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I wish I could read all the books that interest me in the span of a month. But, then I would probably be mad because then I would have nothing to read. I want to read more fine literature, biographies, poetry, plays, and other essays and memoirs. It takes time to read all the books you've ever wanted to read. I believe, I will never run out of books to read in my lifetime. This actually excites me. Get a life? What do you mean? This is my life.
Sign at the Bottom to Grow Old
When you're two or three years old,
don't paint your nails on the traintracks.
No more bed bugs in the blender after Midnight.
Please don't play Britney Spears, at all.
And in grade school your lunch money,
should be used to pay off your teachers.
A's don't make pancakes for breakfast.
And come on, I told you already, my name
is the same color as the bottom of your shoe.
Don't forget to pump gas when you're old enough
to drive, and look like you just ate mushroom ice cream. Once you are legal run up to the clerk and scream, "My falafels are hairy! My falafels are hairy!" Another reminder to not fret over large elephant droppings because everyone around twenty-five, will have a dog to lick them up and clear a path. By the time you're halfway to sixty, you should stop milking doorknobs. As you become withered and wrinkled, don't blame the doctor for cutting out your dirt diet.
Ghazal Me Matey
Crazy Horse drinks down by the dock
Rippling laughter sinks down by the dock
A mind full of stars shows ignorance bliss
My enemy's face blinks down by the dock
A boat made of bananas to harbor my thoughts
The fisherman thinks down by the dock
Seagulls scream for extra attention
Heating the air stinks down by the dock
Palm trees, sand, and the middleman
Brings life to the rings down by the dock
Pirate messengers steal my imagination
No original dreams down by the dock
Possibly intoxicated mapping our route
Stumbling wooden planks down by the dock
Can we take this toll our body screams?
Relax this thought creeks down by the dock
Captain Cook explores this clammy earth
A large watering hole links down by the dock
A short story to keep you company... |
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LUCKY UNDERWEAR
"So, what are you going to wear tonight?" Jessica asks Candy while sifting through her top chest of drawers. She picks through an assortment of multi-colored g-strings. A red pair goes flying behind her. A lime green pair with little yellow and white daisies drops to the floor, and she sifts to the side a half open box of sleeping pills and a handful of used double "AA" batteries.
"I don't know. What are you looking for?"
"Shit, I can't find my lucky underwear."
Candy sits on the floor in front of the closet door which doubles as a mirror. She applies Tiki Punch Pink to her nails as if she were painting a detailed picture, and now all that's necessary are a few finishing touches.
"There, now I need to let them dry and hopefully I won't fuck them up like I usually do." Candy holds out one hand and inspects her final product. "Perfect."
"I know! Maybe, they're in the wash." Jessica goes out of the room in a rush and bumps Candy in the back. Candy puts her hand down on the light blue carpet, so she doesn't fall over on her face.
"Hey! Watch it, I just finished painting my nails." Candy looks at her hand for any sign of carpet pubes and smudge marks. The sound of echoing metal from the laundry room denotes inpatients from Jessica.
"Ahhh! I can't find them."
"Oh! Those gross red slut panties with the shiny silver sequence?"
"Yeah!" She runs back into the room as if Candy has solved all her worries.
"Well, I haven't seen them."
Jessica opens up the wicker hamper next to her bed and goes through its contents.
"Maybe, they're dirty."
"I'll say."
"Shut up! I need those underwear. I wear them to all of Travis's shows."
"Doesn't he wonder if you have any other underwear besides those?"
"What?"
"Well, if you always wear those underwear, and you guys end up going home together, then doesn't he always see the same ones?"
"Yeah, but that's why I wear them because they give me good luck."
"Find a new pair and maybe you'll get lucky anyways. If you don't, then you'll know it really is the panties and not just the tight jeans you always wear. Not to mention those tank tops that show your nipples. Why don't you ever wear a bra"
"I don't have a lucky one, I guess." The two girls start laughing and Candy resumes to looking at the latest issue of Glamour magazine. Lying next to her are similar magazines: Cosmopolitan, Mademoiselle, and two old issues of Seventeen.
"Where are the guys playing tonight?"
"At the Vaseline."
"Oh yeah, I forgot. I thought we were going to the lounge tonight."
"No, but I am excited because they can usually get us into the Vaseline. Travis will just have to say we're with the band."
"Do we need to help unload equipment, again?"
"Maybe."
"Are we going to go with them in the van?"
"I don't know. I'll call and see what's up. Where's my phone?"
"I don't know." Candy looks around the circumference of her seat on the floor. She picks up the magazines and looks under them. "Press the little button thingy that makes it ring."
