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May 6, 2015

Old Dixon Ticonderoga


 This is about pencils and wanting to get away from screens and draw shitty cartoons.

Old Dixon Ticonderoga #2








It’s raining out the window
and my eyes are pixelating
Staring at computer screens.
I just want to pick up my
Old Dixon Ticonderoga
and draw shitty pictures of my
            Dreams.
My iPhone is buzzing
To say I’m 10 minutes late,
My eyes are heavy,
and my give-a-damn is waning.
I just want to pick up my
Old Dixon Ticonderoga
and draw shitty pictures of my
            Dreams.
I’ve been up and running
for what seems like 47 hours,
but it’s only been 129 minutes.
Don’t know why I’m counting down,
when there’s no rocket to launch. 
I just want to pick up my
Old Dixon Ticonderoga
and draw shitty pictures of my
            Dreams.
My mind is ruminating
on all the stupid shit I wish
I’d never done
Sometimes I think I’ve
just forgotten what it’s
like to simply have some fun.
Life needs a giant eraser
I’d just wipe some
mis-(or missed)-adventures away,
and start over again
with a relatively clean page.
I just want to pick up my
Old Dixon Ticonderoga
and draw shitty pictures of my
            Dreams.
I’m a terrible artist so
this metaphor is lame,
I don’t care because I’m
drawing superheroes
flying through outer space.
My mind is like 2-year old
scattered all over the place.
I just want to pick up my
Old Dixon Ticonderoga
And draw shitty pictures of my
            Dreams.

May 3, 2015

Dr. Who and the Orthodic Alien Burrito


A Doctor Who Short story Written as my wife's mothers day card.  Picture the 11th doctor (Matt Pond)

Dr. Who and the Orthodic Alien Burrito
On a random Sunday at an unspecified relatively unimportant moment in the history of the Universe, an antique, blue, and extremely British Police Box Apperated (the official Harry Potter word for disappearing from one location and appearing elsewhere as a method of transportation) in front of a decidedly weird and busy pink doughnut shop in what appeared to be a city of some sort.  Despite a slight rain, a large line of people were lined up outside. 

            “OOOO, Shock, awe, well, this isn’t Andy Warhol’s Factory in the 1970s,” said the Doctor quite loudly to no one in particular.  He confidently stepped out of the box in a bowtie and tattered suit.  “Excuse me, Flannel-Beard-Guy and Pierced-Tattooed-High-Wasted-Bike-Short Woman, where and when am I?”
           
            “Portland, Mother’s Day, 2015,” said Beard Guy as the doughnut line continued to snake around the newly present Police Box without stopping or moving at all in response to the new arrival. 

            “No response, no shock, no surprise.  Come on people, random man, British accent, appearing a Pacific Northwest Street,” said the exasperated time-traveler with a hint of disappointment.

            “The Time Based art event is in a few months but that effect was pretty cool,” said Pierced-Tattooed-High-Wasted-Bike-Short Woman.  “you should totally enter it.”

            “Well, um yes, that’s why I’m here.  Art installation on the impact of emergency medical communication with a British accent.  Carry on…or first…”
Fifteen Minutes later, the Doctor was riding down the Portland streets in the rain on a fixed gear bicycle, loudly singing Oasis songs for no apparent reason, eating a doughnut made of bacon and maple syrup. 

            The Doctor road around the town for a while getting soaked by the slow, constant downpour but didn’t appear bothered, “the traffic’s better than London, but the weather’s the same…” he said again to no one in particular. 

 It must’ve been around 5pm when the doctor heard someone yell, “nice bow-tie” from the sidewalk.  It was an overweight man with impressive sideburns pushing a stroller near what could only be a delicious Mexican Restaurant.  Inside was a small and loquacious human around 2- years-old or approximately 2/968ths of the Doctor’s age.  The Doctor thought this was as good of a place to stop as any.  His travel companions were visiting family and there was no Dalek invasion, so a burrito sounded fantastic. 

As the Doctor tried to stop, he realized the bike he had found in a long lost Tardis closet had no functioning breaks, so he frantically waved the sonic screwdriver at the wheel as he slammed the curb toppled over.  “Are you ok” said the side-burned man as he reached down to help the doctor off of the bike. 
“Ok” parroted the small human, followed by, “gah do wahh bah noon p.”

“Right as rain little one, Peri right.  Sir, your daughter here is a very important person.  I believe I just met the greatest novelist of the 21st century and founder of the Human/Alien Art Exchange.  It’ll make more sense in, oh 30 years or so.  Sorry, spoilers, must’ve hit my head.  I speak baby.  Time to have burrito,” rambled the doctor.

As he adjusted his suit and straightend his wet bowtie, the sideburned man, waved down an approaching well-dressed woman.  “Honey,” he said, “this man who just crashed his bike, says our daughter is going to be a novelist and share art with aliens.”
“By the way, what is your name, I’m Bob and this is my wife Morgan, and daughter who’s name your creepily know.”
“Sir, we will call the cops,” said the wife.  In this couple, thought the Doctor, this woman is the one who means business.

