Monday, April 24, 2006


...female dog piss kills grass, where as male dog piss does not. it's an unknown fact in many dog loving circles. and what people don't know about dog piss could destroy a pristine lawn in a single season. i'm not sure why folks don't research dog piss more's a mystery. their was a time when you couldn't swing a dead cat without hitting someone reading up on the subject. i mean personally, i was just at borders the other day looking for a new book on animal wizz (my old one being out of date). i replaced Guldman's "guide to golden doggie showers." with the much more p.c. work "dog piss, drool, dingleberries, and you." by the now famous Dr. Sarah Beechrum. i do love bookshopping so very dearly that part was good. not that i can read...but their's just something fun about scanning through the poetry section for hours on end, scamming on potential smart chicks. but then something occured to me...and i stopped doing it all together. what if these people are just doing the same thing as i am? faking literacy for the chance at meeting someone special. i mean if i do it...why wouldn't someone else? i think stupid people are underestimated in our society. just because i'm doesn't mean that i want to go out with someone retarded. i know that we should all stick to our own kind and that theirs some beautiful downed misstress out there just waiting for me to swoop her off her feet (which wouldn't be hard if she has trouble walking anyway). but i refuse to settle. it's 2006 people...and i'll spred my retardation wherever i damn well please. i'm going to hell aren't i? at least they'll be people there that can make me laugh. as a side note: i honestly have no idea what's gotten into me as of late...but i find myself to be very, very funny.
...i just got called "hot in a weird way" by some random chick at the bar. it made me feel really good inside. the funny thing is that i think the word "weird" stemed more from how she felt in finding me attractive, and less about my attractiveness being something...well, weird. but maybe i'm toatally wrong...and i am in fact...really weird weird. regardless, i'll certainly take it wherever and however i can get it. she was also unbelievable drunk at the time...and i think her friend dared her to say it...and she also might have been a man...does that matter? i think not.

Saturday, April 22, 2006

"if your inner child is crying...just rub some whiskey on his gums."-m.marro

Wednesday, April 19, 2006


...i had a dream last night about NOT cutting my hair. who the fuck has dreams about shaving their head? you know, besides me? i cut my hair two or three times a year and i've been iching to shave it all off for awhile now. it's been a spring/summer thing for me for quite some time. but last night, no joke, i dreamt that a beautiful female voice asked me to keep it long and shaggy. not in so many words or course,'cause what would be sexy about a intoxicating female voice saying "keep it shaggy darling"?...but strangly enough, that was the just. i was looking in the mirror with clippers in hand, and it echoed through my head. "i love your hair" she said. please don't cut it." so until i dream other wise...or get a sign from god...long it stays. jew fro and all

p.s.-i don't even think a yamaka would stay on at this point.

Tuesday, April 18, 2006


one of our clients ran over a flowering crab apple tree while painting a church in richmond. i'm not sure how that happened...the tree being ten feet tall and being at a church. where were you on that one god? anywho, it needs to be replaced today with another 10 foot flowing crab apple tree. the trouble is...they're kind of hard to come by. not flowering crab apples...they are in and of themselves common...but a 10 foot tall flowering crab apple is a 25 year old tree. most places don't carrey full grown plants...and the ones who do charge up the ying yang for them. did i just say "charge up the ying yang."? is that even an expression? here's craig...i gotta go. crab apple hunting. yea!

Wednesday, April 12, 2006


"Having been fucked is no excuse for being fucked up"
-kimya dawson

it's wednesday again...i'll be wearing bunny ears at the bar and (perhaps) some rabbit makeup. 'cause something happened with jesus sometime coming up soon. 'Ichtar' i believe the pagons called it (thanks to the church for once again stealing a perfectly good holiday). the whole bunny and eggs thing was a fertility ritual in celebration of spring. bunnies have lots of sex and babies...hence the phrase "fuck like rabbits" and eggs well, that's pretty much a menstration in a shell isn't it? (doesn't that just make you want to eat lots and lots of eggs?) so i hope to have a great dance party usa tonight...and by dance party i mean orgy...and by orgy i mean that i'll be pouring drinks wishing that i had a girlfriend who loves me. in addition...i love when people say "you deserve better." you've been selling yourself short for years and just happen to end up with the absolute wrong person. maybe i'll shave my head and go monk least then i'd have an excuse for not getting any. wow! that's bad...but instead of erasing that last part...i'd rather just say...i'm feeling rather shallow today...which obviously is the way i tend to be most of the time. i think it had something to do with the "live in" i saw on the uvm campus today. apparently it has something to to with livable wages...that's fucking great people...did you buy that tent with your parents credit card?...get a job you fucking i said...feeling shallow.

p.s.-i think i just invented the phrase "hippie-crit"...patton pending...patton saw it here first folks. april 12...2006.

