Saturday, July 28, 2012


We're making tacos.
Hamburger in the skillet,
Seasoning Packet.

#9 Distant Leaf Blower

Creeping afternoon
I feel my bones settling
Distant leaf-blower.

Wednesday, July 25, 2012

#76 Magnificent Portulaca Oleracea

Magnificent Purslane, 
So thick and so green 
The most flourishing plant 
In my yard to be seen. 

My yard is so brittle, 
My yard is quite dead 
But Magnificent Purslane
Will thrive in its stead. 

Magnificent Pigweed
Portulaca Oleracea
Are you Pigweed?
Are you Hogweed?

They say you're a weed
But pull you I shan't
Cause I'll grow you on purpose
And I say you're a plant.

#77 Trash Day

Some obscure Talking Heads
The pre-dawn gloaming
   Wednesday Morning.
I need to take the trash
   to the curb.
But I haven't. It is so early.
   Another weekday.

The very core of my existence
   In the pale living room walls.
Weak light, headphones, bare feet.

Guess I'll go take out the

Monday, July 23, 2012


Would that I could bring you here,
Saturday afternoon,
To listen to the neighbor's air
Conditioning the moon.

The distant highway murmurs
It's uninteresting way,
And a starling and a robin
Take turns bathing anyway.

I could get a pizza
Or a soda
Or some beers
But I'll sit here typing bullshit
Until something good appears.

I'll continue piling words on
Until plots and stories happen
And I'll do this while Pandora
Streams me Bach and Eric Clapton

A thousand unread words
Will filter out from whence they came
And the characters will follow
And I'll give each of them a name.

There is Benner,
He's a psycho,
There is Amy,
She's his date.
There goes Collin,
He's a homeless man
Who will pontificate.

There will be a
Wild kerfuffle
In a house
Without a phone
Even though the page
is crowded
Every writer writes alone.

Sunday, July 22, 2012

#10 Sunday Morning

Potable water,
    Conditioned air.
I make the coffee.

Saturday, July 21, 2012

# Amateur Philosophy (now with audio!)

The idea that there is a beginning of the universe is insane because it would have to come from somewhere else but there is nowhere else because the universe is ... everywhere.  So there's nowhere for it to "come from" in the first place.

So the idea of like, "oh, well where did it come from?" it can't "come from" anywhere because it's everywhere.

So all the things in the universe can't come from somewhere else because there IS nowhere else (is what I'm trying to say).

So the whole argument of like, "Where did the universe come from, and where did it begin" is meaningless.

Cause we can observe everything on the planet, but everything on the planet is just a subset of everything. But we don't see everything.  So when scientists claim to know the beginning of the universe, it's impossible. Cause you can't know about every thing, every object, in an infinite universe, cause it's infinite. Even if you found 99% of it, there's always 1 more percent of it, cause it's infinite.

So, (sigh) the idea that you can find the beginning of the universe,-that's another thing—if there's nowhere for everything to come from, then it can't possibly have had a beginning because it has to have always been there. Cause everything in the universe all the objects, all the matter, that makes up the things that we observe has to have always been there because there's nowhere for it to have not been.

Uh, if that doesn't make sense, then the whole beginning of time thing, that's the other thing "Oh, what's the beginning of time?" There is no beginning of time because there's always that one second right before that. No matter what point you point at and say, "Oh, there's the beginning of time," there's always ... the moment right before that. So, the whole idea of like, "Oh, well there's gotta be a God because otherwise the universe wouldn't exist," Well that doesn't make any sense; the universe always existed because it's got nowhere to go. It can't not exist. Cause it exists. At least we think it does.

So I dunno. That's my rant about all these theological and scientific questions about the beginning of time. There isn't any. You're looking for something that's not there. Because it has to have always been here because there's nowhere for it to have come from.

All right, I'm done.

And the point I forgot to make (I was driving as I babbled this into my cheesy microphone) is this:  Although everything we see seems to have a beginning, middle, and end, those things are just temporary arrangements of atoms that eventually decompose.  But nothing (observable at least) is made or unmade.  Atoms and parts (subsets of the set of all atoms and things) just temporarily arrange themselves and fall apart.  But the universe is not an observable thing; it is not a subset of anything else, so it doesn't have a beginning or an end, since it can't fall apart (there's no way for it to become separated from itself, since it is everywhere).
Since we see everything begin and end around us, we think this attribute applies to the universe, but it doesn't. 
So the "where did the universe come from" and "how did it begin" questions don't apply to the universe itself, although these questions apply to all the stuff IN the universe. 

Thursday, July 19, 2012


There are photogenic, sonorous people with cameras and microphones, and they tell us what to think.
They claim to tell us what is happening, but they tell us what to think.
They might be on the Left, and they might be on the Right, but they tell us what to think.
 They tell us what to buy and wear and drink and they tell us what to think.
Right and the Left work together to tell us what to think.
 If we think for ourselves we are told we are wrong and they tell us what to think.
They "inform" us by forming us and they tell us what to think.
 The news is not the news because they tell us what to think.
 By tone of voice and innuendo and background music they hide that they are telling us what to think while they tell us what to think.

