Sunday, December 30, 2007

Common Sea Life

They met at the shore like sand and sea,
Different as good and evil, close as cloud and sky.
Wherever he was she would also be,
Right or wrong, Good or bad, Live or die.
But anyone, anytime, anywhere can take her water for free.
He dreams of treading as she waves goodbye.
Pools of tears make it hard to swallow.
He’s overwhelmed by the changing tides.
But it still makes the ocean seem shallow.

Saturday, December 29, 2007

The Difference Between You and Me...

You like to think you like me because you like to think you’re like me. But I don’t really care that you think I think like you. You would talk to me all day and tell me it’s just like if I was talking to you. Do you love yourself so much that you can’t let me be anyone else? If we have anything in common, that’s barely anything at all.

You claim we’re the same in opposite ways, like near and far, east and west, up and down, black and white. Perhaps that’s true, but that makes our similarities uninteresting and our differences unknowable.

You say you know me better than I know myself, but how could the person who is my exact opposite know me so well? And if you tell me again, that our being so different is exactly why we're the same, then I’ll remind you that I would never say that I know anyone better than they know themselves, not even my own clone.

You didn’t know I had a clone? There are many things I could have explained to you if only you hadn’t insisted on explaining them to me. And now you’re wondering what else I would have said.

The only difference between you and me is me and you.

Thursday, December 27, 2007

to all the girls I’ve never loved before...

Here is a representative slice of apologetic data for all the girls I've never loved and true stories of preemptive avoidance of intimacy. All I can say is that I'm sorry but there is only so much of me to go around...

To the girl who always tried to kiss me...
I was 4 years old and so were you. You were just slightly bigger and stronger than me. You clearly had a crush on me, but I wanted to crush that crush. We were 4! Did you really think we had a shot at a real romantic relationship? Did you think I was going to support you on my allowance? Well, if you bothered to ask me any questions instead of just jumping on me and kissing me, I could have explained it all to you. Besides, I thought you looked like a pig and I hated your irritating lisping baby-talk speech impediment.

To the creepy girl who would stare at me when I tried to use the toilet...
I don't fully blame you. There were no doors on our communal unisex kindergarten restroom. The teacher probably assigned you to check up on me anyway. But you were stupid and insane and filthy. I know that your behavior was somehow modified by a bad home life. So I'm sorry for the mean things that I said, even though they were just toned down versions of the truth. Oh, you were a filthy beast. I saw you a few years later overdosing apparently just to get attention. What you didn't seem to realize is that all that commotion turns to white noise and you become invisible.

To my aunt who trapped me in the stairway and smothered me with kisses...
No means no! Seriously, I felt like I was being raped. Sorry I didn't bite you in the face but I was afraid I'd catch more diseases from your blood than your saliva.

To the leader of the “girl gang”...
I know that I was the greatest presence to grace our 1st grade class. But that didn't take much, did it? I suppose that many men would have dreamed of being captured by your gang of girls and held in your arms, but those men are perverts, and I was a little boy who just wanted to be left alone. And how did this become something where you brought me to robert so he could sit on me? Did you really think we’d have a relationship after that? Besides, how could I have spent real quality time with all of you girls and robert? The relationship was not well thought out on your part. Did you never notice that I was trying to avoid you? That’s why I was running.

(Robert, I know you are not a girl, but you sure acted like one quite often. I have to admit that I was a bit disturbed that you always wanted to sit on me after the girls caught me. But I was far more disturbed when you showed up in my first grade class a couple of months after school started. It didn’t help that you were somehow able to get the kid next to me to move so you could take his place. When you explained to me that you threw a tantrum every day until they finally sent you to my class, I was thoroughly and officially creeped out.)

To all the girls in my second grade class...
The only reason I was going to read your valentine cards is because I was a hired spy and had to see if your valentines and other notes sent to other kids in school were true or just “seasons greetings”. Well, I never got a chance to look at any of them anyway but I didn’t lose much money on the deal.

