planning

The other day Anna created a Pinterest board of wedding ideas (Cheesy, she knows). “It’s time to hop on the bandwagon,” she said. She insists every other girl she’s aware of - except her weird Yale roommates - has one.

We think her girls back home (in Oregon) - who didn’t go to college, are matching up with the Larrys and Gregs who stayed home to become auto mechanics and carpenters - and are now serially getting married. This trend seems to be exerting an odd, psychological pressure on Anna.

“You may be jumping the gun,” Sophie observes.

Anna’s never even had a long-term boyfriend before, but she wishes she had one now. A part time BF anyway, because who has time for more? Anna is self-proclaimed awkward with guys, especially cute ones.

She created a tinder account and uses it to see how many matches she can get - but she refuses to meet any guys there because she says she’s not “desperate.” She thinks everything about tinder screams awkward, unless people are just hooking up there - and that idea, in her mind, is absolutely disgusting.

saving the planet

Late last Friday night, a graduate friend of Peter’s threw a party at his house - far from campus. The house was packed with people and the music was thumping, the crowded rooms jumping - practically ******* - in time to a Sacramento horror punk band called “The cramps" that was playing on loop.

I made it through the living room mob to the kitchen, which was oddly empty and well lit. There was a disheveled girl gripping the island bar with one hand, like we’re on a rocking ship, while trying to light a cigarette with the other. I gently wangled the lighter from her - so she didn’t set her hair on fire - and gave her a light.

Afterwards, I slipped the lighter into her skirt pocket, and noticed half the island had coke spilled all over it. “I gave it a drink,” she said, slurring and wavering on her feet, “it looked thirsty.”

That’s when I noticed her now-empty *** and coke cup next to a soaking wet little cactus plant, two ice cubes now lodged in its dirt. I reassured her as I helped her onto a chair, “you were saving the planet.”

The heavens were mad,
So the clouds thickened and rained,
Tearing on the earth.

On the benches where grandpas watch strollers at
re-musement parks, where the oldays
come alive, conversations take on an old Wednesday
at the barber shop atmosphere,
circa Happy Days, right after ...

There could be sumthin' t'them stories,

the ones the good guys win,
some how
the
good guys win, not in the appliance business,
but
markets saturate, you know, need a gimmick,
need a hook,

eh, the c'mon, try-days, when umph was push,
come to shove and tear and take,

the puppy dog close...

what should only be given, fool.

is nothing sacred? Sweet persuasion
****? From a fifties Tom Hanks recollection of commonalities,
awe, look, Ken Burn's still of all
I think I saw now
that
I remember, I was near there, maybe a hundred miles away.

Do ,do ,do

The baby says "Do"

The cats do, they do

The dogs bark do

The wolves howl do

The lions roar do

The play means do

The all creatures do

The God advices "do"

You must also do

Don't ever stop it

Do not say "that is bad

Comes ever with my luck"

You may do your luck

You do your chance

Look to the baby look!

When he tries to walk

He fails times so that

One feel that he can't walk

He may cry from hurt

Or feeling of frustrate

He tries times and times

As seeing the hope in eyes

Of all around as he tries

Do you see the ants?

They may fail for times

Of transport foods to lands

But they try many times

They can't get frustrate

Or can't ever stop that

They do their hard

To get what they want

Do you see that bird?

When he is gotten from egg

And the feather covers him

He tries to fly over spray

He may fail downword

That he might be killed

The viewer said he can't

Till he could do it

Do you see the calf?

After born, he tries to stand

His mother helps with that

Pity appears over her face

He gets happy and a hand

To be power fear all world

By his scream all are dithered

Do your best

Work very hard

See all around

Read all about

New of science

News that causes

You will be in eyes

You may get hard

You may hear worst

You must not stop

When you do your dream

When you get your wants

All point to you

All want to you

To learn them the do

How to be as you

How to advance their know

All will make you

As the star over the all

Love is complicated
Love requires patience
Love requires tolerance
Love require  honesty
Love requires sacrifices
Love comes with trials
Love comes unexpectedly
It is involuntary
Love hits us like a ton of brick
It cause us to lose control
It cause us to do strange things
It cause us to constantly be around someone
Constantly think of someone
Love make us understand someone
Love gives us hope
Love give us courage
Love make us happy
Love makes us strong
Love makes us weak
Love makes us confused
Love makes us complete
Love is everything.
We, are created to fall in love.

those killers of innocents
will die in their own blood

not even mistranslated 72 houris
can save them

   the misguided fanatics of Paris
   who shot happy civilians
   with their Kalashnikovs
   and then blew themselves up
   will have discovered that
   by now

to throw terror and death
into people’s daily lives
is an abominable crime
not a heroic deed

those who instigated the massacre
shall be punished accordingly

fake heroes revealed
as ruthless criminals
shall face judgement

in whose light
their great deeds
are shown as what they are

****** ******

yet – far beyond the proper punishment
    required after cruel acts
there is the need to look ahead
and face the somewhat inconvenient necessity to
    remove the roots of violence veiled as religion
    speak up and stand up firm against fanaticized minorities
        no matter in whose name the claim to act  
    bring peace to regions devastated by the dire games of politics

we simply cannot allow
a bunch of ruthless desperados to dominate our lives

            * *

Fools blather about the glory of the fight
And don’t hear the mothers crying at night.
The wives of those marauders on the roam
Cry because their husbands can’t come home.
The children of these battle-addicted men
Go away, eyes ashine, never to return again.
And still the moneyed few, urge on toward
Yet those godlings never pick up a sword.

Mandates from government palaces abound
But not as many as the dead on the ground.
People are expendable to the military,
There are no pensions in the cemetery.
It’s all about honor they tell the press.
Leaving someone else to clean the mess.

Fight for liberty and freedom, they say.
They really mean die for them every day.
It’s all about profit and always was.
It’s that and no more noble cause
When a nation not being attacked
Falsely claims they’re striking back.
Then goes on to leave thousands dead
So they can wear a crown upon their head.

If you see no words of shame in this
Then you have found what is amiss.
These people are not motivated by grace.
They have the look of evil upon their face.
They already own most of what is here
But they keep a running tally all year.
As too much is not enough they crave,
Even if that puts us all in our grave.

I am the patron saint of lost eyelashes
of foggy cloudless minds
and faded neon piping

of the Ocean's Retreat
of blown out birthday candles
when the wish-maker
never intended.

I am the patron saint of loose boards
creaking and rattling
skeletons
mere shadows of
past grandeur

and the wind quickens
and the light magnifies
and sensation multiplies

but the numbness maintains its steady and resolute path onwards
into the dark coils of the future.