in the 80s and 90s we had a cat named snoopy, who was a very cute cat

we bought him with another cat named fluffy who ran away to die back in the 80s

and probably reincarnated into someone else, you see snoopy probably hated

my yelling at my parents, and despite me being very nice to him up close

he probably me yelling at my mum and dad, and snoopy was worried about

what could happen to him next, you see i was drinking pretty heavily and i had

multipersonality disorder and i was very wild, and despite snoopy not noticing

it in me, my mum and dad surely noticed it, you see i was missing people in my life

and snoopy found it hard to cope and eventually was struggling and died, but snoopy

didn’t stop living and he reincarnated as chazz petrel, who was a troubled kid with autism and

mental illness, and he was determined to show me one day what i looked like to his previous life

snoopy cat, you see chazz brought on violence to his family as well as bringing on problems

you see chazz was in and out of institutions and was bullied a few times and he suffered a lot

apparently his parents were dealing with a lot of trauma, like my parents were dealing with a lot from me

and chazz was determined that he won’t die straight away, he really wanted me to understand

that fighting parents is wrong, because the only problem is chazz was a kid who suffered a lot

and snoopy was releasing problems that i showed mum and dad, but sometimes snoopy realised

that he was too restless for a cat, and he had to release his negative energy he got from me

you see in the year 2014,, just after chazz’s 12th birthday, chazz took his own life on august 31

and chazz was saying, this is stupid, and now chazz has reincarnated as the youngest puppy on

the youtube family bratayley and as the puppy ran around he was running off aggression from

chazz, it is not good that chazz had died and it’s not good i put snoopy through all that pain

but i feel that soul has been calmed almost ready to prepare for nirvana, mending each blade of grass

Nos jeunesses avec Monsieur Snoopy


C'était le noble fils d'Isky
Yorkshire au caractère vif
Betty l'avait eu en cadeau
De Ginou, comme un joyau.
Dans ses jeunes ans, vêtu
d'un pelage noir et boucle.
Il semblait une variété
d'écureuil plutôt qu'un chien
Mais sa passion était de jouer
Et de mordiller aussi .
Mais ce chiot était déjà
Un jeune combattant téméraire.


Venu avec nous a Lille
Il apprit a courir les pigeons du Beffroi.
L'été prenant le cargo avec nous pour la Corse,
Il débarquait aphone ayant aboyé toute la nuit.
Dans l'île, ce chien anglais se portait comme un charme,
et se jouait des ronces du maquis.
Il dégotta même une ruche sauvage d'abeilles près du ruisseau le "Fiume".


Mais de caractère dominant
Et n'ayant pas appris les mœurs de la meurtre,
Il refusa la soumission au dogue de "Zeze"; "Fakir",
qui le prit dans sa gueule et le fit tournoyer sous la camionnette du boucher ambulant.
Il en fut quitte pour quelques jours de peur panique,
Puis ne manqua point de frétiller de sa queue pour saluer le chef de meute selon la coutume des chiens.


Rentrés a Lille, je vis un film de Claude Lelouch,
Ou un restaurateur avait entraîné un coq a saluer les clients,
Aussitôt, je m'efforcais de renouveler l'exploit avec Snoopy juche sur mon épaule ou l'appui tête de notre Fiat.
Mais ce chien indépendant et fougueux ne voulut rien entendre.
Las et envolées les idées de montreur de chien savant.


Le chien Snoopy n'aimait guère l'eau, ni douce, ni salée,
mais une fois plonge dans les flots,
de ses pattes il se faisait des nageoires pour rejoindre sa maîtresse se baignant dans les flots.


Âgé  de seize ans, la grande vieillesse venue,
dont le malheur veut qu'elle marque le cadrant de cinq fractions de vies d'hommes,
Une année fatidique le désormais vieux chien fut gardée à  Luchon par mes parents pour lui éviter le chenil du cargo,
Aussi un soir attablés au restaurant "La Stonda" nous apprimes l'affligeante nouvelle,
Le vivace Snoopy n'était plus, Je nous revois encore les yeux baignés de larmes comme si nous avions perdu, la meilleure partie de notre jeune âge.
Car il fut le premier chien de notre âge adulte,
Notre fille Celia mêla ses pleurs aux nôtres,
et cette nouvelle pourtant bien prévisible apporta une touche de chagrin à ce mois d'août d'ordinaire, si plein de Lumière et de soleil.

Nous avions perdu notre premier chien et notre grand ami de ceux qui ne vous trahit jamais.
Snoopy fut pour nous notre premier amour de chien.
Solide cabot au poil argenté, aux oreilles en pointe dressées au moindre bruit.
Il accompagna nos jeunes années de couple, alors sans enfant,
et enjolivait notre vie par sa fantaisie et ses facéties.
Joli descendant des chiens de mineur du Yorkshire, il sut nous donner pour toute notre vie l'amour des chiens anglais.

