pansy ass

the neighbors are fighting

what matters?
what counts?
numbly we bounce
at least there's no yelling
there's always no telling
who's wrong & who's wronger
whose case will be stronger
can't keep it up any longer

shed all the skins
of the pain & the fear
replace them with wings
to fly you from here

the dumb may stay dumb
but it's not your fault
connect where you can
you'll never get caught
if you're true & you're kind
and you come seeking peace
then step right on up
& do something at least

cause it would be tragic
a real sad affair
if you kept all that light
locked up tight inside there

there's warmth & you feel it
the sparks jump & skip
and get trampled out
by your buttoned up lip

supermarket sweep!

i was forced to leave my house for a couple of hours on tuesday while some work was being done. i normally would’ve just sat outside, but it was pouring rain for the first time in months and months here in san diego, and i had to seek shelter.

i left the dogs, telling the mexicano workers who spoke barely english that if the dogs get in their way just yell at them “GET ON YOUR BED!” and there was lots of nodding and smiling and ‘si, si” and then i was gone.

i called my friend wheels, who works nearby, on the off chance he & dingo wanted to go to lunch with me, but he was “working on something” probably involving photoshop slides of ship hulls.

so i went to the grocery store, needing to get some raw meaty bones for my dogs and to kill about an hour and a half in the dry space. and for the first time, i looked at my grocery store - the people working, the people shopping, the muffins hardening, the sunglasses-go-round i spent a half hour in front of trying every bad pair, sketching out the pharmacist i’m sure, the homeless man pushing a cart with just a plastic clamshell full of the bakery chocolate cookies, old women bickering in a slavic language in front of the meat case finally taking 4 huge sides of red & white ribs to feed fifty, and the firemen strutting up & down the aisles making sure they get respect shopping for the guys at the station, and on and on.

other than the people, there are so many *products* at the grocery store, it’s really incredible. i won’t get into it, but just know that those shelves hold more secrets than any of us has time for. wheels was kind enough to text message me throughout my stay at ralph’s, making it all the more pleasant. he suggested i make a castle out of coffee cans in the middle of the aisle, but i regretfully declined.

i did buy one of what i thought was the most random thing i could find to show him, though, and here it is wheels:

SPICY INDIAN PUPPODUMS - cooks in seconds

i got home, the work was done, los workers were gone, the rain had stopped, and the dogs got fed.

3 haikus

years of silence and
years of bickering end with
lovely parting gifts

desire rhymes with
far in the land with her gears
full of molasses

still feel innocent
despite piles of evidence
to the contrary

tribute to matthew duerr, for no particular reason

here he is as a young buck (with bro tim & elders)



here he is an older buck a couple years ago:

(click his faces to get fresh with him)

and then here he is more recently:


and last but not least most recently he's handy with a hammer:


ah, and also the japanese buyers can't get enough of Hola Mateo!


!adios mateo!

mexico trip, haiku-style

so quick with a smile
suddenly they're at your side
tijuana ninos

heads are kinda down
walk kinda fast up down the
steps and through plazas

black hair pink cheeks in
a fleece blanket baby sleeps
didn't make a peep

twinkly-eyed Jaime
lady plaing pool fused blues
glowing green lemon

just watch the TV
your hands are not sweating &
just watch them snowboard

two for one not four
the apple has to stay here
dufford was cordial

full sun ice cold beer
all is love with friends so dear
san valentin day

new york's got the ways & means

i got ways & i got means
i need nothing i have my dreams

i got ways of being mean
to rip you open & bust your seams

you can shotgun a hit to yourself

!fiebre!

chattering teeth don't always mean cold
mind spilling over with thoughts it can't hold
so full of passion my spirit is raw
i have no control of my own bottom jaw

drugs lack o sleep lack o food or the flu
i don't know what to attribute it to
all i know there's something zipping around
that's causing my hot heart to spark as it pounds

my favorite picture of all time

i've probably taken hundreds of thousands of pictures in my life, when i try to think of my favorite, this pops up first. even of the ones i didn't take, i think this is just my favorite picture ever. thank you val & tadych.

WHO DRANK MY STUFF?

WHO DRANK MY STUFF?
by, William O. Johnson

Coke, tea, or an ice cold glass of water left in the fridge,
no one is to bother.
For an hour or two I work hard in and around the house,
thinking of how refreshing, the cold glass of liquid will be.
But upon my return, and much to my dismay, someone drank my stuff!
The question is who drank my stuff?
WOMAN! WHO DRANK MY STUFF?
"Not I," she laughed.
GRANDMA! WHO DRANK MY STUFF?
"I don't know baby,"
CHILD! WHO DRANK MY STUFF?
"It wasn't me Daddy,"
These were the replies.
My heart was hurt and my throat so dry,
My hands and back hurt I almost cried.
I could not move, at least not from the fridge,
They drank my stuff, something must give.
This is not fair, this is not right,
They drank my stuff, I'm ready to fight!
I will get them whoever they are.
They drank my stuff, they have gone too far.
Who drank my stuff, I just want to know,
But no one owned up to drinking my stuff.
WHO DRANK MY STUFF!

[all punctuation/capitalization is the author's]

here we go