Walking th' Witching Hour

Silence,
metered crunch of gravel,
distorted play of light,
sodium arc and abandoned dock work,
rotting pylons,
tulle fog,
oil and tar,
stone and sand.

The quick pregnant waning moon,
she performs a cloud shrouded strip tease for me,
to lapping waves on rotted wood,
and conveyor cadenced diesel compression.

Civilization

So the other day I'm walking my sister's dog, and she [the dog], on seeing another dog, starts wagging her tail, barking and yapping, and making the doggy friendly face (you know the one, tongue hanging out, ears up, big openmouthed smile).  And the other dog does the same.  The person walking the other dog, however, has what I can only describe as a full blown apoplectic panic attack, and then starts screaming at her dog, my [sisters] dog, and at me as if she thinks some puppy deathmatch is about to ensue.

 I should explain, the dog I was walking is a black lab/basset mix.  She has the body and coloring of a lab, but her legs are only about four inches long.  The other dog was a smallish to mid-sized border/aussy mix of some sort (with maybe something else's thrown in, you know, your average midsized happy mutt).  Neither seems to have the temperament of an animal that particularly likes actual fighting.

 So she's in a panic, which means that now the dogs are starting to panic.  So I'm trying to calm the dogs, and this woman starts yelling at me about how my vicious (smaller, slower, older) dog was provoking her baby etc.  (her dog is looking at her, and my sisters dog, and her and my sisters dog with that 'hey mom, can we go play' look).  And she [the crazy woman] starts making like she's going to call the cops.

At this point I should mention that neither the dogs, nor the people ever got within fifteen yards of each other.

So I dig out my phone and make like I'm going to call the cops too, and then pretend to call a lawyer. 

She [crazy mc-douchebag] then pockets her phone and mutters something about how she wasn't looking for a fight, and storms off with her dog in tow (both dogs kinda looking confused and a little upset that they didn't get to play together).

Funny how the sloppy animals can get along better than the civilized sapiens.


Folks wonder why I don't like people. 

Twitch

Hand-less clock in my living room,
truncated,
amputated,
fresh batteries for noise.

Rhythm,
other than breathing,
heart beat,
creaking joints.

Wind blows,
grass grows,
water flows,
so it goes.



I'm trying to come up with a tactful way to ask her if she can prevent whichever of her friends or family members or whoever from texting snarky post break-up song lyrics to my work phone [a trend that started roughly 30 hours after she left me, with recurrences about once every three or four days since]. 

Seriously people, if you want to salt my wounds use my personal phone. 

[And these are the folks who think I'm trash.]


Probably best if I just drop it.  More than enough real life to worry about right now, without getting bogged down in bullshit.

Maybe I can get my boss to issue me a new phone.

Olfactory offer in a Winco checkout

Musty, tangy, rusty, warm
sweat and steamed mushrooms
unwashed clothing and stale smoke
hidden less than artfully under perfumed soap
warm seaweed, fermenting urine
metallic bitter twang of spent hormones
carrion warm copper oxide of hidden blood
stale compost of weeks old decomposing alcohol
slight whiff of talcum

Nature's little gift to me,
though some may choose to dis-believe,
a gift that (when the eyes deceive),
warns me when it's time to leave.

[ok, yeah, that was pretty awful. But hell, I haven't slept much this month]

Dissipation in endless space

Again and again
my brightest sparks extinguished
got to keep moving

Boy I'm glad she'll never read this

I think I only showed her this blog once, and I'm pretty sure she wasn't paying attention (I sure hope she wasn't, 'cause I need to rant and I don't want to inflict it on her).

fucking Chinese consulate [more on that later]

So all told I only took about a $300 loss on the ring.  [fuckin pawn shops]
I figure I got off cheap, would've been much more painful and expensive if I'd put the thing on her eight months ago when I bought it. (still, I got enough to pay off most of one credit card, and maybe even get myself a new tattoo)

Hope she's doing well though.  She's a wonderful person, and I still love her very much, even if she no longer feels that way about me.

In other news, it's taken almost three weeks but I think we've finally found someone competent in our local congressman's office (I hope, she at least seems willing to do something) to oversee my sister's case.  This, after exhausting all avenues with the U.S. State Dept. and both consular offices.  Now I just need to find out what happened to the international wire transfer I put through on the 15th.  [fuckin banks].

