Wednesday, March 12, 2014

About Pussies

It is completely absurd that
people use the word “pussy”
As a symbol for weakness
and cowardice.

A woman’s pussy is tougher
And more gallant
Than any man who has ever lived.

Our entire species
on pussies dilating
--often ripping--
in order to usher in the next generation
of human beings.

You could lay a path
from the Earth to the Moon
and back again
a hundred times over
using only the vaginal tears
of the unimaginably resilient
and courageous women
who have faced this horror,
but still,
we have the nerve
--the sheer fucking audacity--
to refer to pussies
as symbols for the
weak and cowardly.

we use “balls” as a symbol
of strength and courage
when they are actually the most
sensitive and
vulnerable real-estate in
the observable universe.

It’s just


What We Do

I was at my dad’s apartment
when my sister called to tell us
that my mother was Stage 4
and the doctor’s only gave her
6 months left to live.

My father and I looked at each other
and without one word
we immediately,
and simultaneously,
began cleaning his apartment.

I took the coffee table.
It was littered with coins and
half-eaten packs of mint Rolaids.

He took the carpet next to the front door,
gathered up his dirty clothes,
wound an orange extension cord around his arm
which had been tangled against the wall
and plugged into nothing.

I picked a book up off the table.
Can’t remember what.
Probably Clancy.
The pages were warped by time and weather.
I tried to close it
But it wanted to stay open and contorted.

We didn’t cry then.
That’s not what we do.
We fix things.
And by God, we’d fix this.

We’d organize all those coins
into tightly pressed rolls
fit for a bank deposit.
We’d plug that extension cord into something useful
And iron out those unkempt Clancy pages.

Then we’d do the dishes
And the laundry
And paint the walls
And steam clean the carpet.

Then we’d get fucking serious.

We’d take it outside.
Sweep up all the deserts.
Towel off all the oceans.
Organize the stars into a nice sensible grid.

We’d take all the chaos
And give it structure,
Give it meaning,
Finally make some sense of this goddamn madness
Once and for all.

Because that’s what we do.


The period is
by far
my favorite

Commas are so neurotic,
so unsure of themselves,
always needing something extra to add,
something to rephrase,
so fucking afraid that they haven’t put it
quite right
Or said enough.
Noncommittal pussies.

Dashes are like children
constantly interrupting
while adults are trying to have
a real conversation.
No. You may not say just one more thing really quick.
You just interrupted someone
who knows about a billion times more than you.
Shut the fuck up and wait your turn.
Someday you might grow up
And be a real sentence someday
But until then
Stay outta my goddamn way.
You little shit.

Semi-colons are like that dude
at that party
who’s covered in cat hair
and totally up his own ass
And he’s like, “Oh, I know this thing,
Aren’t I sooooo fucking smart?”
And you’re like, “Whatever, dude.”
Pompous douchebag.

Then you’ve got the contemptible parenthesis,
A punctuation
designed specifically
to be ignored.
The exact fucking opposite of what writing
should aspire to be.
Be bold, parentheses.
Be vital.
Stand up for yourself.
Refuse to be ignored.
Own the sentence you’re standing in,
You limp dick fuck.

Then there’s a whole bunch
Of other punctuations
I’ll skip
‘cause fuck it.

Exclamation points and ellipses
Are better than the rest
But they do call attention
To themselves
And tend to overstay their welcome.

Question marks are the worst.
Anyone can ask a question.
Questions risk nothing.
Writing that doesn’t
risk anything
is worthless.

Dare to make statements.
Dare to be wrong.
Dare to be ridiculed.
Dare to give people
good reasons
to hate you.
Dare to look like a pretentious, egotistical, narcissistic, regressive, shallow, heartless, pathetic asshole.

Dare to be human
and put a period at the end
of your goddamn sentence.

Tuesday, March 4, 2014

Because I Must

Death is like basketball.

Put better,
Death is like a basketball 
hitting you 
in your big stupid face.

You’re playing the game
And someone passes you the ball
But you don’t
see it coming

And the second 
before the ball smacks you
in your big stupid face
you look up

You see it
but there’s not a
goddamn thing 
you can do about it.

And it’s unfair.
And it’s going to suck.
And some people will care.
And some people won't.

And that 
will be 

No words can compare to
the movement of a
spiraling basketball
ripping through the air like a comet

headed straight for
your dome
to so perfectly articulate
one very specific message.

This is

And in that second 
you understand

beyond words
beyond reason
beyond even

the futility of every plan
you've ever made
or action
you've ever taken because

from day one
this was your 
immutable destiny

The ball
was always on its way
to you.

You understand
in an instant that
everything has led up to this
and it has all ready happened

and it will continue
forever and ever

and it is equally
hilarious and tragic
but you will not feel like
laughing or crying
you will only