mmmmccxciii

People That Grow Up, Though

I’d like to have a very serious
engagement with several of
them to see what they think
this means so I can determine

whether or not I have achieved
such an accomplishment (if an
accomplishment such a thing
is), and how they got there

and maybe see if they think
I have made progress in such
matters. Today I worked on
filling out disability forms. I

do not want to be on disability
but try to remain proactive as
I’ve tried like mad to get a job
for how many years now and

still do not have one. This is
not a sonnet unless one wants
to be snooty or perhaps more
open-minded about such things.

Do you know my preference,
snooty or open-minded? That
would be something if you didn’t.
I prefer an open mind above most

anything, I’d say. Most things,
anyway. Otherwise, why bother?

mmmmccxcii

Chicken & Egg Delusional

Predictably, I have begun this
piece with a title.  And for this
piece, that’s all I had to begin
with, no other ideas, just a title

scribbled weeks or so ago, in hopes
that something might follow that
would be of any relevance or inspira
tion.  There are other ways these

words can be of interest.  They might
literally be a set of instructions for a
procedure that has eluded the reader
for quite some time, and/or could be

utilized invaluably from this point forward,
saving the reader time and adding that value.

mmmmccxci

Rehash

As if Discombobulated
were my middle name
(not Ray, as in a Ray
of Sunshine, which

would be a much nicer
way to live, and perhaps
could once have been
debated as true...truer?),

let’s take up a bit more
of these sonnets made from
sheafs of handwritten dis
tractions, Disco Bob.

1) Nomad types; there is no
number two. But this is a start.

mmmmccxc

My Phony Baloney-land
or,
Utopia’s Stunning Dose
of Pretense Is Quite a
Kick in the Teeth!

I’m certain that I’m missing
something terribly integral
here, but sometimes it’s nice
to just roll with these little
notions that seem so poignant
when they first creep into con
sciousness. Tonight I’ve some

how gotten sidetracked into del
ving into the heart of my con
flicted feelings about pretense,
for which, in my typical geminian
way, I’ve had a lifelong love-hate
thing, wherein I cravenly seek out
and at the same time have utter

contempt for the fake of it all.
Phony baloney is to my mind
entirely too prevalent, inescap
able now. So my next thought
is how pretense, in and of itself,
seems so often to me to either be
a class construct or a criminal one.

And these two particular avenues
into the swamp of sur(e)reality are,
whether or not one is conscious of
even traveling either route, anti
thetical to what I’d consider my
idea(l) of living well; they’re quite
problematic, downright cruel. Then

I remember that this living and being
NOT oneself is what “lies” at the heart
of theatrical, and of cinematic. This
thought, that my art form, or at least
the one to which I am indebted, the
one because of which I am still deeply
in debt, and that for which I (quite

proudly, I should add) have two paper
degrees, a fact about which I am in no
small way proud and content, is, at its
core, by its very nature, constrained
indelibly by a long set of rules on del
ivering, in the most convincing way,
dishonesty. It is the art of being UN

real. So, with my brain duly evapo
rated, I decide it’s time to stave off
these all-too-dandy-and-overwhelm
ing thoughts, to hit pause on “big
thinking” until I’m up to it again.
And sure enough, I’ve got what I
at first think the perfect antidote

coming right up. For I can see right
here in my calendar just the thing: it
is time for the latest round with my 

D&D team. RPG to the rescue! Yay 

and hooray!  And then it hits me, rising

like a methane bubble from my drained 

brain’s last gasp of common sense! Oof!!

mmmmcclxxxix

Birtch, You Ol’ Sir Reality!

I humbly request that we skip
the pretense, the, you know,
that façade, just for today, might
that be okay?  Unlike everything

else, I mean.  Which is the sitch,
you see: everything is not okay.
Or is it?  I suppose we’ll all have
to wait until tomorrow to get a

potentially solid answer to that
question.  Only, I digress—as in
—back to my line of questioning.
Am I okay?  If so, how long will

I remain so?  If not, how long will
that last?  If so, what to do next?

mmmmcclxxxiii

What’s the Big Mystery?

This is condescending,
by the way.  So in that spirit,
what’s with the mirror in this piece. 

There are tons of them, they’re all over the place,

in general.  But found in this genre, they
most often exist individually.  And just to elevate

things, if you can’t see vibrating

(forceful or otherwise) silhouettes
somewhere in the gloss of the moment
of the mirror’s first appearance in said work
of art, then we call that foreshadowing.
I’d say this is the kind that is mostly mere
indication, a positive thing, rather than 

anything that spells general or specific doom.

