Friday, December 30, 2011

New Year New You

More vegetables.

Less bullshit.

More acc' ent' uate the positive.

Less wallow in the glorious oozy sticky negative.

More walk-taking.

Less talking, unless talking is unavoidable.

In that case, see above: Less bullshit. More vegetables.

More opening your heart "like a lotus," though you used to snicker at your yoga teacher for saying it.

Tuesday, December 20, 2011


Let me say this: chronic pain &^%$ing sucks $#@! balls, big $#@!* balls that %$&^#* hairs and assclog the *&^!@ing drain.

Monday, December 19, 2011

Treating TMJ With Poetry Proves Ineffective

Things You'll Need To Treat TMJ, according to the LiveStrong website:

Bite guard
Muscle relaxant
Tricyclic antidepressants
Corticosteroids and botulinum toxin

Things They Don't Mention You'll Need:

Hope. Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul that blah blah blah.
An Emily Dickinson blow up doll.

Thursday, December 15, 2011

Carols for Parents

Christian's awake.
Again? When will the kid sleep through the night?
We haven't had a Silent Night in six years.
O Holy Night. The power's out.
All over the Little Town of Bethlehem, PA?
Light the torch, Jeanette Isabella!
O Come, O Come, Emmanuel, call it a flashlight. And it's right where you put it last time: in the kitchen drawer under the microwave.

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

A Four Letter Word

"The heart knows a hundred thousand ways to speak." - Rumi

Speaking from the heart is a cliche, we all know this.

In fact, it is such a cliche for me that to let my heart talk - the only way I can do this is not to speak. It gets ruined on the way out of my mouth, do you feel this way? My heart speaks when I fold the kids' laundry, it says, "Fuck every laundry TV ad that's ever been made, with the woman, fully-made up, and smiling and pairing socks."

Even hallowed words can be hollow, even the good ones. If I were to tell you that I really really love you - despite all the laundry that we co-create -- that just sounds lame, 7th grade passed-note-ish, not expressive of a deepness that cannot be expressed, am I wrong? So I have stopped.

Instead at the end of the day, with the last dishes put away, and the eye of the washing machine closed, I pat the space on the couch next to me that is empty and I will not talk, and you will not talk, and that way we'll know.

Monday, December 12, 2011

Mushroom or Personality Trait?








Scaly Fiber Head





Wednesday, December 7, 2011

Keeping Quiet, Giving Nothing

for once on the face of the earth,
let's not speak in any language;
let's stop for a second,
and not move our arms so much.

- Pablo Neruda from the poem, "Keeping Quiet"

All is calm, all is bright like the song. Not really. All is chaos, and not enough tape, didn't I tell you to buy more tape? and incendiary sugar cookies; I set the smoke alarm off last night.

I say bah to Christmas, feh. I'm not bah-humbugging in a Dickensian I hate laughter and cheer and fat geese, but with a Eastern European vulgar hand gesture, meaning, what's all this fuss, all this stuff, this messed up meshugas.

On the 26th of December, much what I'm rushing to wrap will be landfill, or gyring in the Pacific Ocean. I think of the whales. I think the Easter Islanders, how they cut down all their trees to erect those giant stone heads.

Since I burned the cookies, I have nothing to give and let me tell you that's freedom, a profound divine absence. I'm still moving my arms a great deal, but it's to clear the smoke from the room.

Saturday, December 3, 2011

Haiku of My Middle School Lunches

Why do I never
have a Ho-Ho, Connie
Miller has a Ho-Ho.

Big expectations,
lunch money. Lunch lady smiles:
Try fish on a bun.

Salad bar bacon.
Rule: Not cool to like bacon.
Years later, it's reversed.

Mom sends in cupcakes
with a sweet note: Dearest Lamb.
Turns my stomach.

Grandma is staying
making meatloaf sandwiches.
I rather she not.

Egg yoke on seeded
rye, made cafeteria
hell, the smell, a joke.