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
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 by Dr. Timothy Murrae’
middle child’s drawing of me, Christmas morning 2012
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