Monday, April 10, 2006



Inspiration (n.) 1. a breathing in, as of air into lungs; inhaling 2. an inspiring or being ispired mentally or emotionally 3. a.) an inspiring influence; anystimulus to creative thought or action b.) an inspired idea, action, etc. 4. a prompting of something written or said

in a small room on the edge of town where the creek flows by, the boy's pupils dance in enjoyment as they pass over the letters, words, and phrases of the stimulating document. More is the word he longed for. A model for a life he could aspire to become with enough determination. He loved the way it made him feel. The sound of it all, the rhythm, the way it fit into his head so perfectly. This will be the life i live he thought. Tic...tock...tic...tock...

(n.) 1. a person or thing considered worthy of imitation or copying 2. a regular, mainly unvarying way of action or doing 3. a predictable or prescribed route

the girl goes for long walks every day. she circles a three block radius in her small town filled with oak trees and the scent of late autumn. but today she decides to do something different. she thinks of the park and hides a smile so that no one peering through windows would notice. there is creek that runs through the park with a bridge over it. a perfect place for walking. so when she comes to the part of the block where she had previously turned for home, she walks straight and tries not to falter. she feels guilty and strange, but full of pride. she wonders what walking somewhere new could mean.

journey (n.) 1. the act or an instance of traveling from one place to another; trip 2. any course or passage from one stage or experience to another.

the blind man is miles away from his house. miles away from anything that could conventionally be defined as "easy." though all he does in his travels is make his observers experience a momntary lapse of sight. look at the blind man, all the people think as he passes. isn't that amazing? what a fool i am complaining about all the unimportant troubles in my life. though later, when the blind man has reached the boundaries of the onlooker's eyes, they forget about it and go back to the blindness of their every day lives. most times it's easier not to have conventional sight thinks the blind man.


eye (n.) 1. conjunctiva, anterior chamber, cornea, iris, ciliary body, lens, retina, choroid, sclera, vitreous body, lateral rectus muscle, medial retus muscle, optic disk, optic nerve 2. the organ of sight in man and animals 3. the power of seeing; sight; vision 4. a look; glance; gaze; an eye on something 5. the power of judging, estimating, discriminating by eyesight.

autumn is the kind of month for breathing in deep gusts of air and only exhaling when something beautiful happens. as the grass waits patiently for the frost to visit, the wind decides which cloud gets to keep its shape. the clover fields prepare to live without children running through them for awhile. and a single branch on a yonder tree feels that a leaf attached to the end of its index finger is making the others too self-conscious with its liquid orange and crimson red, so lets go prematurely. now the others will have inspiration to drop, thinks the tree.

next to the creek that runs through the town, a small, brilliantly colored leaf slowly makes its way towards the earth. it glides back and forth as the wind cradles it as if a mother putting her child to sleep. sight seeing tour? wonders the leaf as it touches the crisp autumn water. it emarks on a journey down creek to visit things it will see only once and then never see again. i better look more closely at this than i have at anything else before thinks the leaf. he smiles and travels with the creek as the cold water begins to sink in and his colors begin to run.

the boy goes and sits down next to the creek by his house, feeling strange and new to himself; wondering how words can make pictures so vividly. he watches the water and thinks i could be a rock in the creek and shape myself around something that is always moving. he stands up straight and steps lightly into the cold, crisp water. then lays down and smiles. the water passes over his body while always moving. some stays in his cloths to remind him of where he is. to remind him of the cold. something else traveling down the creek becomes held up just below his face so the boy sits up quickley. where are you going? asks the boy. to the park says the leaf. but why? says the boy. because i have never been there, answers the leaf, and soon i'll be dead. then i will give you this says the boy and writes his gift upon the leaf. this will help you on your way. thanks you says the leaf and then travels on.

the girl sits on the bridge that runs over creek in the park and waves her feet back and forth across the very top of water. strange she thinks. why did i come here? the leaf passes below her and catches he eye. so standding up quickly she travels creek side to investigate. she grabs it out of the water then sits neatly back down amongst the cold tall grass. what is this written on you? asks the girl. Only what the boy knows says the leaf. but am i to know what this means? she questions. am i to know why i pass through here? asks the leaf.

