O Muse!
Sing your siren back into my life
I am full from my empty plate
And no amount of vice can cull this hunger
This sagging belt hanging from my midline
Engorged, ensconced
With nothing to feed on but sight
And words
and maybes
On this First Quarter night
May all change
And begin anew
May your waxing face paint out the comings-to-be
Vibrant and murky
Chiaroscuro
Til gibbously bulging out, cresting and mounding
Bounding, devouring
Then bright and sharp and Full.
My head is thought out
My body is your tool
Mon coeur est presque vu
...what better time than now?
Om Namaha Shivaya
29 March 2008
27 March 2008
End of the Month
I've confined myself to afterhour quarters this week.
Cops need to meet their quota.
It is Spring Break.
I just got Hermann street legal. Can't afford another stupid ticket.
Next week's gonna bust wide open.
Cops need to meet their quota.
It is Spring Break.
I just got Hermann street legal. Can't afford another stupid ticket.
Next week's gonna bust wide open.
26 March 2008
Spring Break
First thing I noticed was that my alarm clock was an hour late. My phone vibrated me awake and the sight of the time between the two was discombobulating. They're synced to go off 10 minutes apart, but now the numbers were all wrong. It took me a bit. NPR and Radio Canada brought me back to realtime. So tough to stay awake. I'm driving to work and my usual route is blocked by a stalled freight train. And I can see the sparkle of police lights between the boxcars. My schedule's stressed to the second, I can't stand for this. So I reroute and end up 2 minutes early. Tank and I are setting up, and both of us can swear we hear the safe beeping. My key hadn't been near it yet. We're one crate short in our sandwich supply.
The mouse in the store got caught. Dear God, I had to move it. EEughhhawaaaggughha! Never gotten used to that feeling. Store's open and no one's coming in. Not even regulars. It's really odd.
The biggest issue this morning is the boy, the scourge. This whole situation is out of control. Nobody can agree on anything and nobody's getting penalized. He was late last week when I was out of town. An hour and a half. He's been written up about this before. And he left us hanging yesterday. Don't want this. Not today. He strolls in at 7:30. I'm in back putting away boxes. "Could you authorize my time for me?" Does he have the book I lent him? "No, I'll get it later." Go home. He laughs. Go home. "What do you mean?" You're not working today. "Yes I am. I'm on the schedule." Schedule says 7:00. He looks; "They told me 7:30." You're half an hour late. "But I called, they told me 7:30." You were late last week. "I called in about yesterday." Yesterday is moot; Go home.
I feel my parasympathetic nervous system flare up. The wave pulsates from the centre and tingles out. Want to get away fast. He's a big guy. Former wrestler. Personal trainer. Not sure how impulsive he could be. Can't let him see me shudder. Stare.
"I called in about yesterday." We don't need you today. Nothing from him. I hold open the door out. He begs to stay. "You're going home." He quietly leaves the backroom.
And I await judgment.
I hate doing that.
There's no need for this today.
Back on the floor I cancel the authorization. Tank knows something's wrong. I give her some details. She says it had to be done. Then I see the boy leave the bathrooms and exit the store. I just made us shorthanded. Gravity sinks in and I shift like a golem for a while. The crowd influx is thin but a late burst floods in. Three of us on the floor: Tank, Me, and Newbie. Newbie's on bar. He's exceptionally good, but a morning rush is hell for anyone two weeks in. And then he has to deal with me helping him out. We respectfully avoid crowding each other. It's clumsy, but we get 'em all. My guilt-fueled overadulation of his fortitude probably embarassed the crap out of him.
I meet my first new Deaf customer since I moved to this store, a man named Mike. Nice, genial. Hope he comes back. A woman walks up to the counter. She picks up the book we're selling. "Y'know, I just read that book's near the top of the New York Times' Nonfiction Best Sellers List."
"Oh. Then he beat me to it."
I take it in but parry it aside, start talking about A Million Little Pieces. She mentions her son's an addict. I motion her aside by the bar; Recovering? Seven months. Congrats. I maintain low information transfer and quiet tone: She wants to talk but who wants to listen? I do let slip that I used to work in mental health and have seen people detoxing.
"You wouldn't believe how widespread it is. Here, too."
She buys a copy of the book. I give her two recovery coupons, one for her son. At that point it felt like the very least I could do.
