my box of 72 colored pencils and book full of empty pages
sour kisses and sour cherries
llamas that eat hands
a bulldog named beefy (tomorrow it will be meaty)
my new quilt
90 degrees
honeysuckles
improv (making this shit up as i stumble along)
baby ruthless aka his newest muse
the color blue
figuring it all out
realizing i was wrong
realizing i was wrong about being wrong
realizing i was right
realizing i forgot what it was that i was right about being wrong about
pink lemonade
butter crunch
silly dreams
hideouts
dirt roads
laughing at (everything)
flow-ride-ah
dirty girls
telepathy
New Again
scream-o
people who hate spoons
t-shirts (I'm bored of cheap and cheerful)
starfish, snowmen, and bridges
U-toob
sunsets (early ones and the ones for muggings)
writing my own songs
singing them to nobody but myself
and then, forgetting the words
going places
getting lost on purpose
writing crap poetry on the slight offchance that someone might not find it so crappy
details
arguing with myself and knowing that one of us will always end up winning
or losing
double knots
double dares
flip flops and messy hair
the smell of a suntan
having no a/c and riding with my hand dangling out the window
wondering why
wondering how
wondering who
wondering where
wondering when
wondering what (the fuck)
wandering
switching gears
changing lanes
crossword puzzles at 4:30
the time (right before and right after and every second in between)
blinking and almost missing it all
catching my breath
twirling my hair
being scared shitless but doing it anway
knowing (or hoping) that i'll be cool to my nephew for at least another 2 years
trying not to take anyone or anything for granted
learning (always)
having the best of times at the worst of times with the best(est) of friends
(new, clean, clear, huge, wide open, dark, vast) space(s) (travel, cadets, man)
lists within lists within lists
distortions
imaginary real life
daydreaming at night and sleepwalking during the day
clearing up misconceptions and clutter
using the same styrofoam cup until it leaks (or at least until i think the mold is going to kill me)
scoring concert tickets
jack (white, daniels)
striking the match
watching it burn
throwing gasoline on the fire
stopping dropping and rolling before it consumes me (just in time)
drifting off to sleep while sitting here
rambling
standing my ground (in quicksand)
choking on my own words
hacking them up to form a mess that (sort of, kind of, almost) resembles a blog
Friday, April 24, 2009
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Soap Scum
Something silly that stupidly stuck.
You know how you try really hard to wash shit away. Take, for instance, a very nice long, scalding hot, bubble bath. Oh, it's soothing, oh how it's cleansing, but when you get out of the tub, you're left with a dull nasty ass ring. Hmmm, unpleasant, but you'll get to that on Saturday. So, another night, another bath and so on and so forth. You get "cleaner", but the tub gets nastier, right? Okay, so by Saturday it's so freakin' fucking filthy that you have to clean it or you might as well go head first into the point of no return, a tub so disgusting that no industrial strength cleaner would do the job. Might as well just buy a new tub, but you're not quite to that point, yet, so, on your hands and knees and because you're arms are just a touch too short you climb in the tub to do the scrubbing. You try all sorts of new kick-ass cleaning products. You're a sucker for anything. The layers are so thick you can scrape it off with a knife. You do a reasonable job. The tub is now clean and safe for bathing again.
Until next weekend, when you'll be on your hands and knees doing the same shit with the same fucking sponge inhaling the same stupid chemicals.
It's funny, or maybe it isn't and maybe I'm just crazy or different or maybe I think way to much and draw a relation and a correlation where there is none, but I think that tub is a lot like me. See, the same thing happens, night after night, day after day. I scrub. I wash. I use all the newest prettiest smelling supposed to be the cleanest gettingest soap you can buy, but no matter what, I am always dirty.
Right now, there's a layer on me that I can scrape away, but there's another layer that I'm never able to get to.
It won't stop me from trying though.
How about you?
Are you scared of what you might find underneath?
You know how you try really hard to wash shit away. Take, for instance, a very nice long, scalding hot, bubble bath. Oh, it's soothing, oh how it's cleansing, but when you get out of the tub, you're left with a dull nasty ass ring. Hmmm, unpleasant, but you'll get to that on Saturday. So, another night, another bath and so on and so forth. You get "cleaner", but the tub gets nastier, right? Okay, so by Saturday it's so freakin' fucking filthy that you have to clean it or you might as well go head first into the point of no return, a tub so disgusting that no industrial strength cleaner would do the job. Might as well just buy a new tub, but you're not quite to that point, yet, so, on your hands and knees and because you're arms are just a touch too short you climb in the tub to do the scrubbing. You try all sorts of new kick-ass cleaning products. You're a sucker for anything. The layers are so thick you can scrape it off with a knife. You do a reasonable job. The tub is now clean and safe for bathing again.
Until next weekend, when you'll be on your hands and knees doing the same shit with the same fucking sponge inhaling the same stupid chemicals.
It's funny, or maybe it isn't and maybe I'm just crazy or different or maybe I think way to much and draw a relation and a correlation where there is none, but I think that tub is a lot like me. See, the same thing happens, night after night, day after day. I scrub. I wash. I use all the newest prettiest smelling supposed to be the cleanest gettingest soap you can buy, but no matter what, I am always dirty.
Right now, there's a layer on me that I can scrape away, but there's another layer that I'm never able to get to.
It won't stop me from trying though.
How about you?
Are you scared of what you might find underneath?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