Paul Arrighi

HI DUDES

THIS IS THE MANY SIDES OF DAD, FIRST HE WILL BOP TEACHING US MUSIC

OF HIS TIME, AND THEN TELL US TO EAT NICELY AT THE DINNER TIME

HE WOULD SING, OH ROSIE, LET’S DO THAT FOR THE BOYS

COME ON SUSIE, ROCK AND ROLL

AND THENN AFTER WHEN I ATE LIKE A SLOB AT THE DINNER TABLE

DAD WOULD CHEW HIS FOOD, LIKE AN OLD GRUMPY MAN

I WAS A BRATTY LITTLE KID, DAD SPOKE FOR THE CATS

HI FROM LADY, IN A LADIES VOICE

HI FROM SNOOPY IN A BIG MAN’S VOICE

HI FROM FLUFFY IN A POXLEY LADIES VOICE

YA SEE FLUFFY WAS THE CAT LIKE MISS PIGGY

I USED TO HAVE ARGUMENTS WITH THE CAT, SAYING MY BROTHER PUT ME IN CHARGE

AND HE SAID, SNOOPY, HE CALLS ME SNOOPY, YOU ARE BOSS OF YOURSELF

WHEN I AM AWAY, AND I WANTED TO BE THE ACTING MASTER, AND HE SAID

NO, YOUR BROTHER SAID SNOOPY, YOU ARE THE BOSS

AND DAD SANG THIS SONG WILD BILL HICCUP, OR SOMETHING WEIRD LIKE THAT

AND MY BROTHER SMILED AT ME, CAUSE, THAT LADY’S VOICE SOUNDED LIKE FLUFFY’S VOICE

YA SEE WE HAD CONVERSATIONS FOR THE CATS ALL DAY, BUT WHEN DAD WAS ANGRY

HE LET IT SHOW, I LIKED WHEN DAD SPOKE FOR THE CATS, BUT I HATED GETTING ANGRY TO MAKE HIM ANGRY

YOU SEE DAD WAS A BIT OF A STICK IN THE MUD, TELLING ME TO EAT NICELY

I HATED THAT, BUT I WAS LIKE THE KIDS AT THAT STAGE

BUT I TOLD DAD, TO GO AND **** A LEMON, HE GOT MUM’S FRIENDS TO DANCE

TO HIS VERSION OF SINGING IN THE RAIN, YA KNOW, CHOO CHOO CHA CHOO CHOO CHA

BUT I TOLD THE WORLD THIS, BUT I WANT DADS HUMOUR IN THE WORLD

DAD’S ADVICE NEARLY GOT MY HEAD PUNCHED IN AS I COPIED THAT

LIKE IF SOMEONE SAID, WHAT AM I LOOKING AT TWIRP, DAD TOLD ME TO SAY,

DUNNO HASN’T GOT A NAMETAG ON IT, BUT CANBERRA COULDN’T EXCEPT THIS

MAYBE, IT IS OFFENSIVE, TO THEM, BUT I ALSO DIDN’T STAND FOR THE ANZAC DAY

I WAS GETTING MIXED MESSAGE OF DAD AND THE YOUNG DUDES, CROWDING MY HEAD

I DON’T MIND THAT, CAUSE NO KID WANTS TO BE TOTALLY LIKE THEIR FATHER

MY BROTHER WAS A LITTLE COOL KID, WHEN HE USED TO TEASE ME, AND THEN USED

TO GET INTO FIGHTS WITH ME BY THE POOL, I MAYBE HATED AT FIRST

BUT I AM NOT LIVING WITH PAST TEASING, I USED TO THROW STUMPS AT MY BROTHER

HE WAS SAYING, I WASN’T A COOL KID, I SAID, HE WASN’T A COOL KID

WE FOUGHT, WRESTLED, AND PLAYED BACKYARD CRICKET

WITH ALL OUR NEIGHBOURS, OH YEAH THAT’S COOL AS

DAD LOOKED LIKE DADDY LONG LEGS, AND MUM WAS MUMMY SHORT LEGS

AS THEY WERE HAVING A HIT IN BACKYARD

I HAD MY VERY OWN FOOTBALL LEAGUE, AND I PLAYED FOR BRIGHTON

AND DAD PLAYED FOR CCAE, WHICH IS NOW UNIVERSITY OF CANBERRA

AND DAD SCORED ABOUT 1000 GOALS SITTING IN THE FORWARD POCKET OF OUR FRONT YARD

I USED TO GET SICK OF DAD LOOKING AT ME, AT BEING A LITTLE SHY BOY

I HAD MY PLANS TO GET ON TV, THANKS TO MY BROTHER, FOR MAKING IT EASIER

I AM SUFFERING, BUT I FEEL POSITIVE ABOUT HITTING THE BIG SMOKE

BUT MY BROTHER AND DAD’S SENSE OF HUMOUR, GOT ME THINKING

WELL, MAYBE A LITTLE TOO IMAQGINATIVE, BUT IT MADE ME THE COOL PERSON I AM TODAY

I PERFORMED IN TWO PLAYS, URBAN DREAMINGT 2003, AND MOVE SPEAK ACT FOR MINDSCAPES

IN 2014, I HAVE TO SIT TIGHT, BUT THERE IS TRUTH IN THE FACT, THAT BIG THINGS HAPPEN TO THOSE WHO WAIT

EVERY BLADE OF GRASS TO BE SOWN, MOVE SPEAK ACT HAD FUN WITH MY EVERY BLADE OF GRASS THEORY

IN A THEATRICAL WAY, MADE ME FEEL GOOD, DAD ALWAYS SAID, TO START SMALL

DAD GAVE ME A COMPUTER, SO I CAN BE FAMOUS ON YOUTUBE, WELL, HE WAS GIVING ME THE COMPUTER

CAUSE I NEEDED TO LEARN, BUT DAD USED TO TELL FUNNY JOKES TO FAMILY AND FRIENDS

THEN HE STARTED TELLING HIS LIFE STORY

I HOPE, IF DAVID CAMPBELL AND LISA CAMPBELL GET CATS OR DOGS, YOUR FUTURE TWINS IS MY DAD AND ROBIN WILLIAMS

TALK FOR THE CATS, YA SEE ROBIN WILLIAMS AND DAD ARE ALIKE, IF YA LISTEN TO THEIR HUMOUR

IROBIN WILLIAMS DID IT IN HOLLYWOOD, DAD DID ITWITH FAMILY AND FRIENDS, THINK ABOUT IT

ROBIN WILLIAMS AND DAD ARE THE PERFECT TWINS, BUDDHA DID THIS, SO THEUY CAN CROSS PATHS

LOOK OUT DAVID CAMPBELL AND LISA CAMPBELL, YOUR  TWINS ARE FUNNY

**** ANY MAN OUT OF YA COTTON PICKING HEAD, I PREFER DAD MATURE

I LIKED HISV FUN SIDE, **** HIS BIG BIG MAN, I WAS SITTTING ON THE COUCH

CAUSE OF THE FUN DAD HAD

BUT I HEAR VOICES NOW, OF ME GOING TO JAMISON SLIDE

AND SPENDING 2 HOURS ON THE SL;IDE, ATTENDING POOL PARTIES

DAD PROBABLY THOUGHT THIS WAS COOL, BUT I WAS NOT A LITTLE PARENTS BOY

I WAS A FAMILY PERSON WHO LOVES LIFE

BRING DAD AND ROBIN WILLIAMS TOGETHER JIMMY BARNESY’S GRANDCHILDREN

BOBBYE DAD, ENJOY NEXT LIFE WITH RW

I just want to write because I want you to read
And all the old stuff is the older me
But my words are jamming
Underneath the keys
Running jumbled mess
That fails to expain my feelings
I don’t quite have the words to say
I love the way you stay
But don’t cage me in
The way you claim to like me
But haven’t quite dove in
How you talk and talk
Knowing that I’ll listen
And how you seem so sweet
So very genuine
Stay the same
Never change
Snoopy n his house
Simple loving life
Open hands
Open heart
Smile lifes to short.

