i heart urbandictionary

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today’s internet awesomeness is brought to you by urbandictionary.com

Urban Dictionary, January 21  Horizontal Peeing

and, must have web gadget – Webpage Screenshot (http://www.webpagescreenshot.info/). It’s how I snagged the screenshot up there of urbandictionary.com and it has come in handy a time or two for snapping a picture of webbery for promotional whatnots. rated, sure why not, just make sure you don’t download any additional BS with it like that one time I ended up with Jolly Wallet ads or some such nonsense.

I turn to urban dictionary to decipher my teenage children on a regular basis. I have no idea what they’re saying half of the time. It’s also just funny. Horizontal Peeing? “I touched the water!” also, inspiring. A portion of the definition for “ratchet” inspired this cut-up page in Citizens for Decent Literature #5 (WARNING: JUST PLAIN NOT SUITABLE – http://issuu.com/literaryunderground/docs/cfdl5).

RATCHET: Ratchet babies are a rare breed of child raised but the most ratchety ratchets. Such a creature drinks a mixture of Baby Drank and Heroin for nutrients. This habit is started from birth to build up tolerance for the (short) life ahead of him/her. A ratchet laugh is usually high pictched, sometimes to a frequency most people over 40 cannot hear. http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=Ratchet&defid=5415583

Ratchet Babies cut-up from Citizens for Decent Literature #5

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Yes, another blog

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Maybe this one will last beyond a few months. For once, not started due to random inspiration or manic fit, but for an assignment in a Social Media class. Yes, there is such a thing. and, I consider it essential on my path to world domination/poetry as currency delusions.

We’re to identify a theme/mission/point of view. Today as I wrestle with juggling the teenagers, deadlines on papers about reading I have yet to read, and an event less than a week away with the asshole poets – will I make it, won’t I– it’s still up in the air… this poem by Charles Bukowski sort of hits today’s point of view dead on.

2 flies
by Charles Bukowski

The flies are angry bits of
life;
why are they so angry?
it seems they want more,
it seems almost as if they
are angry
that they are flies;
it is not my fault;
I sit in the room
with them
and they taunt me
with their agony;
it is as if they were
loose chunks of soul
left out of somewhere;
I try to read a paper
but they will not let me
be;
one seems to go in half-circles
high along the wall,
throwing a miserable sound
upon my head;
the other one, the smaller one
stays near and teases my hand,
saying nothing,
rising, dropping
crawling near;
what god puts these
lost things upon me?
other men suffer dictates of
empire, tragic love…
I suffer
insects…
I wave at the little one
which only seems to revive
his impulse to challenge:
he circles swifter,
nearer, even making
a fly-sound
and one above
catching a sense of the new
whirling, he too, in excitement,
speeds his flight,
drops down suddenly
in a cuff of noise
and they join
in circling my hand,
strumming the base
of the lampshade
until some man-thing
in me
will take no more
unholiness
and I strike
with the rolled-up paper–
missing!–
striking,
striking,
they break in discord,
some message lost between them,
and I get the big one
first, and he kicks on his back
flicking his legs
like an angry whore,
and I come down again
with my paper club
and he is a smear
of fly-ugliness;
the little one circles high
now, quiet and swift,
almost invisible;
he does not come near
my hand again;
he is tamed and
inaccessible; I leave
him be, he leaves me
be;
the paper, of course,
is ruined;
something has happened,
something has soiled my
day,
sometimes it does not
take a man
or a woman,
only something alive;
I sit and watch
the small one;
we are woven together
in the air
and the living;
it is late
for both of us.

Strictly for educational purposes, this poem was copied from a well-worn and coffee-stained copy of Play The Piano Drunk Like A Percussion Instrument Until the Fingers Begin To Bleed A Bit, given to me a zillion years ago by a friend I’m lucky to be able to still call a friend.

regardless of today’s point of view, I follow the philosophy of the Honey Badger…

so, I will be blogging about a range of topics including writerly stuff, personal what-have-yous, observational random ephemera, and fashion advice (wear flannel). I suppose I should make an “about me” page, until then, these pretty much sum me up…

drawing of Michele McDannold by Dr. Timothy Murrae' (Tim Murray)

drawing by Dr. Timothy Murrae’

middle child's drawing of me, Christmas morning 2012

middle child’s drawing of me, Christmas morning 2012