It's time to get serious....just kidding

I've got a Jackson Browne/Pretenders mix going right now and a glass full of vodka and orange juice. Is it tomorrow yet?
Too much John Updike is the excuse of the day. The man never ceases to abuse me. A particular fable manifested today as I lapsed between awake and dreaming. Last night I had a dream I gave myself fellatio. I awoke with an erection that wouldn't quit. I reflected on this through the day as I tore up carpet and threw a plate glass cash wrap top into a pile of trash. Our foreman (A Ranger who jumped out of a plane and broke both legs, folded them backwards, then got shot in the chest in Desert Storm I) told jokes, "There's a semi on I-80 with a 40 ton chunk of coal."
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On and on as we knelt in wet carpet (to loosen the glue) and tugged at it. We threw away a $1000 track lighting system. The guy I was with practiced jump shots into the trash can with the expensive bulbs. Working one minute and in a pile of trash the next. He talked on his cell phone the whole time with a hands free ear plug.
"Baby, we gotta go through this again? Baby, hold on, no you hold on. That's what I'm saying."
22 with two kids. His pants falling down his ass, talking and texting the entire time we are at work. Just a useless waste of money trying to buy some cigarettes and feed his kids.

I bathe in these jokes, they soothe me after the baptism Updike has scorched me with. I earned a few jokes after old Rabbit stands on a hillside looking for his illegitimate daughter (long legs, broad face, dumb but trying to dress smart).

But the point is...I had a joke to tell Dan, a joke we both would've laughed at years ago driving in circles to eat french fries. The joke is that Rabbit's wife, Janice, was drinking vodka and was alone with the new born Rebecca, their second child. Rabbit was shacked up with Ruth across town (fucking into life the girl he later watches from the hill) and Janice's mother is coming over to help and she tries to give the baby a bath and leaves the water running a little long. Don't read any more if you don't want the surprise ruined. She leaves the water running and her bath robe is one of those long clumsy things with the big sleeves and when she turns it off it is too hot so she adds some cold water and...yep, she gets a little clumsy (from the vodka) and drops the baby into the water...just for a second but the baby goes to the bottom. She reaches in but the sleeves and the vodka screw her coordination up and the baby stays there breathing water for a moment and she pulls it out and it isn't breathing. Oh, yes. But the sleeves. The vodka. The bathrobe opening on her pale thighs. All this was there and I cried at it. (I read this in the Laconia group home) Ah, life, so fucking fragile and terrible and wonderful. You crawl down the bloody tunnel and are the mercy of vultures. But the details I would describe to Dan could not be mentioned now. Who can listen to these terrible things? Now as Dan has a baby a bit older than Rebecca? It's not funny. But the way we used to talk about Mailer's details and Kerouac's and even Salinger way back in the beginning. How can I go into that realm again?
The grief is now too close to his real life. So many babies to accidentally drown. The detail of the water soaked sleeves is what I imagine when I am dreamless and staring at the ceiling.
So I keep it to myself and go to work in the Kittery dawn, ducks sleeping on the ice skimmed stream, clear air, crisp but spring crisp with two others in my car talking of club shows and trading sub penny stocks.
"Coulda made a hundred dollars. But I was in jail."
Later I walk by them and hear, "Fifteen minutes after meeting her we were fucking on the couch..."
Updike's prophecy was correct, "The world keeps ending but people keep showing up too dumb to know it."

And email flirting from an attic in Portsmouth? That's what it's come to? What would Rabbit think? Ah, the balcony overlooks a middle America street with flumes belching smoke, basketballs in the front yard, wet from the rain, a boy bicycles down the street, aiming for ponds, motorcycles are being tuned up. The storms come and throw down the weak trees and fill up the lowest basements, wrecking those photo albums that were carelessly placed in low boxes. These memories fade and are replaced like men at a crowded bar. I was with Cristos and remembered the trip to Florida came after I bought Poncho, my 1981 Datsun 200sx. I only took possession of it after I came back and Vance wanted to unload it. I had forgotten about that and the world still turned. But can you let these memories go? How can I betray them? That was 1991/92. Almost 20 years ago...lingering in my memory, "Caught between the longing for love and the struggle for the legal tender..." sings Browne. How do you get art like that without 20 year old memories stored in flash drives? And I had lost it for a moment because I was so focused on living. Is that selfish? I felt like I had caught the baby in the bath, and for a second Rebecca breathed again. That was close...