For some reason
I remember Snoopy
—Don't ask me why
             For I couldn't tell you—
I remember the Snoopy t-shirt
She wore
And that I got really excited
Because I love Snoopy

It's strange
What you remember
What bits and pieces you keep
I remember her reading
Shyly spilling words at the front of the room
And everyone
—Everyone—
Leaning in to hear
That soft, enchanting voice

I remember keys
Lots and lots of keys
A whole hand of them, in fact
An art project I watched emerge
As she wielded a hot glue gun

It's mostly the poetry I remember
—And her smile
            But who doesn't?—
I can see her standing at the mic
Enthralling her audience
Mesmerizing them
Keeping them hanging on her every word
She was a star
There was no doubt
A poetic star
We talked through her poetry once
Tweaked it here and there
Changed some tenses
Fixed some commas
But most importantly
We decided
That when "night sloughed off its veil"
It should be day
Once more

Looking for Snoopy

Rollin’ on that rhythmic rollercoaster
My knuckles dead white, I can’t
Lose it on this lightspeed slant
Of fire, feeling those flashes
As the thunder thrill goes faster

Are you diggin’ what I’m sayin?
I ain’t gonna scream, got some
Dignity under this blue dome
Are you shakin, it’s bootin’
You ain’t got time for tremblin’

I’m targetin’ the sparklin’
Sky full of that shinny gold
So I can start believin’
I’ll reach someone I hold
Dear in my throbbing heart

Are you diggin’ what I’m sayin?
I ain’t gonna tremble until I touch
The silvery stars to rush
My present to your present
In the myriad of the moment
A doggie you’re still drawin’

Turns out I found this fellow
Surviving on this swayin’
Spinning track trippin’
I put him in papers that glow
To your doorstep delivered
Hope you’ll enjoy, recovered

That merry memory
Packed with awesomeness
Allow some silliness
From California and me
Happy birthday Mommy
With love and pink cherry

February 15, 2015

Strep throat. Out of nowhere really. I went to a meeting on Friday, interviewed at PaperSource on Saturday afternoon, and then just slightly later an awful toothache. I never suspected anything so out of the ordinary to occur. Saturday night, two to four a.m.ish, i thought it was caffeine pills, or not drinking enough water, or even, worst of the worst, an attack of hypochondria. I kept lighting up Marlboros though, tasty red branded things that make writer's mouths happy. Two days in and I'm pretty sure my ***** are a fever below my body, droopy like snoopy. Super soft droopy *****, that's a sure sign of a fever or a great BJ they taught us in 6th grade science, and I wasn't getting my favorite ice cream social.

I hadn't talked to the gf in a couple days, and missing her company I made the phone call only discover that my voice had turned into a baby turtle shouting English from the bottom of a stuffed baked potato. Garbled. Discussing. Useless. I promptly hung up, and began texting. But it was too late she heard me and called back, and I had to give it all I had to put together a few words.

An hour later I was dropped off at the ER, the benefits of Medicaid at 30 is never being able to just go to the doctor's office. Within 2 hours they told me it was strep. Four nurses, two residents, one first day resident, and a 2nd year resident, and the ER doctor for a swab and a spray, and the take home Z-pack.

Then she said she'd come over even though I was sick. That's real love. "If I get sick from you, it's still worth it." 3 days on antibiotics, no more sore throat, I feel great- I think tomorrow I'll be having an ice cream social for someone who I love dearly. Maybe we'll even skip the ice cream.

If you danced from midnight
to six A.M. who would understand?

The runaway boy
who chucks it all
to live on the Boston Common
on speed and saltines,
******* in the duck pond,
rapping with the street priest,
trading talk like blows,
another missing person,
would understand.

The paralytic's wife
who takes her love to town,
sitting on the bar stool,
downing stingers and peanuts,
singing "That ole Ace down in the hole,"
would understand.

The passengers
from Boston to Paris
watching the movie with dawn
coming up like statues of honey,
having partaken of champagne and steak
while the world turned like a toy globe,
those murderers of the nightgown
would understand.

The amnesiac
who tunes into a new neighborhood,
having misplaced the past,
having thrown out someone else's
credit cards and monogrammed watch,
would understand.

The drunken poet
(a genius by daylight)
who places long-distance calls
at three A.M. and then lets you sit
holding the phone while he vomits
(he calls it "The Night of the Long Knives")
getting his kicks out of the death call,
would understand.

The insomniac
listening to his heart
thumping like a June bug,
listening on his transistor
to Long John Nebel arguing from New York,
lying on his bed like a stone table,
would understand.

The night nurse
with her eyes slit like Venetian blinds,
she of the tubes and the plasma,
listening to the heart monitor,
the death cricket bleeping,
she who calls you "we"
and keeps vigil like a ballistic missile,
would understand.

Once
this king had twelve daughters,
each more beautiful than the other.
They slept together, bed by bed
in a kind of girls' dormitory.
At night the king locked and bolted the door
. How could they possibly escape?
Yet each morning their shoes
were danced to pieces.
Each was as worn as an old jockstrap.
The king sent out a proclamation
that anyone who could discover
where the princesses did their dancing
could take his pick of the litter.
However there was a catch.
If he failed, he would pay with his life.
Well, so it goes.

Many princes tried,
each sitting outside the dormitory,
the door ajar so he could observe
what enchantment came over the shoes.
But each time the twelve dancing princesses
gave the snoopy man a Mickey Finn
and so he was beheaded.
****! Like a basketball.

