rule #1: You MUST move your OWN arms

seems like a no-brainer, huh? most of the #1 rules are. as i have found myself repeating this multiple times over the last few days to teenzilla jr. and struggling #thestruggleisreal with feeling overwhelmed… i get it. really don’t feel like moving my own arms sometimes. this is when the honey badgerism comes in handy. because– seriously, kids, you must move your own arms.

anyway, gearing up for pre-book-release noise… i’m not apologizing, in advance. i’ll do all the annoying promo things i would tell anyone else they should be doing. speaking of which, you can now follow me on twitter or instagram @oneldammit …to keep up with utter nonsense, occasional announcements and blurry photography.


i’m working on a cover page for a media kit. this term’s schoolwork is two birds, one stone. in progress for the public relations course…

the website is not the least bit done. several different idea tracks on what to do with it. a full media kit and website should be done in.. three weeks? for finals?!? jesuseffinchrist.


No Surprises


what a fuckin’ life, right?

to be reduced to the
over wires
across time zones

i cannot find
the map
that says



8 horrible ways the universe can destroy us

and they happened without warning

the fade
the cut and run
the never was what you thought in the first place
the dry, sucking ache of just not right
the disconnect
the gray the gray the gray

it’s about
cutting things down
to the quick
something that
without warning
when you think
too much
& hold it in

i apologize in advance
your metaphors
are like
a sandbag
in a desert

is the
of the end

i have already cried enough

zero hour


2014-04-03 00.43.08engaging the dream

that morning
there were
four kittens
on the side of the road
not sure if
they were going
to stay or run
the morning was cold
avoiding last night’s

in step
a mist of rain

you said things
i never wanted
to hear

i see the colors changing
like it’s nothing
out of the ordinary

the blue
the very deep blue

like riding a bicycle



some point in grade school.. we had one of those ‘ride your bike to cure’ something or other. they marked off a section of this back road, somewhat paved with loose gravel for fun if you fall. i was overzealous, of course, and promised some ridiculous amount of miles. back and forth, turn around… again.

then there’s those days in the mustang, going ANYWHERE BUT HERE. middle of the road where the tires find their groove. jimi hendrix on cassette, the red vinyl interior melting with the things behind us in the rearview.

no one else is out here and you can still fly through the intersection because the semis haven’t come yet. when the corn is too high to see around the curves, fuckit. slowing down is for pussies. remember that.