In school they tell us what to think. In church they tell us what to think.
At work they tell us what to think.
On the campaign trail and in office they tell us what to think.
Rebellious groups are still groups and they tell us what to think.
In press releases and written statements they tell us what to think.
 In history books and police reports they tell us what to think.
Our families and friends tell us what to think.
 Commercials tell us we shrink and slink and stink and they tell us what to eat and drink and think.
Everywhere you turn people tell us what to think.

Wednesday, July 18, 2012


(Excerpt from my widely unread book of essays, Booze and News!)

One day, a little boy was saying his prayers, and he asked, "God, why did you make humans the way you did?"

And low and behold, God appeared to the boy as a glowing light outside the boy's window.

"That's a great question Timmy, and I've been waiting for someone to ask.  There seems to be some confusion down here, and I'd like to clear that up."

"Is it really you God?"

"Yes Timmy, now pay attention.  The reason I made humans is because when I created the world, I made it about ten degrees too cold.  I created humans and their hideously large brains so they could create simple tools, which would lead to more complex things, which would eventually lead to factories and cars that would affect the atmosphere in such a way that the earth would warm up to a specific temperature, give or take a couple of degrees."

"But why does the earth have to warm up?"

"Well, you see Timmy, God loves the Madagascar Hissing Cockroach (Gromphadorhina Portentosa) so much.  Much more than all the other creatures on the earth.  That's why I made the world, for this beautiful creature."

"But I thought humans--"

"Yes Timmy, I know what you are going to say, but that's a common misconception humans have, and I'd like you to clear that up right now.  No, the only reason I made you humans is for the benefit of the Hissing Cockroach.  No, you guys are slated for extinction when you have served your purpose.  The beauty of this system is that as you make the world more hospitable for the wonderful  Gromphadorhina Portentosa, you'll be making it less hospitable for your own freakish species, so you will be out of the way."

"But that's horrible!"

"Hmm? Oh, yes, I suppose for humans, but you guys are just here to pollute and spread trash all over the place.  Cockroaches love trash and high temperatures.  By the way, stop recycling."


"Okay Timmy, I'm out.  Make sure you spread the word.  I guess this makes you a prophet or whatever.  And another thing: electric cars are the devil's work.  See ya!"

Tuesday, July 17, 2012


The Speedway near our house has been closed for a couple of months.  They tore it down to build a new one.  It is just a few blocks from our house.  Oh how we took it for granted.  

So it opened today, just three hours ago, and despite the 98 degree heat, Deb and I walked there to check it out.

As we walked toward the future, to that grand spaceship that was the new Speedway, I dreamed of all the magical things that would be there: lotto, beer, meat-like things, snacks, donuts, pizza-adjacent foodlike items, candy, chips, an ATM, gasoline... everything my American Freedoms allow me to enjoy.

Old Glory flew high and proud above the car lot next to the Speedway.  The New Speedway was open! It was open! Oh the Freedom to exchange American currency for products and scratch-off tickets.  I was like Charlie, and I had a Golden Ticket to the Wonka Factory, only the tickets were green, and the Wonka Factory was a convenience store.

We strode in as though striding through the very gates of heaven.  If Elvis Presley himself was behind the counter, I would not have been shocked, for this was heaven on earth.  Lite Beer and Lotto!  Breath Mints and those brown gloves with red lining!

Wide eyed with innocent wonder, we walked the candy isles.  There were HUGE bags of sunflower seeds!

Everything was new and shiny.  The employees, yet to die from the inside out, gave the impression of actually being alive inside.  Their spirits were yet to be broken!!  There was a WALK IN BEER COOLER which I walked into. It was very cool in there.  I didn't want to leave.

They had Coca-Cola in GLASS BOTTLES.

Oh to be Free and American in this great land.  To buy lotto tickets and a 40oz. Lite Beer in the same place!  Hunting magazines and car magazines!  5 Hour Energy and Snickers bars!

My first Muzak Moment in the new Speedway?  Kansas's 1977 smash hit, "Dust in The Wind."

I stood there a moment, serenaded by a 35 year old recording of soft guitar, and pondered what this all meant as four flavors of Slushies slushed around in their American Freedom Slushy machines.

In conclusion, Freedom.

Monday, July 16, 2012


Windows 95 disk,
Why are you still there?
I should throw you out but for some reason, 
I don't dare.

Sunday, July 15, 2012

Haiku heard on THE BUGLE podcast:

The American
Rides jet skis and eats eagles
'Cause salad is weak.

I recommend this podcast for everyone, always.  Freedom.