“Sorry, I’m the Doctor, a time-traveling alien.  I think I’m here to buy you dinner and give you some advice.  Bob, judging from you Star Wars shoes, this may be your perfect evening.  Shall we.”

“Go ahead Bob,” said Morgan, “might as well see where this leads, besides, Pablo at the bar will take care of him if he tries anything fishy.  Don’t forget your daughter.”

Bob grabbed the toddler who was nearly out of the stroller and pushed through the door behind the Doctor and Morgan who were already at the bar ordering Margaritas and Burritos. 

“Well, you aren’t surprised to be talking to me.  No one in this town seems to care.  So disappointing.  I like making and entrance,” said the doctor while he and Morgan waited for Bob to order.  Peri ran and gave her mother a giant hug.  “Seriously, it’s like this is common place.”

“Doctor, Portland is weird.  There’s a unicycling bagpiper and multiple adult marching bands that can sell out concerts.  I think at this point we all just take things as they come,” explained Morgan.

They all sat down around a table.  Peri slid from her mother and climbed on the Doctor’s lap.  Bob seemed anxious but Morgan seemed not to mind at all.  “Babies like me,” said the Doctor, “but I think this one pooped.”  Bob grabbed the small one from the Doctor and headed towards the bathroom.

“Morgan,” said the Doctor, “you’re the one I’m actually here to see.  In about  20 years from now on a linear timeline , I travel with your daughter.  She asked that I come back here and tell you that you’re amazing and you do an amazing job.  Peri told me to tell you that you taught her how to be strong and sensitive and human and that it might help for you to hear it from a well-dressed stranger.”  As he said this a tear came to Morgan’s eye.  “Also, spoilers, enjoy the Cirque de Solei.”

            “Of course, I’m also here to stop the alien monster living inside your foot from taking over the world…the creature in the orthotic.  Kind of forgot about that fact when I grabbed my doughnut.”

            Morgan’s foot began to twitch.  She fell on her back but her leg was whipping around in the air.  “Bartender, Pablo right, can you get me a Gin and Tequila in a diet coke with a maraschino garnish, quickly please.  Kind of wrestling a possessed leg here.”  The patrons in the restaurant barely looked up.  Their food was good and they didn’t want to disturb this dinner theater that they would blog cynically about later. 

            Pablo brought the doctor the drink as a double tall in a pint glass.  The doctor quickly dumped it on the Morgan’s shoe.  Her leg stopped shaking as her shoe slipped itself of her foot, wiggled its way to the corner and began snoring.  Pablo and the doctor helped Morgan up and sat her down shaking.  “Morgan, I have to take this shoe back to it’s home planet, NIKEA but don’t forget my message, and thanks for dinner.  Peri says happy Mother’s Day, from the future”  The Doctor left just as Bob and Peri came out of the bathroom.  Peri was in new pants. 

            Morgan walked over, picked up Peri and gave her a big hug.  Bob was confused, but that was his normal state of being.  Peri knowingly looked out the window and waved to the raggedy bow-tied man getting in a blue box outside.  The Doctor gave her a wink and mouthed, “call me!” and disappeared.

Apr 25, 2015

Short Poems on Anxiety.

Time to get vaguely confessional.  Throughout life, I've struggled a lot with anxiety and mental health issues.  Recently, I feel I've made some changes that have helped a lot and am feeling pretty damn good.  That said, here are some short poems that are reflections on anxiety.  This is a common topic for me, so I've also put 2 of my favorite songs about anxiety in here too: Jeff Rosenstock's Nausea and Green Days Brainstew. Enjoy and please don't look at these with concern, but as some reflection.


Short Anxiety Poems

I will crush you
Said  the creature in the hole
To the man.
Crush you from the inside.

____
Mid-30s angst poetry
Is complaining about taxes
And traffic
And a lack of sleep.

______
My Ipod is breaking
They don’t make them any more
Can you imagine getting phone call on your
Discman in 1999?
Sometimes I want to rip my phone
Back into it’s components,
When I just want to relax
And listen to songs about
Zoning out and anxiety.


_________
Wine
Is
Great
But
It breaks
Down
My
Well
Designed
Barriers
That
Hold back
The Incredible Hulk
Of anxiety
You wouldn’t  like me
When I’m spiraling.

_________
I can’t sit through
A tv show
Because I get so
Worried about
What the characters
Think about me.

 _____________
I am Petrified 
of a simple phone call
to anyone anywhere.



Thanks and keep rocking!


Apr 24, 2015

Kids (that's not) Music


More rant than poem and very unproofread.  Before reading, note that I own my own bullshit on the topic of kids music and music taste.  This isn't about most kids music or playing it on occasion, it's about awful and insulting kids music that teaches baby talking instead of how to enjoy a song.  This could also be because I'm a bad parent and refuse to let my kid control my stereo!  That's my stereo, hands off the dial!!!

Stream of Conciousness Rant.