It so happened that a poor soldier
heard about these strange goings on
and decided to give it a try.
On his way to the castle
he met an old old woman.
Age, for a change, was of some use.
She wasn't stuffed in a nursing home.
She told him not to drink a drop of wine
and gave him a cloak that would make
him invisible when the right time came.
And thus he sat outside the dorm.
The oldest princess brought him some wine
but he fastened a sponge beneath his chin,
looking the opposite of Andy Gump.

The sponge soaked up the wine,
and thus he stayed awake.
He feigned sleep however
and the princesses sprang out of their beds
and fussed around like a Miss America Contest.
Then the eldest went to her bed
and knocked upon it and it sank into the earth.
They descended down the opening
one after the other. They crafty soldier
put on his invisisble cloak and followed.
Yikes, said the youngest daughter,
something just stepped on my dress.
But the oldest thought it just a nail.

Next stood an avenue of trees,
each leaf make of sterling silver.
The soldier took a leaf for proof.
The youngest heard the branch break
and said, Oof! Who goes there?
But the oldest said, Those are
the royal trumpets playing triumphantly.
The next trees were made of diamonds.
He took one that flickered like Tinkerbell
and the youngest said: Wait up! He is here!
But the oldest said: Trumpets, my dear.

Next they came to a lake where lay
twelve boats with twelve enchanted princes
waiting to row them to the underground castle.
The soldier sat in the youngest's boat
and the boat was as heavy as if an icebox
had been added but the prince did not suspect.

Next came the ball where the shoes did duty.
The princesses danced like taxi girls at Roseland
as if those tickets would run right out.
They were painted in kisses with their secret hair
and though the soldier drank from their cups
they drank down their youth with nary a thought.

Cruets of champagne and cups full of rubies.
They danced until morning and the sun came up
naked and angry and so they returned
by the same strange route. The soldier
went forward through the dormitory and into
his waiting chair to feign his druggy sleep.
That morning the soldier, his eyes fiery
like blood in a wound, his purpose brutal
as if facing a battle, hurried with his answer
as if to the Sphinx. The shoes! The shoes!
The soldier told. He brought forth
the silver leaf, the diamond the size of a plum.

He had won. The dancing shoes would dance
no more. The princesses were torn from
their night life like a baby from its pacifier.
Because he was old he picked the eldest.
At the wedding the princesses averted their eyes
and sagged like old sweatshirts.
Now the runaways would run no more and never
again would their hair be tangled into diamonds,
never again their shoes worn down to a laugh,
never the bed falling down into purgatory
to let them climb in after
with their Lucifer kicking.

Maybe. Maybe I said it. Maybe.
Maybe I said, “I love you.”
And maybe. Maybe. It was too soon.
And maybe you panicked or I panicked or we panicked.
And maybe we should have waited longer.
For a lunar eclipse to kiss and whisper it under.
Or at least at the top of a Ferris Wheel.
Even soft neon lights of a gas station before a road trip to say… Disneyland would do.
But maybe.
I didn’t wait. And I said it the first time it bubbled out of my chest like mercury and tried to force itself out of the corners of my eyes, shining like mirrors.
And  maybe we panicked.
And maybe you’ll decide to take some time.
And I’ll think it’s a good idea.
And you’ll get around to painting your bedroom walls blue.
And I’ll finally finish that replica of… Big Ben.. made from… toothpicks.. or some ****..
And you’ll get that job for that network.
And I’ll decide to be a carnie, because my feet have always felt so much better on the road.
And you’ll laugh.
Just maybe less…
Or not as hard..

And I’ll learn to roll cigarettes and run the Ferris wheel. And wind up with an eye patch from a freak dart accident in a pub in Scotland. And get sun leathered skin. And road earned muscles.

And I’ll master all the rigged midway games.

And you’ll have a better time in France than the last time and make it back to Greece to see the oracle. And learn to play the violin.

And I’ll develop a keen sense of when to pause the Ferris Wheel to leave the couple at the top just.. one.. moment.. longer..

Or at least secretly teach him how to throw the dime to win her the really big ******* Snoopy.

And I’ll wonder if you ever wake up and look for me.
And you’ll wake up sometimes and look for me.
And I for you.

And maybe I’ll get self absorbed and write the rest of this poem from my perspective.
But probably not.
And maybe one day I’ll go to the fortune teller to find out how you are. And where you are. And you won’t be far away. But I won’t want to intrude.

And then the fortune teller will tell me not to play the game where you knock the milk bottles over anymore because fortune tellers say weird **** like that sometimes..

And maybe I’ll listen..

And maybe I won’t.

Maybe one day, I’ll forget and teach the nerdy highschool kid how to beat the milk bottle game so he can get the frosted mirror with the cheesy rose and the word ‘LOVE’ in cursive for his girlfriend, because *******, sometimes you have to help the underdog  get the girl.

And maybe the gypsy will be right..

And those bottles.
At that moment.
Were some kind of cosmic key.

And as they topple over, all hell bust loose and pours violently out of the mouth of the bottles.

And demons flood into our world in waves.

(And if she kisses him at the top of the Ferris Wheel? Totally worth it.)

And in time, the world would have to notice.

What with the Leviathan coming out of the ocean and the dead rising from their graves and the four guys on horses and all the pesky locusts.

And did I mention the Zombies? And the vampires? And the Vampire Zombies?

And who would have thought that the adorable little fairies would be carnivorous and cannibals and just plain mean?

And maybe it would attract the attention of Aliens. And that U.F.O. you saw that one time in Texas. And maybe the U.F.O’s would attack and fight the Leviathan, which would be kind of bad ***.

And the zombies would fight the vampires and the vampires would fight the zombies and the Vampire Zombies would fight themselves and the Zombie Vampire survivors would find that they had a distinct taste for Soy.

And maybe us carnies would have enough experience with sledgehammers and haunted houses that we’d be rather good at fighting zombies. And I’d be particularly bad *** because of the eye patch and leathery skin and hand rolled cigarettes that I chew on more than smoke. And maybe I’d go lone wolf and ride a motorcycle. Which is also kind of bad *** and I’d do okay considering the apocalypse and all because honestly?

