Sunday, April 12, 2009

A Disconcerting Look

Gorman had a disconcerting look in his eyes.

When you saw his profile, it was as if his eyes always looked straight ahead and focused on the horizon. They rarely, if ever, looked to the side.

It was as if he didn't see you or you weren't around. Or it was as if he was trying to hide from you, or embarrassed or ashamed to be where he was.

No Good Answers

Some questions have no good answers.

One is: Were you a virgin before you were married? If you answer yes, you seem to be a loser. If you answer no, you're a slut.

Another is: When did you stop beating your wife? If you answer that with a date -- say, November 1, 2000 -- you're a wife beater. If you say you never beat her, you're a liar.

If I can think of any more, I'll post them.

If You're A Mofo

If you're a mofo, you love your mother -- but in the wrong way.
If there's a near riot close to you, get away from it as far as you can.
The lacerations of failure, of frustrations, and their deputies were on and in her face.
She was one of those women who was a sorority sister at a second-rate of third-rate college -- a teachers' college that tried to dignify itself by adding the word university to its hame.

He wonder if she was naturally ignorant and stupid, or if alcohol and tanning sessions had affected her brain.
A new word I heard lately is confusement. I think it's self explanatory.
Love was the word that defined and dignified his desire.
He made a mad dash to the door.

That's opposed to a sane dash, which is another name for a brisk walk.
I said to Actress X: "You're always willing to get naked, and I'm always willing to watch."
Put that bitch's body on a platform, make sure it's 10 feet off the ground, and let the buzzards feast on it.
A band plays instruments. A group just sings.

So the phrase "boy band" is wrong, wrong, wrong!

Besides, you never hear of a marching group.
Lust, for the male, is the only visible deadly sin because of the erect penis. It can be flaccid during the other ones.
My friends drug me to what they called a gentlemen's club and what I called a titty bar.

While I was there, I saw a stripper who was so fuggly, I dressed her with my eyes.
He once told a woman: "Shut your fucking mouth and close your fucking legs, bitch. No one wants to see your open holes."
What is the cutoff age when kids stop being brats and start being punks?
Meltage: The state of melting ice or snow.
Cootage: The state of having cooties.
The movie was bad. It wasn't released countrywide. More likely, it escaped.
I don't date a crazy woman because I don't want to be a supporting actor in her psychodrama.
I once owned an old T-shirt that's a few washings away from falling apart.

It wasn't on its last legs. It was on its last arms.

So I cut it up to use as rags.
When he was a teenager in the early 1970s, a lot of his classmates left school at lunch time to smoke marijuana.

They were definitely putting the HIGH in high school.

Wednesday, April 8, 2009

Changes, Starting Today

I have decided switch from all lower-case letters in my posts. From today on, I'll use upper-case letters when it's appropriate.

I just thought this blog could use a change. Also, it was time to get more serious and less whimsical.

I'm not going back to apply this to all of my past posts. That would take up times better spent on this blog and other things. But I applied this to the posts I wrote earlier this month.

Also, I've created a new category for some posts. It's called Promes. They are posts that live in the gray areas where poetic prose or prose-like poetry meet.

Today, I've given some vignettes that label. Other changes might come later. I need to check some posts that could fit the new category.

The Pro From Dover

One morning, A.J., a newspaper reporter, woke and realized that he would rather run to the South Pole -- or even to Hell -- before he would enter a room where a city council or board of zoning appeals were in session -- let alone report on their actions.

Before then, he was professional enough to report on many things he found dull and distasteful. "I'm The Pro From Dover and I'm taking over," he often said as a joke.

But he felt, thought and said that phrase fewer and fewer times until it seemed that The Pro was gone, had moved back to Dover and took A.J.'s pride with him.

If It Wasn't For That

He'd be a lot different if it wasn't for that.

Because he believed the actions of the outside affect the actions of the inside.

He brooded upon it, often at night, when he was alone and he couldn't sleep, as he smoked cigarette after cigarette.

He thought about it as it stood in the middle of his mindscape.

And his thoughts about it were under the mindscape like a paved-over river that flowed through a city, and it was in his mindscape like a fog. it was always in and on his mind and thoughts. It just wouldn't go away by itself, and he couldn't push it away.

And just what was it, exactly?

He couldn't say for sure, because if he brought it to the front of his mind, it overwhelmed him and stop him from speaks. It felt as if his blood had been replaced by quick-drying cement.

But can we -- that is, you and I -- talk about it?

Sure. I know what it was. And I know you want to know about it. But if I told you now, then we wouldn't have much of a story left, would we?

What it was.

What it was.

What it was.

The Girl From The Class Of 1970

The Girl from the Class of 1970 wore lipstick that tinted her lips to match the color of her skin. (By the way, she was Caucasian.)

She also had a flat-looking face that showed no emotion. It came with a turned-down mouth and strangely dark eyebrows and eyelashes.

She also was skinny.

Harrison felt disgust when he saw her. He thought: She must want to look like a corpse. Maybe because she wants to be a corpse? Maybe because she wants to die?

It wasn't until years later, when he first saw a picture of a Kabuki actor, that the resemblance between him and her came to him.

He wasn't surprised when, about eight to ten years later, he read in the local newspaper that she had died. He heard it was from an overdose of sleeping pills mixed with alcohol.

The Passover Card

At sunset today starts Passover, the Jewish holiday that marks the exodus of the Hebrews from Egypt to the Promised Land of Canaan.

I once bought a Jewish couple I knew a Passover card. Its front showed the hand of God pointing to the Ten Commandements written on two stone tablets. He was telling Moses: "Take two of these of call me in the morning."

Little did I know that:
  • He was stealing from his company;
  • She was cheating on him.
When I found that out, I definitely took the Lord's name in vain.

Wednesday, April 1, 2009

Silent, Stifiled, Sleeping Screams


Somewhere in the back of his mind sleeps a scream, because the time for it to fly has not yet come.

Besides, men don't scream unless they just can't stand their tortures any more and their souls go down. Or the pain flows like water high and strong enough over the dams, dikes, and levees of the ego.

Such are the screams in the back of his mind. It's as if he's in a room, with the door closed, anxious to sleep, but the screams prowl and sound in the halls outside the room like rabid and ravenous wolves.


Many have been the times that he stifled screams because of repercussions:
  • It's not that important;
  • Not here;
  • Not to him or her or them or it;
they build like steam or strongly running water. they should've been blown off long, long before now.

such repressions lead to strokes, anurysms, and heart attacks.

Just Wondering ...

Steve McQueen, late American movie actor ...

and Daniel Craig, British movie actor and current James Bond ...

Separated at birth? You be the judge.