am the messenger. I am the angel. I do not need your credit card information or your shipping information. Everyone gets free two day shipping! I see the path before me.”

“Would you like another drink?” says the bald man below.

“I think it’s your turn to drink this time, Jeff.”

Then the hooks rip through Alegro’s body and he falls to the ground in a bloody heap. He is saved only by the quick response of a team of medical drones and the will of Jeff.

Blog Blocked

And now, apropos of nothing:

– Dude this guy totally cock blocked me the other day. I was totally like horning in on his sister so he stuck a fork in my penis. Cock blocked!

– Oh man…coach won’t let me play in the game man. Dude! He burned my jersey bro! It’s so fucking stupid. Jock Blocked!

– God damn, you know I was really looking forward to wearing my sneakers today, but i had to just slip on my flip flops cause I got Sock Blocked!

– WWE has gone wayyyy down hill. It’s fucking garbage now! Fucking garbage! It just hasn’t been good since it got The Rock Blocked.

– “Aren’t you going to ring the doorbell?

“No. What, trying to Knock Block me?”

– “Dude! Don’t point your gun at that poor bird!”

“Hey! Watch it. Don’t Hawk Block me, bro!”

“What ever! You Glock Blocker!”

– I almost got famous you know. I almost did it through the sick shredding of my guitar, man, but I got totally Rock Blocked by this dude in a mohawk so I took a you know, one of those electric razors and totally Mohawk Blocked that bitch.

– Fuck! Dinner was gonna be so good. I was gonna stir fry up some veggies… unfortunately mom had another schizo episode and sold a bunch of our stuff! Again! So, sorry kids, we got Wok Blocked.

– Dude I totally wanted to go to the cradle of Christianity, but some asshole bought the last seat on the flight and Antioch Blocked me!

– “Hey dude what’s up-“

I hold up my finger to his lips and press firmly so he knows who the fricker is his boss.

“What are you doing?” he says through pressed lips.

“What does it look like? I’m finally Talk Blocking you!”

– UGH, don’t you hate it when someone snags that ebay item when you had the highest bet like three seconds before the end! Fucking Shop Blockers!

– Interesting dress, but I wouldn’t wear it. FROCK BLOCKED!!!

– “Dude you’re mom is so fat-“

“Allen!”

“Dad! It was gonna be funny!”

“Allen!”

“Fine…”

“Ha! Mock Blocked!”

– Can you check the time?

Me? No, I got Clock Blocked

– I was just trying to get myself sexually aroused, but I got erotic blocked.

– No Graffiti you pint sized criminals! You kindergartners have been chalk blocked!

– Dude…Leonard Nimoy just died….Spock Blocked.

– “What do you think of this one?”

“It’s a bit…idk. A bit old looking. Where was it made?”

“China.”

“Oh yeah, you don’t want that. That’s shoddy.”

“Thanks friend!”

“What else are friends for other than Schlock Blocking?”

– I won’t let you watch that movie. The Blind Side is just a white guilt movie that doesn’t actually truthfully portray the issue of race in America. Fuckin Sandra Bullocked.

– A writer thought about how to work Crockpot Blocked into a story and couldn’t find a satisfactory way. But then he did! Writer’s Block Blocked!

– I swiped my card in front of the scanner and unlocked the door into Finley. I held the door open for Kari Flocker. What was she thinking? I hadn’t even made up an excuse like that we could work on Japanese together or anything. Why was she going along with it then? Whatever. Just keep your cool.

I swipe my card again and the other little thingy at the stairs.

“Where do you live again?”

“In um the new dorm, you know.”

“Oh Teebo?”

“Yeah,” she throws her arm forward like she’s pointing at something, but of course there is nothing there. “That one.”

We climbed the stairs in silence. I check my phone. He’s in position.

We walk down the halls and I said hi to Nathan AKA Beezlebud. Kari gives a little wave even though she’s never met him. I unlocked my door and let us in.

“Oh…yeah excuse how shitty this place is cause we really need to vacuum. I really need to vacuum my roommate isn’t going to do it…”

“Oh…it’s fine.”

I close Tim’s wide open closet doors and face her. I shrug my shoulders.

“Soooo…” she said.