I’ve never been all that scared of ghosts and devils. And the UFOS are busy with the Leviathan and their really is only four of the horseman and we keep a professional distance just the same and the locusts and the fairies are at war, besides locusts don’t bother me, save for the noise.

And look..

I guess what I am really saying is this:

I think maybe I could survive.

And I think maybe I could rescue you.

And maybe we could fall in love.

Grandma had a clever dog;
She raised him from a pup.
And when he learned that he could talk
You couldn't shut him up.

His tail was just a nubbin
And he had a flattened mug.
He looked like a short boxer
So grandma named him pug.

Grandma told us what he looked like
For we never saw the cuss.
Her walking, talking, Pug Dog
Was invisible to us.

She said he'd always been around,
As far as she recalled.
Her mother told Pug stories
Before grandma even crawled.

Every family has traditions
And I guess I'd have to say,
Pug tales have been our custom
Right down to this very day.

When grandma gives a long deep sigh
And says, "Now, one day Pug. . ."
We know a story's coming
So we sit down on the rug.

We nestle up beside her
For a tale we've never heard.
And everyone gets quiet
So that we won't miss a word.

The stories grandma tells us
Of the things that dog can do
Can hold any child's attention,
Even fill a book or two.

Grandma's Pug tales outdo Rin-Tin-Tin
And even ******-Doo.
He's a smarter dog than Snoopy;
Smarter than Lassie too.

Pug has traveled  far, to distant lands,
And even outer space.
He's done every thing there is to do
And he's been every place.

He always gets in trouble
For there's nothing he won't try.
He has traveled in a sub-marine,
Flown airplanes in the sky.

He has even been arrested,
More than once broke out of Jail.
But the family loves him dearly
And we always pay his bail.

Where grandma gets her stories from
I guess I'll never know.
But even down through all these years
Her Pug tales grow and grow.

I know someday when grandma sleeps,
And her life on earth is gone,
The Angels all will gather
To hear Pug tales all day long

Noun.
The mother of ones father or mother. (mother)
Elderly. (Died December 28, 2011)
Kind. Sweet. Gentle. (If there is a paradise, she is there.)
Bright. Thoughtful. (She made me a Snoopy apron one year for Christmas.)
Loving. (She raised 6 kids, took care of her husband for 55 years, and always made waffles for breakfast when grand-kids came to visit.)
Loved. (by all who knew her)
Missed. (by just as many)
Survived. (1 husband, 6 kids, 4 grandkids, many friends.)

We’re 6 roommates, on summer vacation before our sophomore year and we take turns planning our nights. Last night was Sunny’s choice so we found ourselves at “Sister Louisa's Church,” one of the fun gay bars in this little college town. We’ve been to 5 LGBTQ bars in the Atlanta area this summer and they’ve all been skittles.

This being a Lesbian bar, we all felt empowered to dress down, dance a few times, and just have some harmless fun. “Hmm.., Sunny said, wrinkling her nose, “I think queer or girly are better terms than lesbian. Lesbian seems to have a mascular take - like we want to be boys - and that’s not it at all.”
“I bow to your superior, informed, cultural finickiness,” Lisa noted.

WE dance a few times but Sunny never stops. One moment Sunny’s there, for a swig of her drink and the next, she’s twiring off with some attractive (30ish?) woman - it keeps happening. “We need to put an apple tracker on her.” Bili said, but when the songs ended she always came back to us.
“That womyn had more than two hands.” Sunny said, gulping on her drink and fixing her hair.

It was time to go, past time actually. We’re on a schedule these days. We spend our mornings playing disc golf or water-skiing and our afternoons studying. We’re trying to re-engage with college work in a gradual, 3 hour a day, low anxiety way.

Sunny (A molecular, cellular, and developmental biology major), Lisa and I (Molecular biophysics and biochemistry majors) are all on the pre-med track. Next year we’ll tackle physics together and we’re already grinding away on examples of the problem-sets we’ll see next semester. So far the shared stress has helped the next-level classes seem easier and more engaging.

I was the watchdog last night, sentenced to preventive sobriety, and tasked with corralling everyone when the time came to leave. “Fair warning!,” I said loudly, between songs, “reality is going to *****-stab you ladies in the back tomorrow morning.”
“I think you mean *****-SLAP,” Leong said, ever the aphorism police.
“Whatever it is, it’s going to hurt.” I amended. I’d been working (whining), stubbornly for half-an-hour to convince them to leave and finally, I said, “I’m texting Charles.”

OH, THEN the girls started gathering their things. “Ok, Yeah.., I see how it is.” I added, holding my phone like a grenade with the pin out.

The following morning Anna’s situationship broke up - by text - as if to add to the pain of her hangover. In situationships, it’s inevitable that one stakeholder will hope for more - but you have to paint it as casual, as no big deal. She’s pretending she doesn't care but anyone can see she’s been crying.

On the other side of the emotional universe - I’m riding-a-high - because Peter, on a facetime call, said he missed me - but it’s not just that - he seems more energetic, interested and actually romantic. I like us together. We’re choral (there’s no definable lead). I’m practically snoopy-dancing around the house.