To all the girls in the 3 third grade classes in my school...
I know you weren’t all in love with me, but I had to make sure that YOU knew. That’s why I systematically broke each and every one of your tiny little hearts. It took me hours to copy with carbon paper the over 80 notes with 3 different themes - I sent you (by sneaking into your classes and placing them in each of your desks, which is easy when you’re a spy). I’d like to make a special apology now, to the girl in my class who’s note was intercepted by the teacher. I know that the teacher’s plan was to embarrass me by reading my love note to you in front of the class. Although it was classic to see her facial expressions shift as she read, “roses are red, violets are blue, this scrap is just garbage and so are you”, I still felt bad that the teacher was too stupid to stop reading and made you cry. I know that many other girls were crying that day as well, but your tears were the ones that hurt. I mean, little girls really don’t seem to like that sort of thing. So, I can’t remember your name, but I remember that day and sometimes wonder if I destroyed lives. I had no idea people could be so fragile. So sorry.

I guess it only makes sense that I can’t think of any girls who liked me for the rest of grade school...

To that girl who was always staring at me in seventh grade and finally got the courage to sit next to me on the bus...
I’m somewhat sorry that the first thing I ever said to you was, “you have snot hanging out of your nose”, but it was true, you did. Besides, I was pretty sure that if I said it, you would instantly hate me and leave me alone. I was right. But I am a bit sorry. Why did you try to push the thing back into your nose though? That was just twisted!

To the girl who would always rub up against me while asking me questions in eighth grade civics class...
So you were cute, big deal. You obviously liked me because you knew I never studied or paid attention in civics class, yet you were constantly coming over to my desk to ask questions. I chose to answer your questions (as though I actually cared about civics) and ignore your small breasts being pushed up against my left arm. How far did you think this relationship would go in civics class? Then one day (years later) you happened to meet me in a convenience store halfway between Minneapolis and Duluth and showed me how you had surgery to correct your slightly skewed lower jaw. You used to be cute, now you were pretty. I told you that you looked better before the surgery, sorry about that. Anyway, what did you expect? We had 5 minutes together in the snack aisle of a convenience store, and you couldn’t even think of any civics questions to ask me.

To the girl on my bus when I was in ninth grade, who was always nice to me and was telling everybody except me how much she liked me...
I have to admit I was a bit flattered, but you wore so much makeup that I knew your face was eroding beneath that carefully plastered and smoothed exterior. So when you finally indicated your fondness for me, I knew it could never work. My face was smooth and tight, your face was invisible. Plus, the only thing we had in common was that we rode the same school bus and were forced to listen to Def Leppard together, but I think you enjoyed it.

To the girl at the arcade who rubbed her body up against me while pretending the huge arcade door was too narrow...
Of course I ignored you. You were looking for a reaction. I kept talking to my friend and pretended you weren’t spending an inordinate amount of time and energy passing me by. I knew you were trying to get my attention because there was a lot more up and down motion than side to side motion. But I ignored you and you got bored and left. Sorry, but it must not have been love.

To the girl who seemed to hang on my every word...
You were impressed by the fact that we had the same last name. Your friends were impressed when I tore a five dollar bill in half. I talked to you quite often until I noticed that the way you playfully stood back on your heels and tilted your head was very odd indeed. Were you just looking up my nose? If not, what were you doing? Obviously, after such a profound moment of revelation I had to stop talking to you forever.

To the girl at the mall who liked my pants...
I apologize for my pathetic response. You said, “I like your pants”. I said nothing. You said, “aren’t you going to thank me?” I said, “why should I? You didn’t give them to me”.

I cannot apologize enough for that terrible line, I was irritated with your pickup line and tried my very popular ignoring you routine, but you forced me to say something. I didn’t have time to prepare something clever. Besides, we were at the mall during the 80’s. What self respecting person wearing jeans covered in triangular patches would allow himself to get involved in 80’s mall romance? What did you think we would do, open our own shop? Eat ice cream cones together? It doesn’t make sense. The relationship wouldn’t have worked. I’m just sorry I had to use such a poor quality line to set everything right.

To the group of girls in the high school hallway who pinched me and giggled as I walked by...
What was that? Did you all like me? Were you just goofing off? A lunch hour relationship between the five of us wouldn’t have worked anyway so I didn’t bother to turn around and see who you were.

To the girl that thought I was complimenting her...
I told you you looked almost exactly like someone I went to school with. You said, “Thank you.” Where did that come from? I couldn’t say anything else. You may have been thinking, “If the girl he goes to school looks like me she must be pretty”, but that would still be the same as saying “You look like yourself”. That’s not a compliment, just an observation. Sorry about starting that lack of conversation. And you know I was sorry because I never spoke to you again.