I'm not over analyzing these dry moments but I do possess them and protect them from the repo man of dreams. Because if what Updike says is true then these words survive after the casket is in the ground and the confetti fingernails adorn the baby nightgown in that dark cobweb world underground.

It's the devil's bargain, I think. Where did I sell my soul for this vision? Probably on the road, languishing near the metal guardrail in Idaho or Wyoming, watching the trucks shush by, absorbing it all, every bird in the sky, every song on the wing and vowing to regurgitate it later, but perfectly "Anything to let it be perfect and complete, this moment exactly as it should be read, the lonely highway, the big sky of the west, cowboy hats hung on gun racks, dogs on farms, truck stops, high mountains on the horizon, long legged women, welcome mats, sleeping in the arms of america, the cedars and ponderosa pines lined up in neat rows and the black tire marks on the highway where distant moments of destruction took place." I could hear the song but couldn't sing it. That drove me insane. I could sit there forever or five minutes. It didn't matter because I wasn't waiting for a ride. I was waiting for a sign that my offer had been accepted, that I could leave this moment and the next and every person with a suitcase would be safe, they wouldn't be left in anonymous graves but would be sketched out and sleep safe in my songs. I didn't get the answer but I kept making the offer and kept writing and reading. I don't know when my offer was accepted but I see it was a devil's bargain. What I lost in the seats and stools of bars is equivalent to what I gained. Can I get my soul back? Or did I trade it in for something I thought Updike had? Can I reach out and make Janice catch Rebecca before she falls into the water? Can I go back to those high paying military jobs I passed up because "I want to be a writer."?? I can still see the harmonic oscillator and the look on their faces when they said, "So you'd call yourself a perfectionist?"
Yes, I would, but a perfect writer, not a goddamn electronic engineer! But one paid cash money for nice guitars and the other has me digging splinters out of my palm.
No, I can't go back. I sold that job for Mexico and a tan and Latin stories I can keep myself warm with in New England winters. What I wished for is here and now it has banned me from the society of the living. The only option is to ride it to the end. Push it until it can't be pushed any more...these bones are broken and this heart misses a beat on the balcony after climbing the stairs. So here's my nightly reminiscence:

Lone tear drop on the red brick sidewalk, pizza joint closed at 8, dishwasher in a white smock smoking a cigarette in the shadows of the clam shack. The ocean has turned upside down tonight as the ghosts of tomorrow run wild. It's nothing a glass of vodka won't fix, or a handjob, or an anonymous fuck! So order another drink you merchants of falsehood. Why you haven't thrown me out yet is a mystery. There's no end to this keyboard of fate. That's an F# on the high side, that ping, the one that turns your stomach upside down.

Bush Surprised to Learn He is No Longer President

Former president George W. Bush was speechless when he learned he was no longer president during a luncheon on Tuesday.
"Wha, wha, what?" stammered the 43rd president.
The luncheon, a meeting of The Texas Ranch Owner's Association took place in the Houston Civic Center and witnesses described the former president as "dignified and stately" before the speeches began. During the first course of the lunch someone at his table asked the former president his opinions on current president Barak Obama. The former president smiled slyly, "He'd make a good president."
Several diners at the table chuckled until Bush grew serious.
"No, I'm serious. When my term ends in 2012 I bet Barak will be tough competition for McCain or Guiliani. But hey, it won't be my problem! One of the Clinton's will probably get the nomination anyway."
The diners claim Bush's wife Laura leaned over to her husband's ear and whispered something.
It was then that Bush's face fell and he stammered. When he regained his composure he asked,
"What about the committee meetings? What about the calls to Cheney? What about...what about Iraq? We're at war! Right? Who the fuck is running the country?"
Someone said that Barak Obama was the current leader of the free world.
"Well, when the hell did that happen? The way people had been treating me I thought shit was going fine," said the former president. "In 2008? You mean, over a year? Man, why didn't someone tell me?"
A diner who agreed to be interviewed if his name was not released said he reminded the president that he had been at the swearing in ceremony, standing next to Obama when he took the oath.
"That? That was a senator. That was the senator getting sworn in to the senate. Right?" He scanned the faces at the table. "Right?"
When the truth finally sunk in the former President said, "So, what does this mean? No more speeches, nothing?" He paused. "Well, that's perfect. More time for golf."
Bush didn't mention the incident again until he answered a concerned rancher's question with, "As president I will...I mean, as former president I will make your problems a priority."

