sweet things

i hope i am permitted a list of sweet things without it sounding too of music

• every giant m&m cookie i ever ate almost every day of middle school even though i got sick of them after the first few months but kept getting them anyway because the fat lunchline checkout lady i always went to would say "i bet you want your cookie today!" and i didn't want to disappoint her.
  
  
• margaret warner's brooches
  
  
  margaret warner on how it is done
  
  
• boring words that have awesome meanings. like awesome - the sum of awe; or essentially - of the essence. think of the shit we could tell each other with better words. upright words above the squalor of quotidian synonymity. impossibly meaningful nouns, verbs, and hand gestures. the things i would tell you with those words. the things we would say...

how much blood constitutes a "wake-up call?"

nice weather for ducks

Much keening for J.D. smacks of rusty adolescence, awkwardly horny for existential perspective. Narcissistic fallacies bloom like acne on the opinion pages.

The "kids today" pop-psychological steriotypifying taughtoillogical bullshit is the same lazy substitute for Actual Thinking it always was, but somehow this sudden context has over-30s in a fogy tizzy: What would Holden think of The Twitter?! The Facebook? The Sexting? The Kids Today might, if they can finish a book, detect trace-element profundities, but real-McCoy Catchers went the way of every op-ed contributor's youth. Gag me with three phony cocks.

When the brilliant bite their own magic dust, the rest of us can ponder God's mercy in modest gifts. But when geniuses — this one in particular — leave the herd, we might just look around and wonder, "was it us?"

The goddamn truth is, we can't stay in Neurotic Neverland forever. Not even if we hide in New Hampshire for 50 years. But Holden Caulfield can. The rest of us will grow up. Grow old at least. But Holden is still waiting for school to start, wondering where ducks go in winter.

think

ephemera

"when you've lost as many arguments as i have, you come to realize that being right, like youth, is just about timing."

the metaphor for my own mortality that ran over my phone has prompted some due reflection on what i do and do not care about. about what i do and do not care. sorry.

in-progress writings. i cared a lot about those. it is an article of faith that everything happens for me to make up a reason; maybe now i'll write better stuff that cabs won't run over.

my boyfriend. i possibly didn't mention this boyfriend. or defiantly. i'm not usually other boys' boyfriend. or ever. anyways, i care a lot about him. anyway. sorry.

other things within the themes of importance or impermanence or interest to the internet in general:

• my face looks much better now that it finally has the piercing it was always missing
• mexican pete is AALLLLMMMMOSST gone. we're coming up on, like, three months. which is, like, a fourth of a year. which is, like, nutter butter crazy. (mem. write a fair-well poem.)
• there was a trashcan that was a little bit on fire and i called 911 about it and a firetruck showed up and the firemen put it out. i am no hero! only a concerned citizen.

when it's the future, i'm getting holographic flame hair that changes color with the performance of my stock portfolio. and i'm doing that before it's "the thing" to do with your holographic hair. one's holographic hair, i mean.

Things I Fucking Love, Vol. 13

CRUNCHY PEANUT BUTTER CLIF BAR

pity porn

am i just trying to impress you with my ran-over iphone? yes i am. is it working? you tell me.

revolution

• this time it's all about good posture
• and meaning to miss
• and repetition
• this time it's not about last time
• this time it's entirely about sexy underwear
• and tweetable sex
• and getting high for human kind
• this time it's about the key change
• and moralized dental hygiene
• and repetition
• this time it's still about still being young
• and everything else it was about before
• only better

the island of misfit pregnancies

"as a voting bloc, aborted fetuses are very consistent. My Kind Of People!"

it happens occasionally, as it must, that a blogpost is begun but never finished. perhaps max steele already posted THE EXACT SAME THING. maybe mommy just doesn't want it anymore. whatever the cause, these are Love's leftovers.

left a little too late, this holiday-themed fiction is what the law would consider "partially born." i might have saved her for a different christmas but supreme court nominee hearing references just don't keep. perhaps it will offer insight into my "process." "pro," from the latin, meaning "in favor of," and "cess," meaning "poop." here we go...

the synecdochetic holidays are here!

Synecdochetic Holiday Story

One very old night, two wise men and a wise Latino woman were prospecting for oil in a demilitarized zone. They had stopped for some bumps of frankincense when, all of a sudden, a faggot with wings chasséd out from behind a sand dune.

"Be amazed, for I am a Faggot of the Lord bearing tidings of Fabulous News! To you is born this day in the City of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord! The King of Kings. The Son of God, sent to bring Peace and Love to this demilitarized zone. Other people are gonna move here just to raise their kids in this demilitarized zone. It'll be paradise again! But only if you and all of your friends believes in him."

"This sounds like a pyramid scheme," observed the wise Latino woman.

