Thursday, October 31, 2013

anything with sugar

Winona's father had put the pack of matches inside the refrigerator where he knew she would find it.

She did, of course, when she reached for the pickle jar.

"Oh fine," she muttered to herself.  "I'll humor him."

It wasn't just any pack of matches, but one handed down from her grandfather, Cornelius.  On the flap was a cartoon drawing of a robot holding a cupcake with a birthday candle in it.

"You see?" said Winona to nobody in particular.  "Robots like to eat."

"Not if it's kale," came a voice from the bottom of the stairwell.  It was her younger cousin, Silas, who had been spending the week at their house.

"How do you know?"

"Because I had a robot once," he lied.  "It only ate cupcakes and oreos, but nothing else."

"Not even candy?"

"Oh, and candy.  Anything with sugar."

"If you eat only sugary stuff will you grow up to be a robot?" asked Winona.

"I think you become a robot before you start liking only the sugary stuff."

"How does someone become a robot then?"

"By staying inside too much."

if this is football, count me in!

Sunday, October 27, 2013

what i do

i try to hold your silence
at different angles
as if doing so could
make it bend enough to break
and i remember the day
you laid it onto the table

it is still there
and here

so i make things with it

Wednesday, October 23, 2013

The Big Red Nose

There once was a very short man who had a long beard, and his name was Murphy.

He had a big red nose.

And on his big red nose there was a white bump, and on the white bump there was a fly.

The fly liked to say, "Buzzy wuzzy fuzzo luzz."  And Murphy liked to hear it.

One day he was walking along and a little girl noticed his big red nose.  "Excuse me, mister," she said.  "You've got a white bump on your nose and there's a fly on it."

"That's alright.  I like the fly," said the very short man named Murphy.

And the fly said, "Buzzy wuzzy fuzzo luzz."

Then Murphy went home and washed the dishes.  While he was doing that, he saw his friend Ralph through the window so he waved.

Ralph came closer, tapped on the window and pointed.  "Hey!" he yelled through the glass.  "You've got a bump on your nose and there's a fly on it!"

"That's alright!" Murphy yelled back.  "I like the fly!"

And the fly said, "Buzzy wuzzy fuzzo luzz."

The next day was Saturday.  Murphy was at the park.  Along came a gentleman who was trying to walk his dog.  The dog was jumping around and slobbering.

"Hello," called the gentleman who was still far away.  "Nice red nose!  Is that a white bump on it?  And is that a fly?"

"It's alright," Murphy called back.  "I like the fly."

And the fly said, "Buzzy wuzzy fuzzo luzz."

When the gentleman got closer, the dog barked and jumped up onto Murphy.

The fly flew away and the white bump disappeared!  Murphy's eyes grew wide and filled with light, then he smiled the biggest of big smiles as he rubbed his fingers all over his beautiful smooth nose.

           The End 

Saturday, October 19, 2013

the stroganoff painting

Carl sat on a three-legged stool in front of his easel, a paintbrush in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

Margaret glared.

"Why do you get so upset all the time?" he said.  "My art is not about you, but if the shoe fits then go ahead and wear it."

"Yeah right it's not about me.  Stop sinning," she said.

"You're joking, right?  Just because I sin differently than you doesn't mean it's a good idea to judge me."  He pivoted on his seat so he could see her reaction.

She was annoyed but trying to hide it.

She nodded at his stroganoff painting, the one he had put up near the window.  "You must stop the offensive stuff.  You're not supposed to do it."

Carl took a drag of his cigarette.
"All you do is get offended," he said.  "If you weren't so busy thinking people were out to get you maybe you'd stop it with your usual retaliations and actually try to, you know, do something kind."

"That painting has a silver spoon in it and it's the same one I have in my kitchen drawer, the one I let you use to eat my pea soup."

"So what?" said Carl.

"So, you painted blood and poop all over it.  I'm not okay with that.  And you keep lying."

"Art is fabrication," he said.

Margaret glared.