Fitz
Fritz
Fido
Sandy
Spencer
Chaplain
Bernard
Jesse
Snoopy
Charlie
Charles
Fred
Freddy
Bones
Remmy
Ren­a
Reno
Tony
Julian
Julie
Frisco
Meghan
Addison
Robby
Buddy
Rudy
F­riedrich
Fredrick
Bernie
Rudolph
Adolf
Ferdinand
Rose
Cassie
Cassidy
Lee
Balto
Little *****
Allen
Alvin
Jake
Demi
Randy
Alex
Richard
Alexis
Kenneth
Ken­ny
Chris
Jose
Josey
Rodger
Moe
Joe
Emilio
Walt
Emily
Emma
Maddie
­Anna
Jafar
Aladin
Jasmine
Genie
******
Amber
Gracie
Ramen
Gordy
G­ordon
Jordie
James
Bucky
Huff
Manny
Sam
Samantha
Mary
Marie
Tila
­Rita
Cathy
Tammy
Mickey
Cam
Amelia
Rene
Jeb
Dan
Bagel
Tommy
Donut­
Bubbles
Blossom
Buttercup
Mark
Cody
Andy
Cristo
Andrea
Whiskers
­Mike
Bill
Billy
George
Geo
Joy
Mitch
Trigger
Tigger
Stephen
Archi­medes
Anya
Duncan
Nitro
Crash
Bub
Crystal
Egor
Bernadette
Cammy
T­immy
Antonio
Natasha
Natalia
Ivan
Abbey
Abdul
Carly
Aaron
Omega
F­inn
Nina
Debby
Tomato
Tabby
Artie
Archie
Noah
Kyle
Alfie
Alfred
Conrad
Conner
******
G­unner
Fry
Fries
*******
Constance
Connie
Frank
Fran
Candice
D­andy
Lucy
Lou
Louis
Quincy
Doogle
Dubie
Dakota
Ace
Casey
Barry
Te­rry
Trenton
Gabe
Laurie
Cornelius
Kabob
Sky
Skylar
Rufus
Louie
Ba­rton
Kimmy
Angel
Capri
Basil
Cy
Ruby
Emerald
Eleanea
Elenor
Barth­olomew
Jazz
Dreamer
Thunder
Topaz
Amethyst
Salsa
Meril
Dodo
Toto
­Eric
Barbera
Hannah
Katie
Zoey
Ben
Pinto
Squanto
Columbus
Columbo
Porgy
Bess
Clark
Savannah
Ken­dra
Marco
Leise
Toby
Trevor
Tresten
Treven
Adrienne
Caleb
Carlyn
­Ricky
Gibby
Donny
Han
Solo
Hans
Gabby
Dirk
Spot
Sebastian
Dee
Sco­oby Doo
Shaggy
Polly
Reginald
Burger
Steak Sauce
Ethan
Bradberry
Lucky
Fergie
Cheese
Boxer
Napoleon
Snowball­
Gerald
Jeremy
Benji
Gemma
Pal
Mal
Preston
Jack
Jackson
Molly
Mac­kenzie
Alexie
Alicia
Dora
Olivia
Salvador
Beast
Beauty
Oliver
Dal­e
Rim
Marley
Diego
*****
Bobby
Ralston
Zeke
Rooney
Plato
Cole
Nep­tune
Sailor
Frida
Rico
Dali
Veronica
Victor
Copeland
Swift
Riley
­Tubs
Lassie
Yo-yo
Harvey
Lemonade
Coke
Pepsi
Tanya
Camille
Token
­Laser
Beam
Seamus
Dorthy
Ian
Moby

I sought satisfaction in stupid sheepishly and shallow strides.
Scared subconsciously, I swallow and sustain substance for pseudo self esteem strengthening.
I seemed of in service to slumber and stinging sadness, shots sank like ships, submerging into the sea of my swarthy stomach in seconds.
I somewhat sympathies as a sailor, sweating, struggling and swimming in slipping sobriety saturated in my sulking style.
Scanning swarms of serial swindlers, striking sculptures stances of self-doubt.
I stammer in a storm of slurs, ******* down my safety, stopping myself at the stoop of the saloon I see a seductive silhouette staging the space.
She stroke my sight, standing sanguine in scarlet, soul sold in high heels.
The smoothest sculptures in seven square miles were subjugated into scree and I was ****** in submission.
Stubborn staggering suitors, stand shaking silently as she is stopped by sharks stalking and snarling sycophantics.
So straightforward in suggesting their secret starvation to strip sensations, seem by seem, like a sub-par **** cinema scene.
They step and speak short.
She smokes off, stranding the scree in smoldering slaughter.
Its sad this soul-less sanctuary soaking up sorrows.
So self inflicting, and so satisfyingly side splitting.
She sported her spurned, scorned off into sadistic solitude and stained sticky stigma, sobbing to sleep.
So spent from simple stocked, stored and supported senescence of ceremonial subjection of ****** status.
I savior my sincerity, and stretched out of this strange stadium of stooges.
So long scarlet sanguine I sang softly, as she stole my sight suspiciously in sync with hers.
Sacrificial seconds split from smearing stolidity to sharing a smile.
That's simple satisfaction, so I seen scripted in sitcoms and shows.
Supporting sapiens in stasis to see sappy stunners on screen, to stare snoopy, as stabs and slashes strike socially into socialites of so called sanity and sovereignty.
To sweetly pay salvage as slaves of soppy studio slander.
Such is this sorry Saturday night, I am solidified in sedation.

Tales of ghouls and trick or treats
Witches, ghosts, and things to eat
The spirit world is here to greet
It's Hallowe'en again

Soaping windows, creaky doors
Begging like addicted ******
They keep coming,  they want more
It's Hallowe'en again

Haunted houses, ghostly frights
Witches flying brooms tonight
A zombie lawyer is quite a sight
It's Hallowe'en agin

Charlie Brown and Snoopy too
Get rocks as treats, I ask...do you?
Dressed as smurfs, all done in blue
It's Hallowe'en again

The smell of fall is in the air
Tonight the kids are out to scare
I stay downstairs like I'm not there
It's Hallowe'en again

Tuck me in and say goodnight
and everything will be alright
and all the pain can wait another
day

Close my door a little bit
and keep my snoopy nightlight lit
and I will tell myself that it’s
ok

If I wake, I don’t much care
The day renews the old nightmare
and sleep’s the only freedom
that I know

A sunny smile cannot hide
the emptiness I feel inside
The sadness that I pray they’ll
never know

I miss the childhood that I've lost
Those scars came at an awful cost
There’s no one to confide my
deepest fear

I am so tired and broken down
The world goes by without a sound
I feel much older than my seven
years...

You became my convict,
a murderer of my happy days,
a cigar that I puffed the wrong way,
an terminal illness
that I would take no pill for,
my best deal to die
o'er a brokenheart,
my final destination
when I am lost and broke,
the reason to meet a tailor
for my suit,
to go into a coffin;
when you could have been
by my side
and into all that I ever dreamt about
as I planned rest of my life with you.
You could have been my Snoopy,
for I could have been your only
CharlieBrown.
You could have been my lover, my escort,
my bride hanging onto the other side of my lips.
Goodnight now, Mrs. Sanders!
Goodnight so long, so far!