"Oh yeah." Jessica walks over to her nightstand where a see through teal green receiver sits under a lamp. She presses a button that has, in small black letters, the word PAGE on it. Jessica's cordless phone makes a muffled sound from inside her bed, and she jumps belly first on the queen sized down comforter. Under one of her feather pillows, she pulls out the phone and presses one then the pound sign. A number automatically dials and rings to Travis's apartment.
"Hello?"
"Is Travis there?"
"Uh, hold on."
A loud crackling sound comes from the other side and Jessica has to move the phone from her ear. She brings it back and listens with an angry wrinkled forehead.
"I hear some dumb bitches over there. I wonder who it is."
"What are they saying?"
"I don't know. I just hear giggling and loud music."
Another voice from the other line comes near the phone and Jessica sits up quickly at the edge of her bed.
"Who's on the phone? Uh, hello?"
"Is Travis there?"
"Who's this?"
"Jessica," she says while rolling her eyes and taking a deep breath. Candy sits next to Jessica and stares at her with curiosity. She whispers, "Who is that?"
Jessica brings the phone down, covers the mouthpiece, and tries to elbow Candy away from her. "I don't know. Go away. I don't recognize this guy's voice."
"He's down at the liquor store getting some beer. Can I have him call you back?"
"Sure, who is this?"
"This is Mark."
"Hey Mark. How are you?"
"Fine."
"Are you going to the show tonight?"
"Of course I am. Gotta support my boys."
An uncomfortable silence creeps up and Mark is about to say something when Jessica interrupts, "Who's all over there?"
"A bunch of people. You know, the pre-show party."
"Oh, sounds like fun."
"Why don't you come over? Who are you with?"
"It's just me and Candy."
"Where're all your other friends?"
"Oh, I don't know. I haven't called them. Heather is probably at home and I haven't talked to Dana in a long time."
"Bring some of your friends over."
"Okay, I don't know if they'll come, but I'll call them."
"Alright, if I see Travis, I'll have him call you."
"Thanks Mark, I'll see you later."
"Later."
"What did Mark say?"
"He told us to come over. They're having a pre-show party. He wants us to bring some other girls with us, too."
"Like who?"
"I dunno, I don't wanna deal with anyone else, but us."
"I know what you mean, but call Heather and see if she wants to come, cuz the more girls we round up, the more welcome we are."
"You do have a point."
"I know."
"Lets get ready quick, so we drink some beers. We can't drink once we're in the club. Fuck! I hate not being twenty-one."
"I only have one year and two months to go. How much longer for you?"
"About a year and a half."
"Ha, ha! I'll be twenty-one before you will."
"So what,I know when your birthday is you dumb bitch."
"Hey, be nice."
"Well, don't rub it in my face then."
"Sorry, give me the phone and I'll call the girls."
"Here."
Jessica goes back to her chest of drawers and looks in each one from top to bottom. Then she goes to the top drawer and finds a different pair. She mumbles to herself, "Panties, please give me good luck tonight and I will dub thee, my new lucky underwear." She looks over at Candy, but she is talking on the phone and sitting on the floor in front of the closet mirror again.
"Hey! Heather. What's up girl?"
"Who's this?"
"Candy."
"Hey, what are you doing tonight?"
"Well, I want to see if you want to go to the Vaseline with me and Jessica?"
"Sure, I was going to go somewhere with my brother, but he left without me and now I'm just sitting here watching Blind Date."
"Perfect. You're coming with us. We'll pick you up in about twenty minutes, K?"
"Sure, I'll be here."
"K, be ready."
"K"
"Bye."
Candy starts plucking her left eyebrow and a tear wells up in her eye.
"Ooowwweee!" She clicks the phone and puts it down and wipes her eye with a tissue.
"Move I need to get into my closet."
"Hey, I see you found a new pair of undies."
"Yep, if these work, they'll be my new lucky pair, but I don't think anything can replace my old ones. If you know what I mean."
"No, but whatever floats your boat."
"What should I wear?"
"I kinda like what you've got on."
"What just this tank top and g-string? Okay I'm ready. Lets go!"
The girls laugh and hi-five each other. "Yeah, baby!"
Jessica finds a pair of tight jeans and struggles to put them on. She lies on her back on the bed and pulls up her zipper. She holds in her breath and secures the top button. She lets out her breath and gasps while her tummy bloats over the top of her jeans as she sits up slouching at the end of her bed.
"This is so depressing. I need to loose ten pounds."
"I know, me too."
"Well, hurry up Candy. Are you almost ready? I need some beer."
"I'm almost ready. I just need to put on my shoes and we can go."
"Where are they? I'll get 'em for you."
"They're out in my car behind the seat. We can leave faster if you go out and get 'em for me." Candy smiles up at Jessica and bats her eyes.
"Fine, give me your keys."