It might be so positive that, should the viewer(s)
be thinking critically of film, in any conscious way,
it would likely be unintentionally, or so I would assume,
given that it is one of our genres that is least associated 

and even perhaps quite rarely adjacent to the notion of,
I’m gonna introduce the potentially derailing term
artistic or academic or geek-associative, criticism,
wherein foreshadowing is a mechanism which we,
the audience, might not (over)think, much less
splice and/or extricate and/or debate/detail this
normally elevated often complex or debatable or
aha! literary device.  It would and should
normally just pass us by, such a generically
standard set piece in this kind of thing.  We’d 

ordinarily be thoughtless to its presence, useless

in any expectant way.  That is, if any thought even 

were to go into such a thing.  The thought might 

come bearing down upon us once the set piece is literally 

utilized.  Thanks to the reflex of being mind-numbingly 

beaten into the general psyche’s zeitgeist’s or the populous’ 

kink-zone, this particular and next to ubiquitous set piece,

given its purpose (its representation or literal function) might 

go unnoticed.  In actuality, when it is, let’s say, put into 

play, and I could be wrong about the noticeability vs. well, 

of course it’s there vs. the looking ahead, oh, wait, I can 

already sense a quite significant thoughtful reason for its 

placement, again, most often in retrospect.  Such that a

literal, visceral fast-forwarding might immediately
transpire thanks to an initial non-use of it.  It being,

again, one of the most frequent set pieces in this, 

probably our most prevalent artistic genre.  In fact,

perhaps our most lauded genre; a genre we might call 

our official international genre, should such an association 

be given with pretty much anything beyond a bit of 

fleeting, rare and/or randomly cunning consideration.

mmmmcclxxxii

AhmaRequiem a’Twang

Predictably, she’d been 

multi-tasking. All pastiche,
checkin’ out some Nope,

smokin’ down with dope’s Pope. & every

thing else.  Caught Puccini at the Met,
maybe twice, let’s just say. Took in
some Queen while makin’ some snappy
sandwiches, a family picnic, al dente, sprung from Mercury’s

range, all the while, with a wand swimmin’ in
spangle and a finger curled all cumm’ere;

she brought us one by one out of the hiding corners
and the shadows’ bilges….and then, double double, she

festooned it all with an UNtoiled unpredictability that, eyes now
opened so, swam upstream, another mystery’s brainwashed misery gone awhile.

mmmmcclxxxi

Trenz

Is anyone paying attention
to politics, to political polls,
as they’d (who’d?) have us
believe? And if they are,

well, paying attention to what
ever’s hot and whatever’s not –
in general – which, surely some
body is, wouldn’t it be nice to

sort of have a look at those
as our noses go back toward
those trends in politics. Which,
yes, they tell us loud and clear,

are just trends? Because I for
one am worried. And might
that give some help? What
are people singing these days?

Oh. Do I know this one? Am
I afraid to actually ask? Frankly,
depending on how I’m dosing on
anti-anxiety medication, I’m afraid

of just about everything I hear these
days, which is mostly the news, so it
could be my problem, being a devotee
of news. No. I know getting everyone

all worked up is a mental health disaster,
but what about the other disasters, ment
al health or no? I mean despite whether
or not. I mean, what are the chances

that basic trends might tell us all we
need to know on such matters? Is
anyone looking into this?

mmmmcclxxx

Artificial Intelligence

I wonder if this is the guy
from 3 Body Problem only
made way thinner with AI.
The creepy one that makes

mils from snack foods. But
why? Certainly not for me.
Perhaps I’m known for occ
asionally partnering up with

a few skinnies, but skinny
bears? Whatever, okay,
there was the otter thing,
there was a five year

relationship. But then
there are all these really
uncomfortable sidenotes
that could be relevant.

Names do not count for
types, absolutely not. And
look how I’ve now gone
over the normally legitimized

sonnet range, yes? So don’t
have me scooped up in that
carriage of nonsense. Is this
when I out myself as the guy

who’s always been disgusted by
all of this typecasting (particularly
in the animal arena) thrown into
such sexual heaps? Yes. I’m

out. Here’s a sexual slitherer of a
stereotype, though, that I might intent

ly include, perhaps as the whole lot
of ’em…snakes! Do I really feel that

way? I mean about snakes, the
poor things? Plus, wasn’t I always
a bit of a Range Rover. Surely you’d
agree? If you’d ever even cared.

mmmmcclxxix

flyer

do you happen

to have any

xtra food 

stamps? see

contact info 

to hit me up.

mmmmcclxxviii

i’m better now,
but worse than
i was day before
yesterday. i was

much worse the
day before that.
i’ll just leave all
the talk of being

gracious and so
very thankful to
you, because you
are better at that

today than the day
before yesterday,
although a bit
worse than the

day before
that.

mmmmcclxxvii

Who’s the Hero Now?

lately i’ve been…
here’s what i wanted
to do today….

oh, don’t say that.
i’m alright.  just
not quite ready.

can you hear
the screaming?
someone’s rushing

the corridors like
they have someplace
to go.  don’t they

realize the babes
are happy in
their delirium?

the noises of
joy slowly
decrease

as the night
finds its
darkness.