Steak Bomb

I made the mistake of eating a steak bomb at Jitto's. $6 for a small sandwich? Do you think this is Santa Monica? Fuck you and your pathetic steak sandwich. Where you get the meat? From the middle of the road? Suds N Soda is so so much better and cheaper. Note: Never trust a sandwich place that's open all the time. Suds N Soda only sells sandwiches from 10-2. Sometimes they are sold out at 1. Sometimes they don't feel like it and don't make any sandwiches. Live with it!
This place is like a fucking factory for steak and cheese sandwiches. You know why they can make you a steak bomb at 8 in the evening? Because IT'S GROSS. They slap on some meat, maybe grill it to kill the bacteria and toss it in a tough sub roll. The cheese was probably from a can. And to charge $6 for that slap in the face was just an insult. If that sub were a man, I was just raped.

In other news I'm working in Kittery, paying Maine income tax, at the Cole Haan outlet mall. It's demo (ishing) of the whole store and my lesson of the day (other than to find other work) is that while specialization of labor is desirable and beneficial as far as workflow is concerned it does cause a disconnect between people and the TOTALITY of what they are doing. People are like race horses. You whip them and point them in one direction and they will run fast and not even pay attention to the other horses or even recognize that there are other horses, let alone ignore the whole stadium and town and city and the birds outside the city etc. Well, I'm no race horse. That's what causes all these troubles in my life. I stopped, midrace, at looked around. The first thing I saw was NO ONE ELSE LOOKING AROUND. I knew that was bad. The second thing I saw was HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS OF CHEAP PARTICLE BOARD CABINETS being manufactured in china for these retail chains. We filled up two gigantic dumpsters today and we will fill up two tomorrow. It's like 100 square yards of trash....why? Can you tell me why? Can anyone tell me why? I don't think the Cole Haan people could tell me why because they are in the race and they do not see 4 dumpsters full of perfectly good furniture because they are seeing a store full of NEW PARTICLE BOARD FURNITURE. You cocksuckers! Even three old Maine women, or Canadians down for some shoe shopping, marveled at all the good wood.
"Your going to reuse it, right."
I laughed and was too tired to pretend to care.
"Naw. It all goes to the dump."
They gasped.
"That's a nice tabletop, isn't it?"
I looked at the slab of wood in my hand and threw it into the huge pile. It cracked in half. I spit on the ground and blew my nose.
"Eh, what?"
They moved on.
This is totally unacceptable but It's my duty to bear witness to the reckless juggernaut of corporate destruction. If they pay me $50 to slice my finger in half with a metal shelf, well, I'll take it and buy some beer.
My point is that the ethic of specialization of tasks is a dangerous one. It's like you walk into a room and someone tells you to push a button. They'll pay you to push it. Why? Don't worry about why. Just push the button. Do you or don't you? I can only say that you shouldn't push the button. Investigate. Stop the race. Look around.

This video took three hours to upload so you better enjoy it!

Portsmouth. For Ken.

We gotta do this at the press room.