Kids (that's not) Music


There is no bigger insult
Than academic music made for kids.
It’s terrible.
No Good, Very Bad
Shit pile bad.
Bleeding ears
Nails on chalk board bad.
Now I’m not talking
About the best of Disney,
Or an old punk rockers decision
To grow up and write songs for 7 year olds.
Not even Sesame Street
Or Woody Guthrie and Pete Seeger.

I’m talking about God Awful
Dumbed down,
Fake Americana
Horse crap.
Baby talking,
Insulting.
Songs designed for kids
By people, I’m convinced have never actually
Enjoyed a song.

Kids music is the Ramones,
The Mighty Mighty Bosstones,
Green Day, REM, Beatles, Iron Maiden …
…Public Enemy, Beastie Boys, Run DMC,
Run the Jewels and B.I.G.
Or any other number of things
You’d like to get hyped about.
Whatever can get you jumping
Up and down,
Singing into a hairbrush
And swiveling your hips
In the comfort of
Your living room at 545 am
Is probably the best songs for you kid.

…but no judgment…
if you get down and jumping,
to a condescending old man
and fake group of kids
singing about barn animals,
then get as stoked as you can,
and own it, and rock it out.
Kids feed on your rocking.
…not my crotchety hipster parent
music opinions.

Apr 17, 2015

Spaceman, Spacewoman and the Hero's Journey

I've had this poem in my head for a while.  The Star Wars the Force Awakens trailer yesterday actually ended up helping me finish it up.  Old grey Han Solo!

Spaceman, Spacewoman and the Hero's Journey


Spaceman, Spacewoman
Speaking in laser sounds
And mouthed explosions
In my bed
Looking out my window
Dreaming of
Jedi and saving the day.

There’s not a day
since my youth
when I haven’t imagined
Being the star
of a hero’s journey,
from overweight,
unmotivated
anti-social nerd
To intergalactic space knight
in the span of a montage
and unlikely coincidence.

Spaceman, Spacewoman
Speaking in laser sounds
And mouthed explosions
In my bed
Looking out my window
Dreaming of
Jedi and saving the day.

And I know
As I age,
The number of chances
to be whisked away
get fewer and fewer.
I’m a dad
and a husband,
The hero’s journey now
amounts to neglect of
people who love me. 
I can’t be
the bored kid,
who finds out that
he is the chosen one.

Spaceman, Spacewoman
Speaking in laser sounds
And mouthed explosions
In my bed
Looking out my window
Dreaming of
Jedi and saving the day.

But I know,
My journey’s changing.
instead of flying away
to do battle
in a galaxy far way,
I’ll defend my home.
and raise my daughter
to look up the stars and
Out across the horizon
Because the time will come
when she has the chance
to become
a force to be respected
and strike a blow
against
the empire

Spaceman, Spacewoman
Speaking in laser sounds
And mouthed explosions
In my bed
Looking out my window
Dreaming of
Jedi and saving the day.

There’s not a day,
in my thirties,
when I don’t imagine
Being the star
of the hero’s journey,
even if I play the old man,
Who gives the hero
the courage to carry on.
I am old Han Solo
telling stories
at bedtime
Before saving
the day.

Spaceman, Spacewoman
Speaking in laser sounds
And mouthed explosions
In my bed
Looking out my window
Dreaming of
Jedi and saving the day.

Apr 8, 2015

Sugar Sugar Sugar Sugar


I am treating the next few months like a new day. I have to change some of my own bad habits.  One of which is eating way too much sugar as candy.  Food Addiction is a real thing.

Sugar Sugar Sugar Sugar
Getting a migraine
Getting a twitch,
I feel myself quickly needing a fix.
A bag of gummi bears
A can of Dr. Pepper,
Quickly followed by another
And the flow of relief
When I eat a hand full
Of sweet
Sugar Sugar Sugar Sugar
I can’t walk by
A 7/11
Without say thank heavens
For something artificially colored.
I fill up the second drawer
Of my night stand with more
So I can get cavities
And diabetes in the middle of the night.
Sugar Sugar Sugar Sugar
…yes I see the hypocrisy.
I give nutrition advice
While I can’t get control
Of my own life,
Leading by bad example.
The cravings come from childhood
And deep set memories
Weak willpower
And low self esteem
But today is a new day
With new aches and pains
And I just have to sweat it out
And cut it out
Sugar Sugar Sugar Sugar
Can no longer be all that I am about.

Apr 6, 2015

Suburbs, bacon, Kosher wine, and my daughter.


Here's some Haiku thoughts I had visiting friends in Baltimore for the last week and some inspired by Peri.  

Suburban Sprawl
1950s happy homes
Didn’t seem so bad.

Eat Eggs and Bacon
Every Morning to live
The only true life

Kosher wine , Kosher Candy,
But only one brand of gluten free brownies
Honey, we’re not in Portland.

There is nothing like
Seeing my daughter try to walk through
A heavy wind on the pier.

After months of eating
Just bread and cheese and crackers
She devoured fresh clams

Easter Sunday is
A bogus excuse to enjoy friends
And eat good food.

Channel the excitement
Of a 2-year-old watching
A plane take off at sunset.