Insatiable

Spent years writing on poetry workshop sites.

I get the critique part.

I know it is for development of the craft.

I notice, also, there is a need of the readers for rhyming. And rhythm (not a great need for spelling).

And length. Lotsa requests for more length.

Mind you, nobody’s payin’ for these service add ons.

What mystifies me is why a man plopping his guts in a recognizeable pile at the public’s feet isn’t ever nearly enough entertainment.

I have been told that bards tend to be a whiney sort.

Perhaps I’ve achieved some growth.

Move Hands/Wipe Off

7:10 am on a Lauderdale Sunday morning finds me pedaling a half hour trip to the beach. Free Tai Chi starts at Eight. This will be my third time. First one was a dream. Did everything well. Second was also very good. Today I am hoping the tropical offshore storm soaks sand where I will be standing.

I got a plugged pipe. This is not making me feel cool. Now I am going through these moves like a drunken epilectic. Can’t focus. Oh, sure, I can still see the bikini tourists. I ain’t dead. But my only real goal is to stick this out for the hour and go back home.

Class finished and I am getting off bike at my gate. Figure to check car oil ’cause I will be driving it later to a “Martial Art” class (active sunnuva beetch ain’t I?). Rain starts fallin’. Park bike, car can wait, go into house and now my ass wants to sit down. In the John. Grab a Bukowski book and move to office.

Heavy stuff is fallin’ on the roof. Stuff goes through this body and splashes out underneath.

After cleanin’ up I think of how my form needs work.

That my timing is for crap seems  acceptable.

three am

the moon is full

this life is full

this writer is fool

fooled by a will of the wisp

a wisp that whispers “write”

and as I do, shivering in blue shorts

hunched over a key board illuminated by a plastic screen light

I wonder at the miracle of  two sleeping parakeets in a darkened room

Their cage arms reach to my right

And I consider this gift from God

my wife

sleeping in the other room

And in an uncharacteristic moment of clarity

I see my place in this  place called world

Back to bed and woman I take this near fifty nine body

Never too late to get it right, eh?

A slow hit beats a fast miss. Every time.

I just wanna shoot my gun.

No. I don’t mean shoot at people. Y’all really watch way too much tv.

Not at critters. I am content going to the store. Don’t need to do that huntin’ thing.

I just wanna go down to the local gun range, put on my ears (that’s what we call ear protection, they look like ear muffs-if you ain’t Yankee you may not get that) and hang a hand sized piece of cardboard on a hook. Crank it out to 10 feet away.  Someplace around chest/head height. Depends on who you might envision.

No. I don’t envision any one. It is card board. Point of aim surface. Simple concept.

I just wanna work on my trigger press pressure. My grip. Recoil control. Breathing. Stance. Draw. Reload. Hole in hole.

I’m really a very simple man.

I love my wife.

I work for my money.

I want to shoot my gun.

But I can’t. The range is closed. My wife needs  a ride home from her job in eighteen minutes from now. And I must rest before tomorrows work.

Then, Friday afternoon, after all my chores are done, I will haul ass, lead and brass to the Bang Palace.

Us shooting enthusiasts are a patient sort.

Ahh, hot shell casings. Arc ejecting off to my right. I can see it now.

I just wanna… Okay, Nick, saddle up and go git yer woman.

Yeeee Haw!!

Leigh would understand

Oh, man.

“Writers Community”  site (see previous post).

Question: Book title cool and why.

So I read all their stuff, forego posting “Skinning Harry Potter”, and give ‘em “Love is a Dog from Hell” by Charles Bukowski (they will have to start growing up sometime, Suzie).

Then I check google results to see what it will lap toss to any that go beyond a quik quip glance.

There is the book. Amazon.

I open it and read the first page. Top to bottom. 

Thinkin’ I dont remember most of this poem (I read lots of this guys shit. Some of it is bound to fade.)

Flip to next page and figure out I am still reading the contents.

And I marvel amore at the old bastards art.

Thinkin’ of bein’ a Yogi

I’m hangin’ at this other site

“Writers Community”

Stompin’ my wang into p.c. submission as I try to communicate with these… imagine Hello Kitty and Tinker Belle pretending to be Vamps.

I feel like the guy in the overcoat watchin’ that kinda… interplay go down.

So now one of them writes that he wonders if he should live some life for inspiration.

Duuuh?

But I say that ’cause I have.  And I draw, endlessly, from everday 3D.

So wat da fuk would I know about inspiration while being 20 something in college (in Canada). 

Well now I could get into the guy who was tellin’ me that his town, Glasgow, while repped for violence isn’t really as violent as it is believed to be by those who don’t live there but, still, is violent.

Huh?

2 days ago, a half hour drive from here, 4 seasoned LE set up in a wing formation off a doorway. Servin’ a warrant (murder) to a young dude.

Dude stepped out the door of where he lived, .40 cal dead shot a male officer on his left, then did same to female officer on his right (she fell back onto the other female causing her to wreck her knee. The other male behind the first one had drawn his .45 and head hit the shooter with one round.

Game Over.

Today I go to a range and do a bit of crowd control as first time trigger ticklers make a paper hole to complete their Carry Concealed Weapon License applications.

I wonder what is passing for nasty amongst me mates in Scotland?

Knock Before Entering, por favor~yo

Some people ask “Do you carry a gun all the time?”

And I immediately wonder if I say “No” are they gonna draw & rob.

And I say “Not always but I do have one with me in the john”.

Whatever look they give is entertaining.

I sometimes explain that not all bad guys have seen the movie where the good guy is given a chance to “go for his gun”.

So I like to have one with me as I go.

Or shower.

Or shave.

Hey, I ain’t always sittin’ in here writin’ between the grunt and the splash.

Just Askin’

Gliese 581G.

You know, the new planet discovered.

The one that probably has water.

C’mon, it’s the one circling the Red Dwarf Star (Red Dwarf Galaxy–not the Milky Way Galaxy, let’s keep this straight, people).

So my question is; Will we need a Stargate to go there or will shuttle service be available?

Yeah, like I ain’t bringin’ my own canteen of H2O.

Okay, I got a bit wrong. The Red Dwarf System is in our galaxy. You know, when you don’t see a group for 20,000 to 40,ooo years– well, ya kinda misplace some of their aspects in recollection. Hey, I appear human.Y’all oughta know what bein’ human means by now. No? Read the news , chimp.

And I have upgraded my jaunt gear to 2 canteens. Just in case I get bumped from my primary return mode. Can’t be too prepared, eh?

Pen and Sword in Accord

Postin’ my stuff on a Writers site

Folks commentin’ on how they like

How they would like it to look

different

Seein’ some of what’s come out of me through others eyes

educational

enlightening

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

Mentally challenged murdering the innocent

Been happenin’ since I was a kid

What’s different now?

Now I carry    Train to respond

Train others

Does it make a difference?

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

The less oppression is countered the sooner it is normal

Not acceptable when a 9 year old pays the cost

****

War is simply a concept

****

Self protection, defense of the defenseless

not a right

not a negotiated responsibility

a must

even a child knows as much

My take

I’m readin’ this girls stuff

ineffectual phraseing

she says she isn’t stoned or drunk enough to write well

she goes on and on about her thin love life

It makes me wanna write a comment to her that goes something like this;

Lover

I’m drunk

I’m wanting you

My bra is on backwards

The dog is chewing my underwear

Please come

Bring booze and biscuits

French Letters and french fries

Don’t make me be here

petting my Poodle

all alone

Of course, being the kind, understanding gentleman that I am, that is out of the realm of response available to me.

Fuckin’ Political Correctness shit is starting to get annoying, yo.