Airport

It's nothing but the anonymity I like.
The rest can fuck right off"
The man said to his airport beer in the airport
bar in he major international airpot, on one international
special airport of a million.
"There is. A. Little more. Surliness. From the bartender. Hre. Than I. Expected in. Chicago"
The man thought in his best WIlliam Shatner inside
his own head voice
"It is. Great. This. Awkwardness. Where you.
Are in such. close. Proximity. to others."
He thought, in his best Christopher
Walken voice.
"They all, look, and stare, motherfuckers!
and wonder what you are up to, my name
is vengance!"
He thought, in his best Samuel L. Jackson voice.
"What's in his note book, why is he writing
those things, possibly about me?"
He thought, in his best Woody Allen voice.
Probably the best was drinking his drink and basking in his anonymity. Without interruption.


From a moleskin
somewhere around 2015

Another F%$#ing Bear

'Another f$%&ing bear' the man sighed as he took a wood-free sip  then pulled the pull start on his Husky. It fired on the third pull like it always did. 'You gotta put more ass into it!' his Dad would always yell after the 1st or 2nd pull, then laugh to himself, the joke that never got old.

The man took another sip from his likely wood free beer and revved his chainsaw three time, the third really letting it rip.

He took a third sip of beer and laid into the log. Maple, drying for 2 weeks in the sun, still a little buttery.

The man used to cut with headphones in, and try to cut in tune, but realized the chainsaw was the rhythm, the tree was the melody, and this non-stop stream of obscenities was the harmony.

'rrrrrRRRRRRrrrrrr 'you mother fucker!' he tore through a big chunk, creating the bear's signature dad gut.
'weeeRRRRRRRRR 'cunt fuck ass hair!
He was diggin in, cutting the arms aimed toward invisible bear pockets, the neck, the back, and already starting into the furry detail with a few deft side strokes.

He took a long pull on his beer helmet and revved the shit out of the Husky, clearing the chain and knowing damn well he'd be sucking some serious chips soon.

The man cut the ears, the eyes, snout, mouth, and began finishing the finish.

At this point he was laughing like a loon, chips flying, hair, beard, flannel, knuckle hair. Chips everywhere, smoke rising from the wood heating up, he felt like a conductor on meth and acid and the chainsaw his band, the log his audience, carving, slicing, dicing.

It was hours later when the man finished, chainsaw sputtering from a near-dry tank; wood smoking from being cut so hard, a nearby far-off neighbor yelling about the sound, the smoke, and some other bullshit.

The man dropped his saw, his beer helmet, his goggles, hung a $35 dollar sign around the bear's neck and walked it to his spot next to the highway next to his Dad's faded sign advertising Grady's Wood Carving.

'Another fucking beer' he laughed as he walked back to his couch.

the eyes have it

There is something about moving
organizing
deciding which items from your life are worth keeping
worth disposing of
and worth giving a second chance to
at the local Goodwill.
Every time I move
or heavily organize
or fucking clean
I find pictures
letters
gifts
knick-nacs
household items
from an ex or three
that I have to evaluate and mentally categorize
one two three
what to keep and what to discard and what to
try and pass the buck
toss the football
to another sad sack soul.

This time was different, maybe.
Or perhaps the time between this and last was so great
or perhaps I have grown wiser in my old age
at spotting the little things
and the not so little things
a realization by an ex what had driven me away
perfectly articulated in a letter I had ignored

the eyes of another, so beautiful, and so
fucking hurt, in each and every photograph.
a glimmering model of perfection
my mind could never tarnish
my modern day monroe
with porcelain skin
and a world of hurt and of pain
tucked beneath her eyes
something i could never fix
no matter how she hurt me so.

The new detachment

Sometimes in life it is necessary to detach from a situation. Al-anon first introduced me to this concept; of help through distance. The recognition that that gut feeling of helplessness is best served by sometimes acting helpless. Pushing those you want to hold the closest away so that they too can see the distance.

Pittsburgh musings

Goddamn I love this town.

Photography

Things change when you look
through the lens of a
single lens reflex
and bring a beautiful scenic
scene into a metered view finder

And part of the kick
of staring at this scene is
observing those in and out the
frame through a squinted
eye, trying to catch a glimpse
inside of you
and inside that frame.

nobility.

There is nothing noble about being rich.
There really isn't anything particularly noble
about being poor,
either.

and yet i chase and seek the nobility
among the rich and the poor among us

the rich purity we each bear and
can occasionally radiate through
this societal shroud that
envelopes the inner us.

There isn't anything noble about being rich.
and there isn't anything particularly noble about
being poor.

and sometimes those with the most
have the least
while those with the least
have the most.

the grass is always greener
on the manicured lawn.

the grass is always greener.
in the junkyard.

there isn't anythign noble about being rich.
there isn't anything noble about being poor.

we envy the everything for having it.
we envy the lacking for not.

the old definition of having what you want
not wanting what you have

but having it all you can't want a thing
and wanting it all you cant have a thing

our daily juxtaposition of
want vs need
have vs have not

our daily struggle.

let's re-invent the wheel.