“Uh yeah.” I got out my phone and sent the text. “Uh yeah, make yourself at home or whatever.”

“K. What are we doing?”

“Um.” Come on come on come on come on come on come on.

Tim bust through the door and yelled, “Whoops!” with a playful smile wrapped around his face. “Sorry! Didn’t mean to be a Flocker Blocker!”

This one has Chris Pratt in it.

I walk through halls of white effervescent walls, humming…the walls hum. I don’t. I’m just quiet. There’s a breeze. It’s warm. There shouldn’t be a breeze down here. I’m underground. It’s numbly lit down here.

I might be going to a pool. The bleached walls say pool. There’s a door with a little black plaque over it that reads, “01”. Also on the door is a window lined with metal bars. Past the window it’s dark. There’s a rumble. I think the breeze might be coming from back there.

My feet keep moving, but it’s hard to tell if I’m going anywhere. It’s just white walls everywhere. It smells like hot chlorine.

There’s a girl now. A girl with ruby colored hair down on the ground. Did she fall?

Now, I’m walking out of a bar. I didn’t get any drinks, but my parents did. They have come to visit me. Or maybe it’s spring break. Chris Pratt brushed by me on my way out. I couldn’t place his name. I think I said something to him. He was nice.

Why is the girl with the ruby colored hair on the floor like that, in this place that may lead to a pool? She’s laying so that her back is lifted off the ground, so that she’s made a little bridge with her head and her hips. She’s looking up at me through square glasses. Her eyes close and open. Close and open. She’s got a bag. It’s down on the floor too. I wonder.

She’s like an anime character. She twists her head. If she had bigger eyes she’d be an anime character.

I’m down on the ground now too. I’m kneeling. I can’t remember if we say anything. I think we do. I know her. She knows me. My mom is there. I say, this is X-san.

She’s different than normal. I kiss her like that, with her head upside down, or is it mine that’s upside down? I kiss this girl who doesn’t kiss boys. I never wanted to kiss her. Not really. Not especially. But it feels right, even after.

But the wind doesn’t stop. I can still hear the rumble. My mom is talking to Chris Pratt.

I ask X-san when she got here. She’s not supposed to be here. She said that she’s going to be coming over more now to take a swimming class. They have at least two olympic sized pools where she comes from. Why come here? I can’t complain.

My mom says that it’s time to go now. I’m touching her hand, and I’m feeling her plump belly through her shirt. Why is she on the floor.

Silly silly silly. Just like you Drac. Just like you to want something you could never have. Silly silly silly.

Curious Carl Weathers

Laura was eight, and when she was eight she joined a soccer team. They were the Bobcats. They were cats. They had two coaches Bob and Hope. She was friends with the other girls. She liked to play forward because her father was a porcupine and her sister was an oregano. Her sis didn’t play soccer.

Clocks spun, people stood and sat. Mostly they sat. Mostly Laura ran. Three other girls stayed on the team, and then she was 17. Laura watched the lord of the rings extended edition trilogy and then the two hobbit movies  that were out all in a row, and it wasn’t even the first time, and then went hiking and thought she was in the hobbit. Laura went to a cook out, but that was before, and that was where a hot dog made her sick because she wasn’t used to meat. Laura was vegetarian, but she had meat sometimes, and also she was vegan for a week, and then she just ate meat. Laura applied to college at OSU and WSU. Laura played soccer with the Bobcats, and looked at her trophies. Laura kept them on a shelf above everything else, and they are still there today even though most everything else moved out to the dorm. Bob and Hope made them run laps and sign a ball. Laura tried to wash grass stains out of her socks, but instead she threw them away. The day came and the four girls that had been together over 10 years huddled around each other and cried. They shared popcorn and trimmed eyelashes over pictures of defeated Crocodiles, Tigers, Sharks, and other predatory animals. They ate too much ice cream. The sun was out. They watched slideshows with salty walls of sappy, sticky sorrow filming the experience.

Mmm. Yes, the team is dead now. Bob and Hope spend their time at home with a dog named Borat. Laura lives in West with a new clique. Bobcats live on the wind and feet forget what they were for. It’s almost as if 10 years and six hundred hours mean nothing. They text though.