Line & Rhyme

"Girl" on The Beatles' Rubber Soul inspires me to write. Listen. Read as I divulge my own truths and weaknesses. Let me first find my font. Ah, yes. This is it.

I'm looking through you. Your lips perched on your faceless countenance, you explain to me everything you want me to take seriously. The wind rushes through again and again, or constantly - What have you noticed today? Then again, ask me my accomplishments. But allow me to explain to you, now, what success is.

Look at that tree over there. The one I see is next to a power pole, which goes up - progress - but leans - flaw. The tree beside comes from an angle and smoothly bends its textured bark to make way around the oak who claimed his spot long ago. About ten feet after a three degree angle the Pine shifts to straighten. Only one side has limbs, yet short ones - to make way again for the oak's high branches - or cut off for the power lines that need through. If the oak was left alone, I wouldn't see the knots on his trunk that ache from chain-saws that made way for more grass. They wanted a lawn.

And behind the taller, older pine to my 10:52 is the baby pine, only thirteen now but still six of me tall, that my family planted. Makes me think of Mom's request to be subtle when she goes. A headstone-to-know her in Pyle Prairie and ashes scattered in Cedar Creek where we spent vacations.

Someone may ask, "What does this have to do with success?"

I'll continue.

The GPS is in my car, which is at the airport from where Dad left. We swapped car & truck when I went out to New Mexico to move my grandmother's things to Dallas. After getting back I went to see Mom in the GPS-less truck. The drive out was fairly easy because it was day, but still guess work at times. The drive back had a wrong exit, missed exit, and Dad's Satellite Radio that listened me Kids in the Hall. The missed and wrong turns forced me to consider how to find the right way, which doesn't usually happen thanks to the ill-purchased GPS. An appreciated gift most definitely. But we're dwindling our critical thinking with these things - and cellphones. It's like match class! "We don't need to know this. We have calculators."

Children have instinct, except they get chastised for their realness. Shh. I'm telling you the truth. You have nothing to be worried about. Don't do that. Learn to ask questions, but not those questions. Follow my lead - forever. And as for success, forget about it. What the hell is that anyway? I spend my days contemplating trees. That's not possibly what you meant?

This spider is eyeing me. She tries to figure me out, comes up like a curious pup, scurries around the corner of the step, then comes back out to look again. It's a game of Peak-a-Boo. With a spider! I must be insane. The spider's gone. Aha! I see it. She just, well, I don't know what she wants, but her white fingers keep brushing her fangs and she can jump! And does! And she's nearing m...

Oh, She was just coming to see my bright-purple lighter. It sits on natural wood so must stand out to critters' eyes. She left.

Anyway. How do I spend my days? I laze. I gaze. I pray. I sip a joint and work my own. I duck away from the winds and scurry from their waves. I cleaned a garage and now have waste and more waste to take to the dump a ways up the way. But I write a time - line & rhyme - my mind marks the page through the feral pen in my helpless hand. But it all makes sense to me. That stands to say something.

Maybe instead I should worry myself with whether or not you get me.

The sun is setting but I only know that because the trees are hued amber and the shadows have all come together to form super-shadows and in the time it took to explain that everything turned tender violet. The colors don't change that fast during the day. It must be sundown.

Skeletons of fragile flies fall on my shoulders, neck, and typer but I think they're only shedding. That's all we do when we die! We shed our skin. We become new again! Is it odd to consider maybe death brings life? Is the only Phoenix a bird? Aha! I say, "Nay."

Did You See That Episode?

Did you see that episode of Venture Bros? Sunday night, when a new Dark Character entered the compound. Episode: The Doctor Is Sin. June 6th 2003. As if to sucker us into the next. Will You watch? Will I?

Then Metal. Then Vonage. Fuckin' stupid contrast. Now I'm so suckered into a whole new commercial, now that old Vonage Theme song. I hate T.V. Jesus things are too quiet. Too many Commercials! I have to buy everything, hear it all, watch the next movie whether it's good or not! and something greets me. Ideas! Reverse Your thinking. Then, the video game. Hulk Smash! I liked the prior. If you follow the commercials on your own, you become silent. Then get to fall . . . into . . . METALOCALYPSE

Incredulous Me!

