The collapse of the family

You wanna know something sad?

I assume people have seen the Sheetz gasoline trucks driving around. You know, the big red ones with the advertisement for the new "Schmonster", the ridiculously stacked breakfast sandwhich that acts like a Rwandan genocide on your arteries.

On the back of the damn truck there's a disclaimer in big bold white letters:

"DRIVER DOES NOT CARRY SANDWICHES"

I think we've all seen gas trucks before. The old cylinder on 18 wheels bit. It's the only transporting truck of its kind. That's why there's generally no ads on gas trucks, because people know what the fuck is going on inside that tank.

Apparently not. You have to ask a few things: Is there someone out there who thought there WERE sandwiches in the tank and made such a BIG fuss about it, that Sheetz was forced to apply terms and conditions; is Sheetz PREEMPTING this dumbass from ever asking that question; or is this some tongue-in-cheek moment, whereas I despair when I think how apt and bitingly true that satire is?

(bongo and acoustic and horns)

Broken arms, I would hold you
Even if I had broken arms.
Can you make a tourniquet for a broken heart? (da da da daaa)
A bad idea? (da da da daaa)
Well I suppose it’s up to me to juxtapose myself. (da da da daaa)

There’s little guys with little guns

(ba bada ba)
Inside our mouths, (ba bada ba) inside our heads,
They make us suffer.

(more bongos and horns)
I’ll stay home, it’s a good thing I think I’m funny. (Latin coffee latte)
Don’t come by, I’ll be making jokes about you.
But then again, (hooooooorn)

you could come in.

We could make fun of all the things we used to yesterday.
I’ve got a five, you’ve got a ten,
That’s fifteen dollars, we could see how long it takes to spend. (I love that line)

(bongo solo with some chimes)
You like games that drive us both insane

(ROCK OUT!) And I roll the dice but that’s just to be nice to you.
Why don’t we try something else for a change?
Hey, I know!
Why don’t I poke out my eyes for you over and over
And over and over again? (acapella)
Get out of my house!
And can I come with you?

‘Cuz where there’s a will

there’s a way We can kill

all the midgets with guns
That we have on our tongues
Just stick out your lips, lean in close, and we’ll kiss them
Goodbye to the midgets with guns.

Goodbye to the midgets with guns Goodbye to the midgets with guns!

------------

Work was ok. Matt went out and brought back blunt to smoke in the back. I was copascetic (sp?) Honestly, wasn't impressed, nothing close to a good buzz barring the accompanying euphoria of initial variation. Looks like I have a lifetime of drinking ahead of me. But at least I can say I smoked pot at work. Suddenly all of those Kevin Smith jokes make sense...

Emily Dickinson is great poet, but I'm afraid this century of new criticism all of its subsequent rapscallions are transforming her into a puppet.

Exultation is the going
of an inland soul to sea
past the Houses--
past the Headlands--
into deep Eternity.

Bred as we, among the mountains,
can the sailor understand
the divine intoxication,
of a league out from land?
-----
I'm trying to capitalize on potential. Trying to be content is as the same world. But all I ever end up doing is hating the people for not being as skilled as me, and despising those I strive to equal. Either way, I'm too frightened to really explicate myself. One thing published in Apathy and it's the worst I've done in a long time. "Feeder" is their mark of quality? Taking this course (a GRAD course btw) on Dickinson is really about the criticism, and it seems to me what matters most in academics is picking a side. Intention vs. Attention. Which will it be Sean DeFlora? You've played the game of intent and marked motivation cloaked by obscurity, can we now say that you are ready to play for attention?

------

I finished a quick draft of a sonnet. The first stanza is obscenely formal. It begins iambic, but short (the first line) then the rest of the stanza is oversaturated with spondees to juxtapose the first line. The lines shoot 8 6 8 8 and coincidentally the rhyme scheme follows suit A B A A. Now the last line is long, to close out the stanza. However, my problem is that it closes on a divthong so as to prolong the lyricism into the next stanza.

With her, a dozen lids to sputter--

eyes, juicy white, well-scooped

From egg's whites, still hold the flutter

of Heartstrings unattached to piano wire.

Robyn liked it, which surprised me and pleased me.

For all this, take their distances as choice,
Fine of love lives as proved, where mutes find voice.

I like the last line's inversion/ spondee sequence and then moves into iambic pentameter (if you choose to unstress "find", either that or double stress at the end works to close the rhyme). Eh, what can you do. It reminds me (for some reason) of a Yeats couplet:

"But as for him who ponders well
my rhymes more than their rhyming tell

of the dim wisdoms old and deep
that God gives unto man in sleep."

and sonnet 129

"All this the world well knows, yet none know well
to shun the Heaven that leads men to this Hell."

And now to close with a moribund piece of work called "Cancer Ward"

Paper, grass, coiling in pastel rings
hunts the knuckle like a duck,
with call, fooling, with bullet brings
hot end to physical luck.

It burns to hap to putter the open
mouth a cigar has, to cloud
lungs with cancer, smudging the organ
and smearing the blistering shroud

which once were bed sheets;
and now the nurses scrub alcohol
to clear the soot that leaks
from every por. We wince once to Fall

then grasp ledges to crawl
brick to brick to brick to brick.

"he an i are both wiccan.. i am sronger than he is in my work.. because i have a respect for people and things and do stupid shit with spells (even if you do not believe just hear me out) so he has been trying to contact my friend sarah who is also strong in magic.. but she has been stand offish.. so who does he go to next for power... then again this could be me on a little pwer trip..."

quackier than Cat Stevens at the Apollo.