1.) 1,2,3,4,5,6
2.) 6,1,5,2,4,(3)
3.) 3,6,4,1,2,5
4.) 5,3,2,6,1,4
5.) 4,5,1,3,6,2
6.) 2,4,6,5,3,1

7.) a.)5,6


most patterns can be found anywhere. the age of a tree, the veins of a leaf, even tiny snowflakes that will soon cover the small town entirely, have patterns in them.

most boys of that kind had eyes of blue, with sparks of fire in them. the girls with brown eyes are most often wise and much older looking. but the eyes of blind men take the cake. their eyes are usually the lightest and kindest shade of green that ever would have existed with just a slight glaze of uslessness to them.

the girl takes the leaf to her seat on the bridge. i don't understand you, says the girl do you know what it means? i already told you, replies the leaf only what the boy knows. are you to say that i can't know what the boy knows? inquires the girl. the pauses to collect his patience and the speaks soft kindly to the girl. you he begins are not the boy.

inspiration had been given to the leaf in the form of tiny numbers scrawled upon them. they would always repeat, but the leaf could never tell how. it puzzled his and he wondered in amazement over it each and every second.

the boy runs home to put on new clothes. he is cold from the river and shaking violently. underwear, socks, pants, shirt, sweater, jacket, boots. to the park he thinks...maybe i can still catch it. he runs and steam flies from his hair like his whole head is smoking.

no one but the bridge paid much attention to the water. bridges respect water very much. often, the bridge over the creek through the park would comment, looking good today creek. good luck to wherever it is that you're going. say hi to all my friends you pass under. safe journey.


synoyms for journey: expedition, trip, excursion, trek, jaunt, pilgrimage, tour.

Analogy: a pattern is to life as?

a.) desire is to the boy
b.) pride is to the girl
c.) true sight is to the blind
d.) wonderment is to the leaf
e.) respect is to the bridge
f.) journey is to us all
g.) all of the above.

arriving at the park, the boy sits down to catch his breath, then gets up and goes to the creek.

synonyms for eye: organ of sight, optic receiver, simple eye, oculus, compound eye; intrument of vision.

the girl leaves her spot on the bridge and sits down on a bench next to the blind man. he must know of pride thinks the girl. she waits patienly for the blind man to ask her a question or start a conversation. nothing. the girl taps her foot and thinks about the things written on the leaf. what does the boy know? if i, nor the leaf know what the boy knows, does the blind man know what the boy knows?she doesn't want anyone to think that she doesn't know what the boy continues to sit patiently next to the blind man.


the girl takes out the leaf and studies it carefully. keep quiet she thinks to herself. don't give away what you don't know.

as things quiet down that day in the park, and all the noise of regular life recedes, the creek begins to sing quietly to calm itself on its journey.

the blind man sits quietly and listens to the creek. what inspiration he thiks. always traveling, always seeing new things, and always singing to inspire. thank you creek.

1.) 1,2,3,4,5,6
2.) 6,1,5,2,4,3
3.) 3,6,4,1,2,5
4.) 5,3,2,6,1,4
5.) 4,5,1,(3),6,2
6.) 2,4,6,5,3,1

7.) a.)6,5

behind his glasses and a slight glaze of uslessness the blind man's eyes inspect what the leaf is feeling, and sees that he too understands the song of the creek.

the boy runs to the bridge that crosses over the creek. have you seen a leaf here? asks the boy. i've seen many leaves pass through here answers the bridge.


what to do now?
wonders the boy. i need to sit down and think. the boy goes to the middle of the park where benches can be found next to the walkways and the playground. i'll sit on the see-saw and maybe then the answer will come.

the girl sees another on the see-saw and wonders if it's time to play. she puts the leaf in the blind man's lap and walks over to the playground.

my eyes can see this thinks the blind man, rubbing his thumbs over the leaf. this makes perfect sense. this is what the girl wanted to know.

i have been on an immense journey says the leaf. can you tell me what has been written?

a pattern. answers the blind man, the most wonderful pattern that could grace anything on this earth.

what inspiration! exclaims the leaf, and to think all this time i had no idea.


some eyes can only see the sights on their journey states the blind man but never what that journey has to show.

both the boy and the girl sit on the see-saw. desire thinks the boy. pride thinks the girl. they each stay perfectly horizontal in the air and the see-saw doesn't falter.

sometimes a pattern brings inspiration says the leaf.
SHOPLIFTING i was working at the bar one day and having a fine old time. it was a pretty average day for the most part: the garage door was open, the sun was shinning in, beer and liquor flowed at a steady pace. i think i was blasting hall and oats and the time..."rich girl" if my memory serves me right. when out of the corner of my eye i catch a gentleman in a yellow windbreaker (windbreakers should never be yellow if you ask me...only rain i right or am i right?.) He was holding a canvis pack and walked nervously into the bar which felt unusual for the laid-back mood the day. coming straight at me he stops and claims that he had just stolen a bunch of groceries from city market and was wondering if i would hide his bag for him. my brain struggled to wrap around the situation. "no" i blurted out finally "i can't do that for you." "they're right behind me," he whispered "what should i do?" looking up i noticed a uniformed officer in the window staring directly at us. "i'm going to hide downstairs," the man said, realizing that i wasn't about to help him. the cop opened the door and came walsing in , following the man down the stairs. a few minutes later they came up; man in cuffs...bagless and frightened. i sort of felt bad for him for a second...then just poured some more drinks.