Oopy Doopy, Super Sloopy.
Loopy snoopy, pants apoopy.
Lippy hippy, slippy dippy.
Nasty-nicey, normally snippy.

Loosey goosey, chocolate moussey.
Usually *** goofy as Gary Busey.
Hinky-stinky presidential *****.
Winky-blinky, dangerously stinko.

Hippity hoppy, flippy-floppy
Get a mop, it never stops.
Laughy gaffe-y, riffy-raffy
Face as gross as rotten taffy.

Whammy-bammy, scary scammy
Mammy-jamming Uncle Sammy.
Lumpy-dumpy, far from humpy
******* up future jumpy bumpy.

Glossy boss, a frightful loss
Ungathered moss at twice the cost.
Serious gap while the country naps
****** sap giving us a slap.

Frightening nooses tightening,
Rights denied like summer lightning.
Ignoring Popes and Snopes
Hopeless dopes put us on the ropes.

Immune to our cries, elected guys
Make horrifying decisions most unwise.
Like black magic before all our eyes
We’re leaderless as freedom dies.

You know those questions that you get
Like why is the sky blue?
The ones you can not answer
But, try to pass off that you do

Well I got one the other day
My son came up and said
What with Jesus and with Christmas
I told him...go to bed!

It's only three o'clock he said
Well...then...go and ask your mom
Dad, I already asked her and
you're where she said to come

I thought, my god, she owes me now
So, I told him, grab a seat
I figured I'd go down in flames
But, I'd fight in my defeat

He said, all the Christmas specials
talk of Christmas and that stuff
But, Rudolph, Garfield, Frosty
well, I think I've watched enough

Some talk of baby Jesus
Others talk of shops and toys
Why is Jesus linked to Christmas
And I answered him.....with poise

Jesus Christ, the son of God
came to earth in all his Glory
Now, go and read you bible
The games on...read the story

He trundled off, I thought I'd won
In an hour he returned
With that face, you know the one I mean
Dad...there's something that I learned

If Jesus Christ and Christmas
are tied together, as we see
Did they celebrate on Christmas Day
Before Christ turned thirty three?

I mean, was it Christmas for a reason
Or did it start once he was dead?
I thought, that's a good question
And it came from my boy's head

His mother brought hot chocolate
She still owed me, and she knew
that whatever payback I devised
would be multiplied by two

I said, son, the idea of true Christmas gifts
Dates to 313 A.D
Back to someone called Saint Nicholas
Santa Claus to you and m

The wise men came with presents
To celebrate the ****** birth
They celebrated the fact that God
had sent his son to earth

So, what does that have to do with snoopy
Rudolph, Jack Frost, my son said
I told him, read your bible
The story's there, no go to bed

He smiled and he hugged me
He said I think I know one part
It's that Christmas isn't presents
It's something you feel in your heart

It's a spirit of goodwill to man
And to all who you may meet
I said, yep...that's it
You've summed it up, maybe I should have a seat

So, Christmas isn't retail,
It can't be bought, it has no box
It's a feeling deep within you
though...this year I need some socks

It may have his name attached
But, true Christmas is defined
By our love for one another
and the love for all mankind

He gave me the look of "really, "really,
Scuffing his paws as if covering filth.

"What's a matter snoopy?

Then looking at me, raised an eyebrow
"Didn't know they could do that?
I went to rest my head and in a puddle it
Did land soaked fermenting upon my head.

"He was their licking his fangs,

I threw a slipper bouncing off the wall
Ricocheting and face planting me instead.
I changed my pillow cleaned my hair, and
Slumbering I  once again rested my head.

"Scratch, scratch, scratch,

Morning awoke as I heard noises grating
Downstairs? I got a bat and in my white fronts
Edged down to find My EP player on.
"Hello anyone there, I know karate? "what,

A new word for scratching was born, whisks of
Clawed plastic on the floor. My best record now
Worthless recycle. And there he stood on the fire
Place his claws tapping in rhythm is what I saw.

From that day on I never gave him the cheap food
A lesson learnt, I thought I was the boss and he
Was just a pet. But a lesson learnt never *** off
Your feline friend there smarter than that.

i will become extinct now
because the cows that i love
to eat and drink will have
no more grass to mow
leaving machine processed
foods for nourishment. eliminating
the use of my four-thousand dollar
orthodontic pretty white pearls and
find worth in the five-thousand
dollar allo-derm gum implants.

i will become extinct now as

my forty-year-old digestive
system in which has been pumping
iron exercises three times a day
testing it’s strength with an
8 ounce filet mignon will have
no use any longer so long
to my habitual adult grape
juice for the vines will have
no place to grow. soon they’ll be
powderized. they’ll capsulize my merlot.

i will become extinct now as

the sun sets but only
because it’s manufactured
like pirates of the caribbean
ride you don’t know you’re
inside. fake flames. fake heat.
fake sunsets which provoke my
deepest feelings. artificial now
emotions controlled to it’s
purest form snowboarding
on snoopy sno-cone creations.

replacing our creator with the
lastest inventions. i will
become extinct now.

for i cannot live this way
because my heart is real.

My cat goes MEOW
Expecting food
Runs around the yard
Catching mice
Gives us allergic reactions
Gets cranky in stormy weather
MEOW MEOW MEOW
The cat goes meow
What is his favourite food
Whiskas
Fancy feast
Snappy Tom
The cats of Australia
Have made their choice
Snappy Tom oh snappy Tom
MEOW MEOW MEOW
MEOW MEOW MEOW
MEOW MEOW MEOW
Says the mother cat
Who just gave birth to 7 little kittens
Butch
Brutus
Sooty
Lucky
Snoopy
Cuddles
Jade
MEOW MEOW MEOW
Enjoy your food
Little ***** cat