"What if you tried looking for beauty in my paintings?"

"There's nothing beautiful about blood and poop," she said.

"Look again," said Carl.  "Look for the Something More."

Friday, October 18, 2013

composition 20

From the great Well curiosity may spring,
courage grow larger in tiny, tiny things.

I am villain, so are you
Christ have mercy, Lord have mercy

An empty cup our family brings.
May it be filled with ev'ry good, good thing.

I am villain, so are you
Christ have mercy, Lord have mercy

Wednesday, October 16, 2013

the search

"Who do you align yourself with?" asked Wes.

"With those who like to explore," said Angela.  "And we don't agree on everything, but we're often in harmony."

"Exploring is okay," he said.

"Yes," said Angela.  "There's a promise... those who seek shall find.  But something tells me I'll be seeking until I die."

Tuesday, October 8, 2013


I went to the forest with Trevor today and was reminded of that little red leaf I kissed last year.

Near this forest there used to be a man-made lake.  Now it's an open grassy area with picnic tables and we ran around randomly in there for a while amongst the fungus.  Most of the mushrooms were... I don't know... very proper looking and hard.

Sometimes Trevor tagged me, sometimes I tagged him.

He stepped on one of the softer ones, a puffball that belched clouds of brown dust-like spores.

Wednesday, October 2, 2013

The Facebook Whine

Amelia held a glass of white wine in her hand.

"It's cool that you like Scott," said Jessika.  She held a glass of red.  "He's an awesome guy."

"Yeah," said Amelia.  "But I can't go through with it."

"Why not?"

She turned and glanced at the bottle of red wine behind her.  "There's some fishy stuff going on in his family.  It really sucks, so I say screw it."

"What kind of fishy stuff?"

"The brother-in-law, Lance, keeps whining on facebook about some thing that happened like ten years ago.  It's sort of annoying and I think it would be great for everyone—especially himself—if he could look at things more positively."  She shook her head.  "It's a messed up situation."

"That's too bad.  What's the thing that happened?"

Amelia took a sip.  "Well, from the sounds of it, Scott's parents were all upset that Lance liked football."


"The night he got engaged to Rayanne—Scott's sister—the parents were acting like it was the worst thing that had ever happened to them and tried to call off the engagement."

Jessika took a sip.  "That's rude.  Wait, why would Lance whine on facebook?  Can't he just talk to them in person?"

"It looks like when he tries to talk about how he feels, what they do is get very defensive and argumentative."

"I hate those kinds of conversations," said Jessika.

Amelia swirled the wine around in her glass and pulled an empty one from the cupboard.  "Rayanne was treated like the shit on the bottom of their shoes, all because of Lance's thing for football.  As Lance was doing his facebook stuff I could see his emotional health was going down the drain and I was getting a bit concerned.  But you know what bugs me?"


"Scott's family wouldn't even do anything to help Lance when he was down.  Instead, they got more defensive and blamed him all the more."

"Are you kidding?" said Jessika.  "I'd be depressed, too, if someone ruined my engagement because of something as inconsequential as a sports preference.  Getting hitched is supposed to be a happy occasion, a once-in-a-lifetime thing."

"I hear ya.  And I can't help wondering... why the battle?  I mean, if their family truly cared about peace you'd think they'd do the obvious and apologize to the poor guy.  Why just stand back and watch him suffer on facebook, then pour salt in his wounds?"

"Yeah, that's mean."

"And there's definitely dishonesty going on.  I mean, somebody's lying," said Amelia.  "And I don't want to take any sides, I just want to see this thing get resolved.  And I want them to know how beautiful they all are."

"I appreciate your loving heart, Amelia."

Amelia raised her glass and Jessika followed suit.  They clinked glasses.  Then they poured the two wines into the empty glass, watched the red and white splash into clouds that swirled and glistened.

"Um... Jessika?"


"Is that a dead crow on your porch?"

Jessika turned and followed her line of sight to the sliding glass doors.  "Yeah, it is."

"It has no head," said Amelia.