"I gonna bitch-smite yo ass. Just kidding! Ha ha ha. It's about love. HE LOVES YOU! I just told you there's a messiah baby out there who loves you. Now here's what you're gonna do about it: travel to the City of David, guided by light of yonder star. There will you find the babe, swaddled in swaddling amongst humble barnyard animals. Make him presents of frankincense, myrrh, and any other Schedule I spices you're hiding in that camel's ass. Now go and spread the Fabulous News: the Savior is born!"

And as he came, the faggot left: skipping like a gay little faggot. The three wise people, having some experience with these sorts of situations, mounted their caravan for the twinkling pink star hung high in the North sky.

Movement Two

In a demilitarized zone not too far away, three child service workers were servicing children...

that's all i got. happy 2010 everybody!

Yesterday's Gone But Where Is Tomorrow?

the hotel room i was in this time last year feels like a metaphor now. meaning displacement. and soul-crushing unhappiness. and change. it's a kindof clumsy metaphor. so i suppose it suites my clumsy existence this time last year.

i owe 2009 to a lot of people. my sister gets credit for bringing me home (and a million other wonderful things). there is a polish couple in new zealand who helped me out before i left, and a haitian cab driver who helped me when i arrived. friends of mine were good to me (special mention to ben, adam, ross) and the new friends in my life are so important, whether i am brave enough to tell them or (more often) not. my mom and dad never loose faith, at least not to my face. to miguel i owe my job. and there are people i cannot thank by name or in person (the bravery issue again). they will just have to guess that i was secretly in love with them all along and suffered deeply behind my politeness. thanks to everyone for everything. i am a team effort and i hope my sponsors are proud.

i'm searching for a metaphor to describe my existence this new year's eve. i have a lot of interesting things to say but i need to think about them more. i'll try to tell you another time. when we're better people.

this is a true story. the pronouns have been changed to protect the innocent

i love you

i am made of holiday

holiday comes in, holiday goes out. in special holiday color and with the easy creamy texture, the way only mom makes. here are the mashed potatoes, there is the mashed standing rib roast. this is the broccoli casserole and that is a bit of the old fashioned family face time. we have masturbating in my boyhood bathroom and dinner milk. if i had rings like a tree or strata like geologic rock, the people who cut me open could read my brunches and follow the holidays.

three monsterous things i would do for you

• give an unearned gift
• fart under the dinner table
• use "who" as an object

Case #31861

City of David Dept. of Child Services
December 25th, 0

Multiple complaints of suspicious activity at local establishment The Inn. Responding CoDPD officer confirmed crying from within adjunct barn. Entered barn on probable cause to discover infant male and 9 suspects:

Female, age 12-16, believed to be the mother, psychologically unstable. Describes audiovisual hallucinations and claims to have been asexually impregnated by a spirit. Recommend rape counseling as well as further diagnosis of psychotic episodes and treatment for possible chemical abuse. Currently in the care of CoD Woman's Health Clinic postnatal unit.

Male, age 25-35, claims to be the mother's husband but not the father. No identification or marriage licence on record. DNA tests scheduled. Currently being held on charges of child endangerment, child abuse, and sexual assault. He has filed for custody.

Three cloaked males, ages 45-60, claim to be "here to adore the child." Currently being held on charges of child exploitation, sex trafficking, expired visas, and first degree possession of frankincense and myrrh with intent to distribute.

Three younger males, ages 18-28, also claim to be inquiring after the child. Report to have been referred by a man in white robes wearing wings. The description has been relayed to all area precincts. The men are currently being held for questioning.

Male, age 5-7, with drum. Also said to have "gift" for the baby. Currently in the care of CoD Dept. of Child Services. Under examination for sexual abuse and drug use. Due for transfer to Longterm Intermediate Housing.

Infant male found lain in feed hay. Currently in NICU. Tetanus and rabies sequences for unsanitary exposure to animal livestock. Tests reveal blood alcohol content above 90%. Life expectancy: short.

Inn Keeper being held on charges of accessory child endangerment and unlicensed keeping of animal livestock.

a reminder

better times have many names. "tomorrow," "the day," "when my hemorrhoids go away." i'm not fucking awful right now per se.

'tis the season and that's by no means an excuse for disguised drinking in public but it's a reason. like genes. substance abuse is so stinking commercialized.

now with double active ingredients for lasting relief: alcohol free! minty scent! acts fast! he will stink like perfect when we're happy for once at last. and that's money well spent!

all the good greek gods were blind and luck strikes only to remind: fucking awful's just a state of mind.

the new adventures of post-op nancy drew and the mystery of the missing pickle

big day tomorrow, team. i need everyone looking their best.

first i have a doctor's appointment, then i am dancing at a housing works fundraiser party (via evb). if you were planning on missing that, plan again, bub. i know where you live and i can go-go all over your face AND THE FACES OF EVERYONE YOU LOVE!

now is time to exfoliate my butthole. JUST KIDDING. i am grosser than you anpissitated.