GUTTERMOUTH
"Can I Borrow Some Ambition?"

well i'm starving for attention
and i'm looking for perfection
and my only opposition
is my lack of motivation
but i'm looking for an in
but i'm pissin' in the wind
and if i had a towel
man i'm sure i'd throw it in
i'm fishing for a valid excuse
and when i think of one
i will put it to good use
am i a freight train or am i just the caboose
too much time tied to the rails

fuck no
gotta find a reason to go
fuck no
never have nothing to show
fuck no
gotta find a reason to go
fuck nonever have nothing to show [x2]can i borrow some ambitionor a box of ammunitionman i need a new directionlike a positive regressioni could use a new excuseneed an ace, but drew a duecei will do the world a favorand i'll never reproducei'm fishing for a valid excuseand when i think of onei will put it to good useam i a freight train or am i just the caboosetoo much time tied to the railsfuck nogotta find a reason to gofuck nonever have nothing to showfuck nogotta find a reason to gofuck nonever have nothing to show [x2]fuck nogotta find a reason to gofuck nonever have nothing to showfuck nogotta find a reason to gofuck nonever have nothing to show [x3]well i'm starving for attentionand i'm looking for perfectionnow my only oppositionis my lack of motivationi'm looking for an inbut i'm pissin' in the wind

Crybabies...

I waaaas going to post this in the comments of LJ Mavirik's post, but I may have pushed the rhetorical dial into 11; kicked the speechification (fancy word, made-up of course) from a Jungian depth so dank I found myself in need of galoshes in the description; found my homework too boring. The situation is thus: cartoon hits the funny pages. Framed within the second-rate drawing is a bearded Muhammed looking man with a bomb for a hat. Not a true-life bomb, a Bomberman bomb, a Tom and Jerry explosive, the orb with the fuse wanting so bad to be phallic. In other words, BOMB. Muslims are offended. Flags are burned. Death is sentenced on Western Devils. Baklava is baked and Pop-Tarts are tossed into the gutters. You know the deal. Outrage scuffs the news show's tickers like annoying 3rd graders walking back from recess, but this time the Janitor isn't calmly wiping clean the linoleum, no, this time Bob Janitor is holding the classroom hostage with his dungy soap water. That's why I'm here. To ask a very probing and undeniable question...
Don't these people think just a little too highly of themselves?
Come on. Two of the most popular cartoons of all time feature Jesus in a supporting role. A SUPPORTING ROLE. The man dies on a cross and he can't even get a whole comic strip to himself, let alone headline a television program. Muslims, take it from me: there's no such thing as bad press.
(And another thing, where the hell are these people who complain about comic strips. Who's it gonna offend? Your kid? Your kid is fucking stupid, if he was even seen reading anything ON HIS OWN, I'd be shocked! The THOUGHT that your dumbass child might one day crack open the Washington Post (not even debating the point that your kid should NEVER get up before you), peruse the business section and stumble upon a sexual euphamism in the daily Dilbert strip is fantastical. Let's get this straight: your kid READ something. Maybe he'll write someday too. But it'll probably be some lame rap music.
NBC (I think it is) has a new series starting about an Episcopal priest who's addicted to pills, his one son is gay, his wife is an alcoholic, his sister is sleeping with the bishop, his other son deals drugs, his dioceses is being extorted, and the man sees Jesus in his car. The show is written to skewer religion by a man who claims to be "spiritual, not religious" and that we should all respect his point of view.
They are the same people who, nearly 80 years ago, labeled Graham Greene a "Catholic" writer. Yes, he was a Catholic and some of his characters were Catholic. Oooookay. Writing a poem about firefighters doesn't make Walt Whitman a firefighter does it? Greene's characters fuck up and feel guilty afterwards. Someone called that Catholic and not human.
The point I'm getting to is the patronization of minorities by larger power-holding structures, because when you're dealing with any "askew" group, then an inch becomes a mile. The implied message, however, reeks of inequality. Pop Quiz: what was the biggest source for mainstream Christian focus in the past few years? It was Mel Gibson. Why Mel? Because suddenly it was a revelation that there's money to be made off those Jesus folks. Suddenly, I was an "audience" Hollywood had lost; I was a "demographic" for certain television programs; even my "readership" was analyzed to figure out just how "The Da Vinci Code" sells.
Truly religious people write for other religious people
Fuck the white man's burden. It's about racial prejudices being there because all of these organizations live to harp on WHAT makes people ethnic instead of deciding WHY the fuck it even matters.

Lately Ive heard this song, you see,And it will not let me be.Its a measure or two with a hell of a grooveBut a lot of simplicity.Its the kind of a song you want to write for your momIts the kind of a song that makes you hum for a whileIts the kind of a song thats kind of stupid and dumb. Just another tarnished diamond for the pile.And here I am, smashing square pegs into round holes.Here I am, weakening the whole.Square pegs, well knock all their blocks off this timeWith a hell of a melody rhyme,Always keeping in mind that ImAs square as they come, well thats fine.Ill spend all my money and timeSpinning wheels on an incline.Staying inside has got me doubting my mindAnd doing battle with phantoms again.In the form of some notes,I think a musical ghostIs digging dead melodies from my head.I should be out in the sun, I should be having some fun.I should be drinking some beer, I should be reading somewhere.I should be seeing my wife instead of wasting my nightsAnd from all that I hear I should be getting my hair cutBut here I am, with 53 chords and broken horn lines.But here I am, losing my mind.Square pegs, well knock all their blocks off this timeWith a hell of a melody rhyme,Always keeping in mind that ImAs square as they come, well thats fine.Ill spend all my money and timeSpinning wheels on an incline.