Tuesday, April 04, 2006

C O M F O R T...
Phrases on life, love, and the universe

“the talking leads to touching and the touching leads to sex…and then there is no mystery left.” –rilo kiley

Aren’t phrases and quotes supposed to be taken as good advice? Aren’t they supposed to be universal truths? Rocks that won’t erode through billions of years of water wind. Aren’t they supposed to be emotional anchors that hold up through the ages? Then why do they always have to contradict each other?
For instance, I know that it’s much better to “have loved and lost…than to have never loved at all”. But isn’t “ignorance (also) bliss”? I mean think about it. I have…and it just makes my brain hurts constantly. Also, if you love something, then aren’t you supposed to “set it free” and if “it comes back to you then it was meant to be”? But isn’t “the grass (always) greener on the other side”? What the fuck? If a woman is willing to give you her love than isn’t that “the greatest gift in the world”? But when she ends up taking it away…you tend to be “better off dead.” If “all is fare in love and war,” then why is “compromise the key to any loving relationship”? If “the universe tends to unfold as it should,” then why is the most confusing thing in world…the times when it doesn’t? How the fuck is anyone supposed to figure all this shit out? I think I have…so I felt obligated to right down the secret.
It’s comfort. Plain and simple…comfort is the only thing that makes this crazy old world feel tolerable for a change. Think about it…and I mean really think. There are some people who just feel like home to you. Like the whole world shuts off when they’re around and all that ends up being left, is this perfect bubble made of warmth and happiness. They say that “home is where the heart is”. But that obviously needs revision. What if your “heart is where your home is”? Comfort is love and love is so very comfortable. Think about your five senses and how that comfort would translate to a person. How it would be inside that bubble. It’s the place right between the breathing in and breathing out. Where everything is calm…and where nothing bad can ever happen. It’s that frame of time that lets you remember that such things as time don’t exist. I’m rambling…so here’s what I mean about such comfort.

Sight: it’s standing in the maternity ward and staring at the newborns through the glass. Watching them sleep in all their miniature glory. It’s the way your heart feels seeing the exact moment when they realize that they do, in fact…have hands. So completely serene and wonderful that you almost forget to breath.

Sound: it’s the sound of a match being dipped into a glass of water. It’s the same sound as opening a bottle of soda to let the effervescence gush through the narrow, usually constricted neck. It’s relief. It’s the sound of finally being at ease. As if it were for the very first time…utterly pure and amazing.

Taste: it’s your favorite dish cooked on your birthday by you mom or dad on a beautiful day. It’s when figi water hits the back of your throat after a run or bike ride…figi water that did not come directly out of the fridge but it’s not room tempurature either. It’s just warm enough to not be cold and just cold enough that isn’t warm. It’s the taste that makes you close your eyes uncontrollably…a reflex mechanism for joy and happiness.

Smell: it’s your bed sheets at the house where you grew up. hitting the pillow face down and taking it all in. you smile with that scent while every single pore in your body relaxes on cue. It’s like all that you are inside suddenly gets better, feels a little safer, and lets go of worries just a tad bit quicker. And all from a smell…one tiny comfortable smell.

Touch: it’s wrapping your arms around that person while running your finger across the contours of their skin. It’s doing it so softly that they aren’t even sure if they’re being touched. So soft that it would come across as ticklish if it weren’t so extremely delicate. A touch that denotes the object as something so fragile and expensive that you might lose your nerve at any second to even be touching it at all.

These are the way my five senses feel when my heart is at it’s home. ( Metaphorically speaking that is). So why is mystery so important to us? Why does the grass have to be so fucking green over there? It’s going to get dull…we all know that it’s going to get dull. Sometimes you go out of your way to make the trip only to get over there and find out that it’s not even fucking green…just crab grass that played a trick on the eye. So why do it? Why not be comfortable instead? Because by the time the mystery fades on the other side…you might have blown your chance to go back to the comfortable grass. And of course as a kicker, a way for the universe for really piss you off…you realize that your grass is inhabited by someone else…someone who must have found it extremely green, wonderfully soft, and amazingly comfortable. Home my friends. Your heart is where your home is.