Monthly Archives: June 2012


I think I’d make a good life coach or counselor. I’m really good at convincing people that they have what it takes, that they can do it, and that they can succeed, and then giving them reasons why. I’m especially good at doing this to myself, but somehow when I tell myself I can succeed and rise up to overcome the most unfavorable odds it comes off as self-delusion, a dream only kept alive by words and not by reaching out and pulling that dream into reality. In other words; something you can only see in the mirror. This is only true because I have to keep encouraging myself because I haven’t risen up to anything yet.

How fast are you supposed to run when you hear footsteps? I suppose that’s what makes us different–everyone’s got a different speed.                   Why are you supposed to run?


“Your dreams will come true if you never wake up.”



That moment when someone you know is having “a moment,” but it’s not really there moment to have a moment, however it takes you right out of the moment even though everyone was kind of having their own moment anyways.


Cut-rate, cut-throat, upcut scapegoat.

Bright, stark, bite marks, arc-bent right starts.

Tripple inlets, rippling triplets.

Hunkered trucking; tuckered bunkers.


I’m not nice for no reason.

So what’s you reason?

That’s not how it works.


If I have no reason to be nice, then I won’t be.


Day Dream

Donald endured the walk of shame silently back to his cubical, gripping his temper at 10 and 2, remembering the basics – Right. Left. Right. Left. – trying not to steer off course. His eyes traversed the manufactured grain of the cheap blue checkered carpet, passed the coffee stain that looked like a middle finger, passed the nicotine gum trampled into the carpet fibers by an assortment of feet, and passed the familiar cluster of the loudest granola crumbs west of the Mississippi.

His shoulders hunched over his inadequate cardboard box. How could they expect him to just file away the last five years of his life and carry it somewhere else? On second thought, glancing at his collection of Hershey kiss wrappers and assorted empty picture frames reading insert loved ones here, he couldn’t fill the box if he tried; so he didn’t.

Donald ogled beyond his cubicle at the sunny shores of theMediterranean, until the proud owner of the granola crumbs interrupted his view of that taunting poster across the hall. He amused the idea that the corner office was to blame; a wolf in sheep’s clothing that enabled his day-dreaming habits, possibly the key to his demise. He wished for that poster, the walk of shame, everything, to only be a ‘day-mare,’ but the pinch of unemployment ensured he was conscious.

“Bummer, buddy. At least you got severance, right?” Donald’s sapphire eyes snapped out of their dull longing gaze, crawling back into focus upon his co-worker’s hidden grin.

“In theory… I’m planning on drinking it all tonight.”


Keep up! Losing ground without sound.


Something’s Fishy

At the end of Terminal B in the Sea-Tac airport there is some art that consists of a few ladders shooting up from the ground and going into the ceiling. These ladders are like normal aluminum ladders you can buy, except there is glass on the sides that is made to look like rushing water. The hallway leading up to this has a subtle wavy blue streak embedded in the floor that is every now and then adorned with a metallic fish. This leads me to believe that all of this effort and money was put into this… “art” just to make a pun: Fish Ladder. I make a pun and it’s silly and whimsical, but someone spent the money to buy that meticulously transparent project, and it is literally just the same thing; a pun. But not just any pun! It’s an expensive pun; the best kind. Now art just seems like a fish ladder in and of itself. The metaphor being that we’re all swimming upstream against the current, trying to get to the top, and once we do we sell out and our artistic principles die and get washed away with all the money, back downstream, making it harder for those at the bottom who hold fast to artistic principles to swim upstream so they too can sell out.


“I was once young and stupid, too; but now I’m older…”



At airports they don’t let you sit on the baggage claim carousels, but they never have any benches near the baggage claim, so that’s pretty much your only option. A big man told me I wasn’t allowed to ride the ride.

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