Wednesday, June 22, 2011

I have a fun new toy called an iPad. Thank you my www friend! This weekend I discovered a fishing game app. I don’t know why, but I love fishing games. One of my favorite nickel slots in Vegas is a fishing themed game. When I was little I loved going fishing. I probably would love fishing if I went fishing now. Especially, if it involved beer and a book.  Man, why don’t I ever go fishing?!?! Doesn't that sound like heaven?  I think I will put that on my summer to do list.

Anyway, I played the eff out of this fishing game all weekend and ever since. And, to be honest, it’s not even that good of a game. But there is a certain challenge to it that hits my sweet spot.

It’s really dumb how much I like this fishing game.

Also, have you noticed that in movies or shows that are centered around “apocalyptic” themes, like end of world, machines have taken over, alien invasion, zombie invasion, nuclear wastelanded type of things that nobody is wearing bright clothes? Everyone is wearing grays, blacks, browns, tans, dark greens, dark blues, maroons, etc. The brightest the clothing gets is maybe a plum. I understand that in these movie scenarios maybe washing machine access are at an all time low, but still, you think you’d see someone with a yellow t-shirt that is dinged down with dirt and grime to a muddy mustard, right? Do all orange, red and white and turquoise clothing burn up when humanity goes under? What is the story with this?

All I know is that if I ever survive the Zombie-pocolypse, I am going to wear rainbow overalls every day. I don’t even care if that makes me an easy target. I will have an automatic crossbow, a sawed off shotgun and a hand held flame thrower so being easily seen by zombies won’t even be a factor. Plus, I will have all of those overall pockets to fill with like, extra clips and arrows and whatnot.  Rainbow overalls: bringing smiles to Zombie-pocolypse survivors everywhere.

Monday, June 20, 2011

Every day I brush my teeth and every day I spit red. Something is wrong. It’s bright red. Like I am brushing fluid blood from my teeth instead of plaque, washing them from red to white. No pain, just crimson. I spit blood. In the white bowl of the sink it looks like sickness. Like something closer to death than I hope I am. I wait for a clink of a tooth, like I am falling apart mouth first. I imagine pinching a cuspid and snapping it loose, like a dry cob of corn from a crisped stalk. I shudder to think about that really happening but torture myself with it anyway.

Teeth just falling out of my jaw makes me want to turn and run.

My tongue has just found a place in between my tooth and gum that feels full of something. A hard sliver of food that wedged. I have picked at it so vigorously with my longest fingernail and sliced it with a free string, in lieu of floss I don’t have, that it has become swollen. I am not good at self-surgery. Blood is literally leaking into my mouth from this wound I have created and I am tasting it and it is extra warm and sweet and I sort of like it.

I bet there is nothing there.

Sometimes we pick at wounds that don’t exist. Maybe it makes us feel like we are doing something to fix something that's wrong with us.

Monday, June 13, 2011

I did lots of laundry yesterday. So much laundry it felt like Hoarders. 

Around the house, a gas motor hum that built up fell down built up fell down, making it a Sunday.  Green white noise.  I walked through a sunbeam of cut grass smell.  It felt like my face in a handful of blades; cold and damp.  Nothing can bottle that up.  It is just a mind picture that happens when summer brings it back around making you feel six again, a hose in your hand, topless in your 1970's backyard.

Later on, a little voice ventriloquisted at me and I laughed so so hard.  Then I stopped laughing. then I started again.  My breath coming back to me inside the sheets thinking, "I am so happy with him, right now"  and then, "I am so lucky."

Wednesday, June 8, 2011

This Happens For 100 Years

The love puppy goes, bark! bark! The love puppy belongs to me. The love puppy bites my fingers and ankles. Little teeth marks. Little puppy breaths. The love puppy licks me licks me licks me. I love the love puppy and the love puppy loves me. The love puppy in my bicycle basket. The love puppy in my car. The love puppy on summer vacations and the love puppy at night breathing heavy. I get mad at the love puppy, the love puppy gets mad at me. 5,000 feedings for the love puppy, 5,000 baths. The love puppy grows into his paws. I walk the love puppy 13,000 miles. When I run away, he chases me. When he runs away I put up flyers. The flyers are written in Mandarin, Spanish, Tagalog and French. The flyers say, REWARD! A MILLION DOLLHAIRS FOR THE LOVE PUPPY’S SAFE RETURN! PLEASE! PLEASE! HELP SAVE ME! and a phone number. The bed has only one warm spot for many days, many nights. My routine is broken. I hobble around on one leg turning in circles. I sit in the darkness smelling his smells until he returns, says sorry, nestles close until our warmth clings together like before. The love puppy sits on the doorstep, always on the doorstep, and I always am coming home.

Tuesday, June 7, 2011