Breaks and lunches are murder. I'm out on the floor alone for a little. Haven't even touched the cashwork. Eliza comes in an hour early, black skirt staring at the MP3 track listing. Bubbly, she cannot wait to show me her new T-shirt. She takes off her button-down workshirt and POOF!, a picture of a running refrigerator. She's tickled to bits. Returns the poetry book I lent her. What's her favorite? She takes it back and starts hunting. I mention mine: In a Gas Station Outside Providence by Mike Doughty. She replaces her workshirt, buttoning just the middle one, and sits down paging furiously. She flashes back two pictures of female poets she liked, along with one piece, "mantra". Very cute. Her first two hours are off-floor, reading manuals for Supervisor training. So we do that. I set her up on-line and run out to handle customers. She offers to help, but I veto it. Tank's gone for the day, Newbie's at lunch, bring it on. Deal with money later. Newbie returns and I leave the floor to him, tell him I'll jump out when he's sinking. Eliza scoots over. We share the desk, her studying and me calculating. Questions, questions, bouncy, bubbly. I leave twice to save Newbie. She's brilliant and articulate, quizzing me on specifics. I tell her to avert her eyes when I make mistakes. She takes her break 10 minutes early to hit the floor sooner. With her on I can hit the bank early, which is unusually flooded and understaffed. Miss Ann, the crackerjack teller, and I catch up briefly, breathlessly, and I'm out the door lickety-split. On the way back I catch Anastasia in the parking lot, reading. I catch her up on the long and short of the day. She invites me to hang out, chill after close. We agree on a text later. Inside, wrapping up the day, I say my goodbyes and Newbie, eyes closed, brow furrowed, says it was a good day. Newbie rocks.
At home I am spent. The phone vibrates me awake again, a call from Ma. It's about 6:00, so I figure it's an invite to dinner. I stir, head downstairs to reheat some food. After I scarf, I call. Ma wants to talk about the other big issue, He and She. She's doped up in treatment with some inconceivable back pain. He waits hand and foot. She's pulled this stuff before. Mom doesn't want He to follow She down the abyss. We hear each other out. I'm very opinionated on this. I don't trust She. My brain says, "Let her rot." He will stand to make the biggest decision so far in his life: Us or She. And he must make it alone. We spend time rehashing old details, but we hear each other out. Another time, then.
And then it hits me. I text Anastasia: "Another time."
It would be best if I stayed home tonight.
The mouse in the store got caught. Dear God, I had to move it. EEughhhawaaaggughha! Never gotten used to that feeling. Store's open and no one's coming in. Not even regulars. It's really odd.
The biggest issue this morning is the boy, the scourge. This whole situation is out of control. Nobody can agree on anything and nobody's getting penalized. He was late last week when I was out of town. An hour and a half. He's been written up about this before. And he left us hanging yesterday. Don't want this. Not today. He strolls in at 7:30. I'm in back putting away boxes. "Could you authorize my time for me?" Does he have the book I lent him? "No, I'll get it later." Go home. He laughs. Go home. "What do you mean?" You're not working today. "Yes I am. I'm on the schedule." Schedule says 7:00. He looks; "They told me 7:30." You're half an hour late. "But I called, they told me 7:30." You were late last week. "I called in about yesterday." Yesterday is moot; Go home.
I feel my parasympathetic nervous system flare up. The wave pulsates from the centre and tingles out. Want to get away fast. He's a big guy. Former wrestler. Personal trainer. Not sure how impulsive he could be. Can't let him see me shudder. Stare.
"I called in about yesterday." We don't need you today. Nothing from him. I hold open the door out. He begs to stay. "You're going home." He quietly leaves the backroom.
And I await judgment.
I hate doing that.
There's no need for this today.
Back on the floor I cancel the authorization. Tank knows something's wrong. I give her some details. She says it had to be done. Then I see the boy leave the bathrooms and exit the store. I just made us shorthanded. Gravity sinks in and I shift like a golem for a while. The crowd influx is thin but a late burst floods in. Three of us on the floor: Tank, Me, and Newbie. Newbie's on bar. He's exceptionally good, but a morning rush is hell for anyone two weeks in. And then he has to deal with me helping him out. We respectfully avoid crowding each other. It's clumsy, but we get 'em all. My guilt-fueled overadulation of his fortitude probably embarassed the crap out of him.
I meet my first new Deaf customer since I moved to this store, a man named Mike. Nice, genial. Hope he comes back. A woman walks up to the counter. She picks up the book we're selling. "Y'know, I just read that book's near the top of the New York Times' Nonfiction Best Sellers List."
"Oh. Then he beat me to it."
I take it in but parry it aside, start talking about A Million Little Pieces. She mentions her son's an addict. I motion her aside by the bar; Recovering? Seven months. Congrats. I maintain low information transfer and quiet tone: She wants to talk but who wants to listen? I do let slip that I used to work in mental health and have seen people detoxing.
"You wouldn't believe how widespread it is. Here, too."
She buys a copy of the book. I give her two recovery coupons, one for her son. At that point it felt like the very least I could do.