mmmmcclxxvi

Sleeping It Off For 48 Hours, A Still Life

a mash-up of medicine bottles
shoved up to the file bins
atop the lower right leg
quarter of my bed’s
mattress cover.
the cover has a purple
flower-themed design.
the flowers are white,
though, it’s the background
that’s purple, the color which
i’ve proclaimed most of my life
is my favorite. my biggest small
fan is right at my hip as i type, turned
on high, as always, and aimed right at me.
amongst the pill bottles: airwick fresh new day
fresh waters scent air freshener spray; a smart-
looking red mouse with a ‘logi’ imprint; a yellow
sticky-note pad, on the top page of which is written
“it’s the memiest meme-stock in all of meme-land,”
which, as i recall, is kara swisher quoting someone else
about truth social (in hopes that we have forgotten it already

so there are no questions asked, because who would want to 

explain?); a pink water bottle, empty; a mostly full roll of 

paper towels; a small tube of ‘body lotion,’ beige in 

tint; a couple of pairs of underwear and a hoodie 

jacket, the one i wear most often when i am 

out of my apartment, which i have not been 

at all in several days now, only just reco

vered from a bout of this horrid nausea 

and digestion problem that has had 

me in the emergency room five 

times in the last three or so 

months; ‘ever spring’ brand ‘down-

to-earth solutions that are up to
earth’s standards’ streak-free
glass cleaner; a pink eye-glasses
container that belongs to the
pair that i’m currently wearing;
and a couple of random sheets
of paper that belong in one of
three bins that line the right
side of my bed, the bins
filled with files marked
‘urgent,’ ‘to file,’
‘to read,’ etc.

mmmmcclxxv

Now What?

i have a lot more empathy
for people with chronic
digestion issues.

mmmmcclxxiv

Net Nothing

this is the last letter

of the alphabet. the

last day of this mau

dlin experiment. if

i could stack all 26

of them up, one on

top of the other,

what could i do

mathematically

(or otherwise)

to get some

thing, anything,

out of it all?


nah,

i’m just kidding.

the age of enlig

htenment is over.

welcome to the

age of reason.

mmmmcclxxiii

Mnemonic Marmalade

there’s a lot of rigmarole
when it comes to memory.

it’s particularly hard to
remember the things

i’ve promised myself
never to mention to

you. and then 

there’s the stuff 

i’ve vowed
never to say 

a word about 

to anyone else.

mmmmcclxxii

Zippy Zen

were he teased into the dark
ness of the corner sofa that
was but a shadow, this scene
would be far different.  but
the blips of the flashes that

lit the remaining dancers as
they slithered and swayed
upon the rich mahogany
that dampened the boom
of the bass were but a peri

pheral morse code.  the
set had been awesome,
much to his relief.  it was a
night in which to disappear
and to forget.  and this dark

corner where he now existed,
alone, but for the muffled
beat, resting upon a ghost
of a plush sofa, propelled his
spirit into the rest of the night

toward the end of the weekend.
the unflagging feels of having
evaporated into the world of
the unseen after shimmying
so brightly around and about

and within the glimmering
stew crammed with the craven;
the throngs of the boiling and
intermittently half-conjoined,
all clamoring and crashing and

clanging about during the zero
hours of an otherwise dead-
silent city’s nightclub.

mmmmcclxxi

Cranky Cross

strategize. or stargaze. i all
too often choose staring up
into the vast speckled outer
sphere, not because i believe

there’s anything out there that
might help me, no, i do this for
a much less dignified—but per
haps more logical—reason, which

is that such an act happens to
divert my attention, keeping me
at least momentarily from rem
embering the things i absolutely

need to be doing, impossible as
accomplishing such might ever be.

Cuckoo Choices

mmmmcclxx

Hippity Hoppity

when is easter this year?
i’m not sure why i ask. i’m
certainly not in the market
for a new bonnet. nor will

i attend a service of any sort.
although anything is possible.
no, i suppose i’m just nostalgic
for spring, which is silly for a

couple of reasons. one, it has
already sprung, officially, yes
terday. and two, for nearly
twenty-four years now i’ve

lived in a city where there are
no significant calendar-associative
weather changes at all. boiled
eggs, the shells of which have

been plopped into dye, along
with big white chocolate bunnies
can have me harboring warm
associative thoughts, as well,

i suppose. or maybe it’s peter
the personified bunny, a rabbit
among a bevy of bouncing bunnies
with human-like characteristics.

and then i remember watership
down. a book i read almost as
many times as the first few
chronicles of narnia. of course

the most prominent reason
for all of this blabbity-blab
about bunnies and perverted
holidays – i’ve either way too

much free time on my hands
thinking about such hullaballoo
or else i’m doing an awfully
great job at procrastinating.

Hotbox Hangdog

mmmmcclxix

Payment Postponement

there is an art to it.  a
bureaucratic time-suck
that might be laid out
with charts and graphs

and medical diagnoses
and, oh, those institutions
whose purpose, it is pro
claimed, would have you

rising back above it all in no
time flat from this unexpected
set of perpetual curveballs
thrown all major league style

and with such precision and
regularity directly at your nuts.

Pecan Pralines