TCOBLTSM

"a warm compress of holiday cheer helps you take those sacraments like a champ!"

it's
The Church of Better Living Through Self-Medication,
bitches!!

with
ALL SALVATION ALL THE TIME
24/ETERNITY

have you sinned?
are you sinning right now?

The Church luvs sinners
and we know just where it hurts
IN THE VESTIBULE!!

PRAYERS: ANSWERED!
MORAL RELATIVISM: ESCHEWED!
ARTISTIC BOYS: MADE REGULAR!

we get the RESULTS
'cause we're the only ones with the goods on Almighty God
and that slut does whatever we say
EXCLAMATION POINT

BELIEVE AND BE CURED
JOIN TODAY
THE CHURCH OF BETTER LIVING THROUGH SELF-MEDICATION

"IN THE VESTIBULE!!"

be specific!

I want the boy the boy I want would want. I want to bodysnatch his general ass. He is general to my specific and that's what the boy I want wants. As in: generally long hair. As in: generally ripped shirt. Posture LIKE THIS. Punk rock LIKE THAT. Slide the fader, motion the band. He is our sound-boy tonight. I make the kind of money his ripped shirt (and ripped pants!) can only wildly dream about. I work out very specifically while his metamorphic metabolism alchemically churns value menu fries into tightly packed, Saran-smooth, little muscled flesh. Generally toned. Generally smooth. General eye contact and then motion the band again. He smokes. I don't. Guess who's generally getting lung cancer? I want him to want me and be seen to jealously abuse the boy I love. I bet he's straight.

love, hate, legislate!

there's context for this. if you don't know what it's about, get a fucking clue.

GENERAL QUESTION:
how does one handle these kinds of things? smile or bile?

PERSONAL ANSWER:
i spilt my bile already. i can also do without the hemorrhoids right now. i am going to smile because my life is full of beauty. i share my beautiful life with beautiful boys and maybe one day i'll fall in love with one of those beautiful boys and maybe he and i will have a big party with all of our friends and family to celebrate our love and our lives and everyone will dress up and eat cake and abuse champaign and then somebody with vested powers will read a nice speech and then ask us some questions and then we'll kiss and get a piece of paper and then we won't use condoms anymore. i plan to live the rest of my beautiful life in the future. the future, where health care costs grow slower than GDP. the future, where capital letters are reserved for sarcasm. the future, where everybody can marry the person they love. i am smiling.

PS PSA:
if you decide to go bile, please remember to be clever!

i want us to run away and get hitched in a foreign jurisdiction, but fuck! we just CAN'T ELOPE!

OH READER, you old coot. how the hell are you? i'm always getting these "feelings" but this time i really feel it. like we're like this, you and me. you maybe can't see; i'm twisting two fingers together. yeah, i feel like we're close. private. biblical. i'm just kidding, SILLY!

or am i?

enough of riffraff; let's get down to business. the serious stuff.

over here is me, symbolized by this cantaloupe. now cantaloupes don't have noses, but i do. and i want to talk briefly about mine.

richard feynman wrote brilliantly about smell. summarily, people smell better than we pretend we do. "smell better" i mean have a stronger facility for olfaction, not what you thought i meant. i feel (there i go again!) like we only really exercise our sniffer when we're COOKING or having SEX. the rest of the time, smell is bad. an intrusion. a violation. "you smell" is an critique instead of a tautology.

smell has to be my favorite sense. if i were given to favoritism. it combines the unelectiveness of sound with the proximity of touch. and it's everything wonderful about taste.

smell isn't about understanding, the way the fancier senses are ("look, ..." "listen, ..." "do you feel me?"). smell is about relationship. it establishes identity and situation. transient and ambient, odor precedes and lingers. it is a product of our bodies; not our minds.

that's my third semicolon which means it's time to call it quits. i have more to say but it all means so much and i'm tired. also there is a very real risk of further semicolons and i'm seriously NOT IN THE MOOD FOR THAT SHIT right now.

smell somebody. now. do it because i told you. my blog is depressingly odorless, but this post ends with a whiff of a woman. or a man. take your pick and stick your shnoz at the nearest body. and remember it! because it's about memory too.

i've lost the will to post

NOW YOU TRY!
What Would Scott Say?

Write a post for Scott's blog. Think about voice and content. If you were Scott, what would you blog about today? Try to be both profound and funny.

Here are some keywords to get you started:

• Brunch
• Boner
• Creative Cop-out
• NOW YOU TRY!
  What Comes Next?
  
  Complete this list with an apropos and witty keyword. Consider using a thesaurus or non-sequitur.

Parents: Write a comment for your student's post. Be sure to highlight and correct any spelling or grammatical errors.