Breaks and lunches are murder. I'm out on the floor alone for a little. Haven't even touched the cashwork. Eliza comes in an hour early, black skirt staring at the MP3 track listing. Bubbly, she cannot wait to show me her new T-shirt. She takes off her button-down workshirt and POOF!, a picture of a running refrigerator. She's tickled to bits. Returns the poetry book I lent her. What's her favorite? She takes it back and starts hunting. I mention mine: In a Gas Station Outside Providence by Mike Doughty. She replaces her workshirt, buttoning just the middle one, and sits down paging furiously. She flashes back two pictures of female poets she liked, along with one piece, "mantra". Very cute. Her first two hours are off-floor, reading manuals for Supervisor training. So we do that. I set her up on-line and run out to handle customers. She offers to help, but I veto it. Tank's gone for the day, Newbie's at lunch, bring it on. Deal with money later. Newbie returns and I leave the floor to him, tell him I'll jump out when he's sinking. Eliza scoots over. We share the desk, her studying and me calculating. Questions, questions, bouncy, bubbly. I leave twice to save Newbie. She's brilliant and articulate, quizzing me on specifics. I tell her to avert her eyes when I make mistakes. She takes her break 10 minutes early to hit the floor sooner. With her on I can hit the bank early, which is unusually flooded and understaffed. Miss Ann, the crackerjack teller, and I catch up briefly, breathlessly, and I'm out the door lickety-split. On the way back I catch Anastasia in the parking lot, reading. I catch her up on the long and short of the day. She invites me to hang out, chill after close. We agree on a text later. Inside, wrapping up the day, I say my goodbyes and Newbie, eyes closed, brow furrowed, says it was a good day. Newbie rocks.
At home I am spent. The phone vibrates me awake again, a call from Ma. It's about 6:00, so I figure it's an invite to dinner. I stir, head downstairs to reheat some food. After I scarf, I call. Ma wants to talk about the other big issue, He and She. She's doped up in treatment with some inconceivable back pain. He waits hand and foot. She's pulled this stuff before. Mom doesn't want He to follow She down the abyss. We hear each other out. I'm very opinionated on this. I don't trust She. My brain says, "Let her rot." He will stand to make the biggest decision so far in his life: Us or She. And he must make it alone. We spend time rehashing old details, but we hear each other out. Another time, then.
And then it hits me. I text Anastasia: "Another time."
It would be best if I stayed home tonight.
12 March 2008
Does This Site Look Gay?
I mean, seriously.
You got your pink curtains on each side here, a love sonnet plastered on the front page, some creepy, cheesy folk lyric underneath the title and, to top it all off, a shirtless, hairy man lookin' all fierce staring out at you.
Dude's even talking about bein' in The Full Monty.
If I didn't know the guy...
Gay.
I'd love to take a poll.
But people rarely leave comments.
If you don't leave comments, does that make you anti-gay?
Shame on you.
You got your pink curtains on each side here, a love sonnet plastered on the front page, some creepy, cheesy folk lyric underneath the title and, to top it all off, a shirtless, hairy man lookin' all fierce staring out at you.
Dude's even talking about bein' in The Full Monty.
If I didn't know the guy...
Gay.
I'd love to take a poll.
But people rarely leave comments.
If you don't leave comments, does that make you anti-gay?
Shame on you.
08 March 2008
Sonnet
So many things hath cross'd my mind since we
Pass'd by each other like two stars in space
The summer sun hung brightly o'er the sea;
Such beauty pales whene'er I see your face
Forbidden love is all our future holds
Like owning mirrors solely meant to break
Our life's rich tale lost within the folds
My heart has no more corners left to ache
Our fam'lies cannot understand the truth
'Tis this; that you and I were meant to be
Your claim to Montague's clan I seek proof
Alas, forever Capulet, 'tis me
Yet in thine eyes I see the spark so true
Empires rise and die before we do.
(Inspired by Romeo & Juliet and a Texas homework assignment)
Pass'd by each other like two stars in space
The summer sun hung brightly o'er the sea;
Such beauty pales whene'er I see your face
Forbidden love is all our future holds
Like owning mirrors solely meant to break
Our life's rich tale lost within the folds
My heart has no more corners left to ache
Our fam'lies cannot understand the truth
'Tis this; that you and I were meant to be
Your claim to Montague's clan I seek proof
Alas, forever Capulet, 'tis me
Yet in thine eyes I see the spark so true
Empires rise and die before we do.
(Inspired by Romeo & Juliet and a Texas homework assignment)
02 March 2008
What I Want
I want to make a living, build a foundation, not simply earn money.
I want the next time you hear about me to be from someone else.
I want my own Wikipedia page.
I want to sell my ideas and fund my empire from there.
I want to be "Trey Parker" ginormous without losing my "Thich Nhat Hanh" intimacy.
I want a profession, a calling in life that I can talk about with pride every where every time.
I want you to like me, 'cause I like you.
I want the next time you hear about me to be from someone else.
I want my own Wikipedia page.
I want to sell my ideas and fund my empire from there.
I want to be "Trey Parker" ginormous without losing my "Thich Nhat Hanh" intimacy.
I want a profession, a calling in life that I can talk about with pride every where every time.
I want you to like me, 'cause I like you.
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