Walking between the tennis court and Leary field, two arms embracing the south mill pond. Kids out late swing in the dark, creaking through childhood on the rusty chains...two neat dents in the dirt beneath their feet. Mystic clouds pass across the big dipper. The grass is tan now, the first tulip bulbs poking through the loam, greener than the law allows, younger than us all. The north church is proud tonight, white, erect, sharply pointing to some spiritual north we all align ourselves with. There's a knitting circle at the library, hats and scarves and baby shoes created in good spirit. Downtown the young plod the brick streets with beer breath, calling taxis and following clues. The ducks on the mill pond group together to create a constellation of their own, the yang to the bright star's yin. The tide is low but the ducks find an island of water. Years ago the mill pond would stink at low tide but the local students have planted oyster beds and pollution eating weeds and now the air smells like mud and grass. March spring in the nose, not quite out of winter's reach but we're running now and gaining ground as the old man lurches north. Maybe one more storm will remind us where we live but we've got the upper hand now and those trees that survived last year's ice storm and this year's wind storm are the strong ones built to last. That's the thing about the dead, they make room.
We're on the wrong side of the sun, spinning out of control and the monuments that appear to stand forever in the daylight are ghosts at night. Even the light beneath the flag at the ball park is too dim to bring out the blood red of the cloth. Something is waving there, chained to the pole, whipping in the wind. It's a vision only the early sun will reveal.
Teachers working late at the Middle school trade thoughts in the dark. These caretakers of our future once handed me great works of literature, for free, vetted by their minds. Where would it take me? Would I read it at all? They couldn't tell. They plan and plan and the day comes and a kid has a cold. They proceed through the field planting seeds, watering, no time to check attrition rates, only time to demonstrate their methods.
Branches still clutter the sidewalks so I walk in the street, no traffic, easier to see my wide path home.

Responses and Lies

I'm just going to post the responses all in one place. I don't think bars have anything to worry about if this is representative of the craigslist singles scene. Oh my god, the lies and deceit. There should be a disclaimer before the CL posting box that says, "For entertainment purposes only!" because I'm pretty sure not one actual person read or responded to my personal ad...yet I've received dozens of responses. They are all deceptive attempts to get me to go to adult "Fuck Buddy" sites and sign in. Yeah, some 22 year old model in Calgary is lonely and wants to fuck a poor hippy living in NH. Sure. I'll fantasize about that tonight when I beat off.

Here's a few...the names are my favorite part. Srdjan Zhusche??? How the fuck do I pronounce that? A good vibe? Was it the lunatic part that turned you on? hahahaha. Absolutely hilarious.


"I was just perusing the posts, and had seen yours, maybe I picked up a good vibe... anyways. I've stopping fighting this serious need to be taken. It's a fantasy I need you to make into a reality. I get seriously wet when I think about this, and I have no words for the orgasm that ensues. I'm a 26 y/o woman and for the most part age doesn't matter, though I do prefer older men, say late 30's. I'm nonsmoker, d/d free and would ask the same of you. Can you make this happen? Write me at this place I heard about awhile back my name there is SrdjanZhusche and tell me how..."

Sorry, Srdjan, I have an unidentified virus I picked up from FUCKING ZEBRAS!


One from Gartie Teico...

"Hmmm well, I am 21 years old, only a short while ago gotten my very own apt and now I am lonely hahah...I would like to get some company once in a while! Not necessarily looking for any commitments, simply a guy that will please me the way a lady deserves to be. My close friends describe me as very seductive. I could awaken the desire in a gentleman and also even with a man as cold as ice. I am searching for someone that wishes to have a discreet evening encounter. Peek at my photos on MySpace Adult my username is GartieTeico. I would like to hookup for an hr or two during the evening to test and try out much more stuff. If you enjoy what you see cum and get me"

Don't hold your breath, baby.

"Thalia Payton
Hi There,

Your posting caught my attention

A little about me:
I am a Designer by profession and recently moved out from a long relationship
I am about 5'7.. hope you are taller :)
I Love to party

Email me if you would still interested

Mel"

Jeez, you gave me so much to go on. Your personality just shines through that response. But sorry, I'm a dwarf. 3'8. BUT MY COCK IS TWO FEET LONG!! That's gotta count for something.




Here's one from a girl named Alexa Alexis. Yeah, that's a normal name.