"They're in my purse in the small pocket."
"Alright, I'm gonna get your shoes then we're gonna go."
"K, Heather is coming too. We have to pick her up on the way."
"Fine, I just want to get going before they leave without us."
Jessica puts on her brown leather boots, runs out the door, and Candy finds some Giorgio Armani perfume to dab on her wrists. She smells under her armpits and scrunches her nose as if she just smelled a carton of rotten milk. She grabs some deodorant from on top of Jessica's chest of drawers. Candy sets the deodorant back on top and barely misses. The deodorant falls behind the drawers and Candy reaches behind to retrieve the lost item. She discovers a red balled up pair of underwear. "Eww, gross, here they are."
She hears Jessica come back into the house and immediately sits on her bed as if she had been waiting there the whole time.
"Here put your shoes on and let's go."
"K."
"Should I call Travis back to see if they're still there?"
"No, lets go pick up Heather and if they aren't there we'll go to the studio, or something like that. Or, we'll just go straight to the club and meet them in the parking lot like we usually do."
"K, hurry."
Candy buckles her high heel baby doll shoes and stands up. She looks in the mirror one last time. She picks at a dry piece of skin on her forehead.
"K, I'm ready."
"Alright, lets go. I'm right behind you."
Candy walks out the door and Jessica looks in the mirror for one last glance to check her flaws. She stands to the side and tucks in her tummy. She frowns a bit as she lets out a deep breath. She grabs a love handle then turns to face the mirror head on. Jessica checks to see if her fly is up and pats below the top button. She smiles and winks to herself in the mirror. "Okay, new lucky panties. Let's do our thing." She laughs and walks out the room closing the door behind her.
Belated Punk Rock
Laundry money
Bust line
Razor burn
White boxers
Wounded puss-puss
Futon family
New houseplant
Dead cat
Old Truck
Live show
1st Street
Bass line
Face burn
No money
Twelve'o Eight
Deftones
Rancid
Vandals
"I love you-
I fuckin'
Love you!"
Appreciating Stand Up Poetry
I was somewhat excited to read Stand Up Poetry: The Anthology, edited by Charles H. Webb. Then, the essay by Webb introducing this style of poetry immediately caught my attention. This kind of poetry he describes as dwelling in the realm of these phrases, "Stand up for your rights," "Stand up for what you believe in," or "He's a stand up guy." Stand Up comedians are poets without the literary art. This poetry can be humorous, sexy, use natural conversation in an absurd new world.
Webb says, "The first Stand Up anthology focused mainly on poets from LA. In years since, Stand Up seeds have sprouted everywhere." It doesn't usually come from pretty fields below a mountainside of green luscious grass or dainty cottages in a town with two hundred thirteen inhabitants. Stand Up poetry can be influenced by this kind of Romantic poetry, but in more of a cynical voice, humorous, and blatant mocking. It uses sex and city life with its stoplights and interesting linoleum. I like that it is clear and you don't have to be a literary genius to decode any underlying meaning.
Stand Up poetry makes us want to read more and turn the pages. It makes us want to be happy to study poetry or go to a reading and not be bored pretending to be interested. Stand Up poetry is well enjoyed when watched from an audience's point of view as well as reading silently to one's self. We can imagine Bukowski burning his balls in the shower on Wednesday or Billy Collins trying his hardest not to keep a gun in the house for special occasion when his neighbors go out of town and leave their dog to bark as if he were an important part of Beethoven's orchestra. These same poets among others don't always use what Stand Up poetry is known for: Humor, bizarre alternative worlds, "Pop" culture, and natural narrative language. At the same time, all of these conventions do not necessarily need to be a part of each Stand Up poem.
Some poems have a free verse, spontaneous feel to them, but without disregarding them as, easy to jot down, they also need to have as much literary art as any other piece of formal poetry. Some poems are written in prose paragraphs like, Amy Gerster's, "Dear Boy George," or as a narrative monologue talking to the audience like, Jack Grape's, "Listen." I like the unusual imaginative subjects in these poems like when Galway Kinnell eats oatmeal with John Keats.
Soon my generation will soon play with David Kirby, who uses Chekhov, and Fred Moramarco, who mocks William Burroughs quote, "...poets are simply lazy prose writers. They just write a few little sentences and call it a poem instead of writing a novel or short story." In Moramarco's poem, "Novel," he is the main character and describes events that happen, "In the fourth line he grows up in Brooklyn where he hangs out with 'the guys' and plays stickball. In the fifth line he nearly discovers sex but doesn't, because that doesn't happen until late adolescence..." and so on. Writing about writing, being a little cynical and absurd, using television, commercial products, and watching real life happening in the moment, can all be parts of Stand Up poetry.
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