I want to sit and write - sit and read - sit! I want to meet people - meet words - meet ideas. I want to think - ponder - question - be questioned. I want to hope. I want to doubt evil and pray. I want to believe in people - believe I'm God. [I am God! And that's not arrogance. I wouldn't say that out of arrogance.] I want to believe Jesus died just for me [but I'm a philosopher, not a believer.] I want time to stand still, but for that, the Earth must float still. Well, that or I move out of your way. I want you to stand still.  Figure out the roses! How do they grow?! My goodness it's incredible! I'll even say roses are more incredible than paper work. Outrageous. 

Only 48 Seasons?!

Obama just won the Democratic nomination today. Well, it's 10 o'clock Tuesday, 3 June, 2008. Now it's logged. Like the cabin Lincoln read in before freeing slaves. Whatever. Black man President? Unheard of. Obama wins! Clinton gets dropped behind despite her speech. Her stagelight was dimmed as the hook peaked from the side. And I had the rest of my bottle while he gave his. Now the pundits try to make heads or tails of this two-sided coin. When all is known, what need for discussion? Time. Does it all return to that? Well, the TV does. But who watches that?...

Will our darkest hour be a black man? I think it was the white of Your religions. The clear glass to your mirror; there was no black on the other side.

Clarity days are often found few and far between. Blue skies mean nothing! How was it spent? A jug of concentrated fruit juice exploded into my crotch and clear across the seats of Dad's truck as it fell outside. I only laughed. It smelled like it had fermented. Gross.

Now I listen to the Beatles. Obama wins, Clinton sins according to Pundits. Although the Ragin' Cajun (Chris Swearengin) has been laughing all night at the others. The wind is blowing. It must be freedom running! A black man President? Gig 'em.

Light the fuse on queue. Back to the front of the line? I don't know. The others have had a good amount of time to take their place. Of course, the Queen is surveying harsher than WE. Nobody likes the French. Putin sure can't be trusted!

777 - is that ever the lucky number? Reagan's three names have six letters in them. Tell me Obama's the anti-Christ!. Jesus. An attractive, charismatic, young guy? Jesus was the anti-Christ under that description.

Klev, Clever. Beverly. Clarely? Clearly.

Surly Murly got a swirly but never sought revenge. Until early one morning he shot barly and juniper from a flask he held hushed to the sun. Gin once again in the hot desert sin, he slugged from his jug of tin. Morein, his kettle unsettled, he heated his metal, and boiled his dagger once more. It laid through the skin of his rivalous friend and he walked with him dead on the floor.

by Brian Gore & Ryan Hochstatter

No Sir

I want what I want because it's what I want

but you just want me to say what you want me to say.

Watch the wheels peel along the road as I go way

of the South, the North, soar, fail, or grow stale.

Figure if I dropped the ball to watch it chased across the street,

what would you think?

Say I said what you expected. Suppose I sung the dirge you need.

Beneath the boxes where we explored constellations we'd never seen was incredible.

What I'd like now is a margarita in a soft glass.

Take me second class, she can have my seat.

What if I got hot feet or a too-hot-to-trot beat

or we all recognized or acknowledged the heart's weak,

and we slugged the sleak slushy drink in the soft glass of concrete.

Staple the sun to the moon. Slow her pace with the weight of his moan.

On bricks, I sat under a jet-setter's home

as he soard through the sward at the back of the swarm.

It was fun-tastic freedom at the nickle arcade.

It was persons, places, things, and cupcakes.

It was chocolate on one side, mesquite on the other.

It was teal and off-color.

It was dirty water and delicate caffeine.

Her is no more than less than There

and in every wash of wester blue

it grew more than more than what i feared

and only I was truth.

A R T

i am art. football is art. planets, art. life is art. ants are art. trees, art. cars, art. bicycles, art. guitars, art. dance is art. dancers, art. pastels, art. watercolors, art. ink wells fallen, art. 

disease, majestic. phenomena, fantastic. speed limits limit. wind, blow! tree, weep! willow, bow! man, cower! 

musicians win, nintendos challenge. television, stumble! 

onward, woe, onward!

cockle, crow. whistle, sparrow, whistle! rooster, crow in distant streets in rows of affordable homes. 

go, students, toward spectacular. bus, flow in routine's current. students, flow, yourselves, as well.

enter presence of mind, self's time. 

among stop signs and street lights, rumble of trucks' might, everything is just right if the sun would just set in the East tonight.