Sent from my iPhone

Lukewarm coffee and the cat,
[not my cat, the cat, a cat]
is making the bathroom floor
look cozy.
I haven't had a terrible nightmare or a beautiful dream
in what feels like months, not years, but close.
I have an odd fascination with light bulbs,
sources of light, man-made fountains of brightness.
Not the sun. Rarely the moon.
I don't sleep well.
My father learned about my suicide attempt and thoughts,
because my sister told my mother, and she waved that banner
like a parade float far above my head for everyone to see.
Above his head as a symbol of his failure.
I couldn't pull it down.
Like Snoopy between two large buildings,
it was just inevitable. A matter of time, really.
My past curls up into a ball and waits,
like a cat on vacation from eyes being open.
The eyes open.
We're standing at the kitchen table.
You tell me that it wasn't your fault.
Not directly, of course.
You tell me about my bass teacher,
my ex-girlfriend.
Insinuate I was depressed about these things.
These are the materials to make the cocktail I drank,
full of not bittersweet poisons, but neurotoxins.
You tell me it's not your fault.
Now you don't have to apologize.
You were wrong.
I didn't "discover" these venoms in some fresh cabinet
waiting to be torn down, you, you [expletive],
I grew up next to them,
an IV drip in my jugular,
direct feed to my brain.
[expletive].
[expletive].
I learned how to sincerely love cursing because you wanted
to censor my emotions. I learned to hate myself from you.
I learned how to look at myself as
not enough
because of you. Surely, daddy the great doesn't owe me
an apology, the selfless man who tore us across the country
broke all the way. Surely, if his intentions were noble,
his actions were pure.
Just like Elvis Costello,
your aim was true.
Depression is like trying to find a light in a room
that is full of dark corners.
For a long time, I had no light.
Eyes closed.
I bomb the parades and smile in a hotel window at the chaos
in my mind-world. My other home away from home.
I ask my girlfriend how often someone should think about suicide.
The floats lift higher than the eye should see.
They become a string of dots in an otherwise empty sky.
Amorphous shapes in clear blue water.
Splotches of paint on a manilla canvas.
Something geometric with the fingers,
turned into a sound, then a sample,
then a symphony.
There is no remedy, no cure,
just placebos and snake oils.
Birds chirping.
Silence.

“What would you do?”
Asked the owl to the top hat
As the clock bellowed down the stairs
And into the suitcase below
To which they had both retired to
“For one can only wonder”
He muttered with a disguised echo
Of encouragement to answer
Such a wonder of a query
Full of many a mystery
Not the first wanting to know his lines
That sum up his reasoning in life
But the owl knew even before he spoke
It is not his place to know, ask or provoke
Withdraw before the thoughts appear

From a room away
I thought Snoopy’s
high-pitched growls

and vocalizations
were the screams
of the Zuni

fetish doll
in Trilogy of Terror.
I was very excited.

But now it’s children
using polysyllabic
words

which just reminds me
of when I lived
in Park *****.

Fly by night,
Or the seat of your pants
Hang on tight,
May I have the next dance?
Take a deep breath,
Or a load off your feet,
Hey pretty mama,
May I sit in this seat?

Snoopy and Sloopy and Sloop John B too
Don’t you know
I think I love you?
All night long,
Nothing else can compare
Mickey Mouse, Elvis, Frankie, Annette
Down on the corner, cool
Cigarette.

All grown up
With no where to go
I left it to ******
But he didn’t know
Wally and Eddie
Were out selling drugs
Popeye and Brutus
Were two vicious thugs.

In the Fifities and Sixties:
It was hard to keep up
“They” fed us the Kool Aid
We drank from the cup.
Kent State and Woodstock
And a man on the moon,
Kaleidoscope childhood,
Ended too soon.
Phil Lindsey 9/16/15

We both love Snoopy.
He is a really good dog.
Good grief Charlie Brown!

you seem more sure of what you think of me
then of who you are and want to be
long lonely days makes you feel
the warmth of my breath
feel real, realizing you have been hiding
from the pleasures of life
inside and out
you scream and shout
i don't want to be alone
clinging to me
like static to a balloon
hugging at every surface passing
promising me this is lasting
but it is to soon to say
if its started, or if its a haze
slow down my dear friend
we have a long way tell the end
and  no way to know
where we will go
and happy always changes
chin up butter cup
snoopy has a friend.

The birds visiting me
Now I don’t feed.

Blame it on my cats’ greed!

Doel, bulbul, myna
All having fallen prey to
These snoopy lurky hyena!

These petty filthy abductors
Prowling pouncing predators
Have everything that takes
To break my feathered friends’ necks!

Now I know it does them no good
Birds coming in lure of my food
And be bitten and eaten!

I no more feed
The cats’ greed.

You pass the gryphon house,
     mythology perched atop like Snoopy,
And pick a lemefruitange from the
     omni-citrus tree, and
You cross the threshold onto the
     marshmallow carpeting of my brain, and
My monkey heart leads you by the hand
     to the furtive frenzy of my
          butterfly garden lungs, and
Through my eyes, you watch a movie
     while a unicorn makes ice cream
           on the comfy sofa of my
     stereophonic
laugh . . . .

In the middle was Evelyn
Shyly peeping out
In front was James
And behind Rose.

She hang up her coat
On a red metal peg
Put her snoopy box
In the wire basket.

Then Breton cried
For her Mummy
And was comforted
By Miss Petershore.

All the children
Played outside
On the grassy slopes
It was fun.

Evelyn liked her day
Did a picture
Of her family
It was put on the wall.

At three-thirty
Parents collected
She pushed into daddy
With a big smile.


Love Grandma xxxx

Hello little ***** cat
How are you today
I am fine I am fine
But won't you let me play
I love little ***** cats
They are cute you see
They have names like
Tiger and spike and snoopy and fluffy
I talk to my ***** cat every single night
And I say
Hello mr ***** cat
How are you today
I am fine I am fine
But won't you let me play
Then the little ***** cat
Gets very tired
Ya know running around the yard catching mice and birds
He comes in and eats up all his
Whiskas and then after that
The little ***** cat will have a
Play inside and fall asleep
And then you say
Hello little ***** cat
How are today
I am fine I am fine
But won't you let me sleep
The ***** cat will sleep
And dream of something big
Like the biggest mouse that
This ***** cat has ever seen
You see the only way to catch it
Was to pounce on it fast
In which he did because it was just a dream
And you will say
Hello mr ***** cat
How are you today
I am fine I am fine
But won't you let me dream
Meow meow meow
Won't you let me play
Won't you let me sleep
Won't you let me dream
Meow said the ***** cat
Saying where's my food