I hope we can get them [the relatives] back in the country soon.  I worry when shit like this happens...  And I think their dogs and cats are getting tired of the sight and smell of me  every night (I know I'm getting tired of the smell of at least one of them... He knows who he is... I call him 'the fart machine'...  Ok, I'm bullshitting, the dogs and cats are sweet, but I still wish they [the relatives] were back in the country)

 Not sure what we're going to do with them [the dogs] once the bank starts eviction proceedings (the foreclosure went through at the end of April, while they [the relatives] were out of the country.  Wish I could have done more.)

If you're new to this blog and don't know what the fuck I'm talking about, don't worry.  I'm keeping the particulars to myself anyway, I just need to rant [see the title].

Well, off to bed, see if I can catch a couple hours before work.  (sucks running on Chinese time AND PST at the same time... I think there's a poem there but I'm too lazy to write it, something about time for time, or time to be lazy for a time, for a time)

Goodnight [and I say this with affection, and affectation] you weird voyeuristic fuckers

Pour yourself a heaping bowlful of dingleberry crunch, part of a nutritious breakfast.

The ones that care lie to protect you,
the ones that don't lie to defraud you,
the ones you support lie to control you,
the ones you oppose lie to debase you.

Life is like a box of chocolates.
It looks nice on the outside, you're filled with hope for what it may contain, and (unless you happen to be a bench sitting retard in a seersucker suite) it's ultimately a disappointment.  A fleeting masturbatory exercise.  A dose of empty calories, with no redeeming virtue beyond cheap thrills and pointless entertainment.  A mass produced consumer product, a commodity to be bought, sold, or traded for.  A profit line item, or at best an exploitable resource of limited inherent worth.

Happy fucking friday.

Atraxia

Roaming the rail in cloud soft calignosity,
sage scrub and sweet flowering Eriophyllum,
sharp tang of coastal showers in sun baked dust,
ozone, powdered stone and wet concrete...
Gravel and worn out shoes.

Had the chorus stuck in my head all week

Paradox

So she says she isn't interested in talking if I'm angry or sad over her leaving...
The sad thing is, I wasn't angry at first,
I really wasn't,
just sad.

Now though, that I've had a chance to re-read all the emails and text messages, to remember her cliche responses to some very basic questions while she was breaking up with me, over the phone, I find I'm becoming angry. 

I think this might mean that I'm not going to be able to talk to her for a couple of years, because I don't see not being either sad or angry for some time to come.

But it shouldn't bother her, according to the second to the last message I received from her, she's moved on, and I need to do the same.  I don't want to, but who in life gets what they want?  

I hope whoever she has moved on with treats her well, that he can give her the life she wants and deserves, and I hope that if he does, she doesn't cut and run when things get difficult.

(Just because she no longer loves me doesn't mean that I don't still feel love for her, to spite myself, and against my better judgement it seems. ) 

Damn I wish I could still drink.



Shit, maybe I should change my title from tired and angry to sad and angry...

Eh, fuck it, I'm still tired, so it's still honest.

because I

don't like to write when things are right,
no letter, poem, psalm or song,
it seems as though I lack the knack,
and only write when things are wrong.

One more useless old fart

Continue the mantra,
not good enough,
not fast enough,
not strong enough,
not rich enough.

Too much gut,
too little hair,
no prospects,
plenty of attitude,
nothing to offer but love, humor, and a ham-handed attempt at understanding.


I'm amazed she stuck around for as many years as she did,
and sad that it only took her two days to move on once she figured it out.



But as our society values the practical over the emotional,
I will try to overcome my loss,
and hope that I can be content in the knowledge that I should get almost enough money from selling the ring to pay off one of my outstanding debts.

Thus we justify the sacrifice of that which is important or real,
 to support the fabricated control paradigms of our society.
So shall it be written.

Saying good-bye

Something new.
Not new in the overall sense, but a new type, a new manifestation.

Sledgehammer waves,
or sneaking up subtly when I least expect it.

I knew you were going, but it couldn't prepare me for you leaving.


And now it's back to the familiar loneliness,
while the only person who ever got me,
gets to go get someone else.