"Hi I am shy and silly all at the same time. I enjoy laughing and talking although I am terrible on the phone - hopefully better in person. Hi I have a low stress level. I recently started working as a nurse in an intensive care unit. I will say though that yoga does wonders and I am learning to take it down a notch at work. Outside of work I love to be outside and go on various adventures. Id really like to find someone who is willing to be my friend first. Here's a pic...
Well, Alexa Alexis, if you want to be a friend first then why the fuck did you send me three year old pictures of your tits? What kind of friends do you have? Honestly, Alexa, I'm intimidated by twenty year old prostitutes. Call me crazy! Furthermore, if this is what you act like when you're shy then I never want to see you loosen up. Also, I don't associate with people who do yoga and other blatantly evil things.

Here's one that amuses me...
"Outgoing 29 y/o woman seeks caring gaming geek. What can I say? That's what I find interesting in a man. I'm a recent transfer from across the pond (Ireland), so if you have a thing for accents, that makes two of us. Only I think YOU are the one with the accent. ;) Write me back if you have any questions, or just swing by Adult My Space my name there is RehulDustieseg and check out my pictures. Hope to hear from you soon, k?"

Rehul Dustieseg??? Did your mom have a wad of chewing tobacco in her mouth when she named you? And you like gaming geeks? Are you crazy? Gaming geeks are the worst perverts in the world. You must be out of your mind. I've got a reputation to consider, baby. NO WAY! LOSE MY NUMBER!

Oh, if only relationships based on penthouse erotic spelling and cleavage were the cornerstone of love!

"Hey,
I saw (and liked) your ad. I think we might be looking for the same type of thing. Im a 28 year old female not in a relationship, drug free, just want to play. Let me know what you think. Jasmine




I think you can't spell, Jasmine, and you probably can't read either because I specifically wrote in my post that I love Mondays. How can you hate Mondays? If you say it with a Jamaican accent it sounds so cool. IN Spanish, Mande means "What?" It sounds just like Monday. IF you had sent me a picture of a nasty scar then I might be interested but I've seen tits before, Yawn!



Cheat w/ me... [[odd jobs - m4w (seabrook) Hey hon, are u into curvy gurls? Because I got plenty of junk in my trunk and looking for a sneaky NSA buddy while my husband is away for his work. I am a real lady but the question is...are YOU real? Hope u're not going to play games 'cuz I am over that crap. If you want me bad enough, check out my pics on the link and call me. My phone number is on there also. Hoping u're real...

PS : Due to bots I don't reply back to emails so just call me!"

Look, more tits!The troublesome thing is that the spam email people (assuming these women are in no way connected to the emails) are posing as shallow skanks. This one is married and wants me to get her off while her husband is gone. What kind of lowlife would follow that up? I guess that makes sense for a lonely man looking to get laid, but what is the percentage of follow through on these spam phishing emails? It's gotta be low. I'd go to Uganda to show them how to hook potential site users but their methods are repulsive. I feel like this is the world Steve Jobs is leading us toward. Cleavage and poisoned fish. Porn like this gives porn a bad name.

Angella sent me this pic of her ass cleavage. Yeah, Angie, we'd be perfect for each other.

Ah, they just go on and on. One person named Teoudarou Gartie wants to have my babies. Oh, it is so so amusing. I wonder if my ad appears like a just a highly paid scam to get people to go to a fuck buddy site. I do include the url which is suspicious. There is no telling...which is why it's just an exercise in writing. This is not a legitimate way to meet people. The trick is still to just do what you like and maybe you will meet someone you like. Or at least you'll get a free drink. I can see why they call babies miracles. I'm thinking they will be less and less common as long as lies and fuck buddy sites are the norm. One disturbing part is when I get an email from one nonexistent person who claims to be interested AND THEN the gmail announces that the same person has sent me another message and it becomes part of the original email...like with a (2) next to it to indicate the person sent me two messages, but when I read the message the two messages are from "different" people...with the same source email account. You see? It's like many people in Nigeria are using the same service to send their fake spam and they don't communicate so when I receive two emails from the same person it turns out to be from different fake people trying to hook me with different pictures of different breasts. It's maddening and definitely fake. I would estimate that there are hundreds or thousands of people trying to funnel lonely people to fuck buddy sites. It's not Steve Jobs's fault but I still blame him because my campaign needs to have a brand.