Wednesday, July 11, 2012


Humans love their frozen treats,
As they drive along
On the sizzling streets.
Packed at the light,
Their engines run,
And they wonder what's up
With the Angry Sun.

Sunday, July 08, 2012


I wandered the forgotten corners of foreclosed yards, where rabbit pellets whiten in the sun, and I saw a vision of these things:

The formal names of every individual crack in every for-lease parking lot, named as lovingly and thoughtfully as a mother naming her own precious children.

Book length descriptions of every telephone pole. Poles that tower unnoticed along squalid strip-malls and stand unappreciated along crowded, fume-spewing highways.

The forgotten inhabitants of abandoned Burger King Parking Lots  - each parking lot weed, indexed and numbered and registered in the timeless database of unimportant things.

Alas! The cast off ends of zip ties languishing unclaimed in the dusty gravel of convenience store construction sites. No more! Each zip tie is unique, and each has a name and history, written in marble, illuminated at all times, and revered as heroes by all!

A map of every track of every wheel of every absconded shopping cart. Records of the tracks in the dirt at the crumbled ends of sidewalks in dilapidated, half empty commercial districts. The details of the voyages of every cart that ever buoyed the worldly goods in plastic bags belonging to homeless, mumbling men.  The maps, detailed inventories of those belongings, and biographies of the men who pushed those shopping carts are stamped into plates of gold and launched into space to represent mankind.

A caligraphy scroll of the lost forgotten thoughts of slack-jawed, Kool-Aid stained children with plastic toy guns before the time of the Internet. The thoughts they had when they had thousand-mile stares with visions of half-imagined, unseen, unnamed idealized cities. All dreamt while standing motionless at the end of driveways on summer afternoons.

The indexed surnames of every individual pine needle from every discarded Christmas tree in 1972. Where is that list? Does it exist? It does now.

A ledger of the exact moment of the fifteenth rotation of every tricycle wheel in Bangladesh.

A coffee table book of every piece of school kid's artwork ever created, one picture per page, and the name and weight of every hand silhouette turkey ever made.

Every stick that was ever an imaginary weapon in the mind of a child at play (playing cops-n-robbers or playing WAR), displayed in a museum. A separate, full length motion picture (directed by Ken Burns and narrated by Morgan Freeman) about every pretend battle each stick was involved in, and a three volume hardback compendium about all the pretend wars and battles. A museum dedicated to these sticks, and a separate room in that museum dedicated exclusively to each stick and an artist's rendition (acrylic on canvas) of what the weapon looked like in the child's mind.

The tenth text sent on every Tuesday in Taiwan, each carved into an individual marble monolith planted twenty feet deep beneath the dark side of the surface of the moon.

The first, middle and last name of every blade of fescue grass that has ever existed, their dates of birth/death, their political leanings, a brief biography and a photo, and a serialized commemorative plate from the Franklin Mint for each one.

The secret dream of every hog slaughtered for its meat throughout all of history. An oil painting of each dream on a 72" x 24" canvas. The individual name of each bristle of each brush used to paint those pictures. A play by play description of every brushstroke, given by Joe Buck and Bob Costas, at the renovated Koลกevo Stadium in Sarajevo, where all of the homeless men from East St. Louise (1963-1992) will paint those pictures before a packed crowd of delirious spectators, and each artist is paid one-million one dollar bills for their troubles.

The serial numbers of each of the dollars mentioned above, in numerical order, each written in Roman Numerals on a single grain of rice.


Eat the Cold Beans of Inequity.
Devour the Giblets of Inhumanity!
The Herniated Disk of Base Corruption!
The Cold Beans of Mephistopheles.
 We reject your Terror Blankets!
Terror Beans!
You must eat the Cheese of Reason!
The Five Chives of The Apocalypse!

Thursday, July 05, 2012

Sam's First Take On War

"It was Sam's first view of a battle of Men against Men, and he did not like it much. He was glad that he could not see the dead face. He wondered what the man's name was and where he came from; and if he was really evil of heart, or what lies or threats had led him on the long march from his home; and if he would not really rather have stayed there in peace--" Sam's first view of a battle in The Lord of The Rings

somebody's gonna be happy to find a dollar

Today walking back from the bank, I found a child's wallet by the sidewalk.  I checked it for cash, of course.  There wasn't any.  So I put a dollar in it and put it where I found it.

Wednesday, July 04, 2012

# 95 My Wife Does Not Like Haikus

"I don't like haikus,"
She said as she sipped her beer.
She doesn't get it.

Monday, July 02, 2012


I am a line of thoughts,
Written on a page.
Squint real hard
Between the lines
And I can guess your age.

About Me

My photo
I am the author of 5 books: Android Down, Firewood for Cannibals, The Cubicles of Madness, Robot Stories, and most recently, Various Meats and Cheeses. I live and write in Michigan. My website is at