To the girl who was my friend but not my girlfriend who was always trying to make me jealous...
I liked you, but I was more like a father than a friend. You were smart but needed help. I tried to explain life to you but you could never get it. If you didn’t need so much parenting then maybe I could have seen you differently. But you remained a perpetual child, and I moved on. So we had a lot in common, big deal, that’s no basis for a relationship. If my life plan was to suffer I would have at least found a woman who was financially stable so I wouldn’t have to work while dealing with her noise.

To the girl at the graduation party...
You were staring at me all night and smiling. You seemed like you were trying to get my attention. We talked for about 5 minutes at the end of the evening and I left because the numbers didn’t crunch. You were a gymnast and on the swim team, I was wearing a shiny blue jacket. It never could have worked out.

To all the moms who pushed their daughters at me directly or indirectly...
You raised lovely young ladies. Kudos. But I always knew that you were interested in me and that’s why you pushed your girls my way. I guess you just wanted someone in the family to benefit from my presence. That was very unselfish of you. But I thought the whole thing through. I would have to come and visit you on occasion for family events and so on. Even if you didn’t get jealous, you and I would know the truth even though unspoken. And I think you can understand how that could get really weird and creepy. So, I never could have started a relationship with your daughters. Now if you were 20 years younger, maybe things would have been different between us, unless granny had her eye on me. You must have really loved me though, or you were just thinking how you never married the young broke artist (who rode a bicycle) when you had the chance.

To the girl I fell in "love" with at first sight...
Sorry I never bothered to tell you, but it would have been a hassle and a waste of our time. I'm sure you had better things to do than waste a couple of months dating me. And I certainly didn't want to waste any more of my time thinking irrationally. So you can understand why I never spoke to you again.

To the woman who used to rub her body against me in my office while I was explaining how we were going to develop her company web site...
I tried to ignore you, I tried to move further over on the desk but pretty soon you had me pressed up against the wall, with your chest pushed firmly against my right arm. I remained cold and distant. At our next meeting, I put out my hand to shake yours and you knocked it out of the way and threw your arms around me in front of many colleagues. I kept my arms at my side and said, “this is very professional”. You certainly had a knack for attaining maximum one-sided intimacy in a very public glass walled office. You wanted to come work for me but you had already hugged yourself out of a job.

To the countless women and girls who have feigned interest in me...
Why were you wasting your time and mine? I couldn't shake you, you were always around me like a swarm of insects. Did you think I was famous? I could tell you weren't interested in me. Did you not know that you weren't interested? You would just stand there and stare at me adoringly. Maybe you just thought I was nice to look at. So were some of you, but I wasn't going to waste my time following you around and staring. So, I'm sorry I left you in my wake and ignored you, but there's no way I could have told all of you to piss off.

In conclusion: So, ladies, even though the purpose of my actions was primarily not to waste my own time, by extension, your time was not wasted by me. You would have been hurt worse when I dumped you or worse still if you were able to fool me into marrying you. It was best that it ended before it began.

P.S. To the numerous gay men who harassed me throughout my life but especially between the years 1988-1991...
You really didn't think this relationship through at all!!! You're not even girls! How could you have possibly expected that to work? I rarely ran from a mugger or a drug dealer or thugs on the street because I knew their intentions were honorable (except the gay ones). You have given me good reason to be “homophobic”, so I ran. Fast. I hope for your sake none of you were heartbroken girls who got sex changes because you thought I was gay. Of course, perhaps that is less disturbing. Oh, and by the way, it is not flattering to be chased by a gay man. Nor is it really a compliment, when that compliment comes from a dirty sticky pervert.

Tuesday, December 25, 2007

I miss oranges...

Okay, I miss going into the front yard and picking oranges off the tree, and I miss going to the back yard and year round having cumquats ready for the eating. I miss the lemons and I miss growing tomatoes year-round. I miss my herb garden.

I don't miss very much from Phoenix, the winter weather is great but the air is thicker than it used to be. There are some great restaurants that I used to visit, but I can visit great restaurants anywhere (except for places like where I now live). I like to make my own meals anyway, and although I don't rival any of the great chefs that have directed fantastic food toward my face, I'm not going to burn my own steak, and I know how to properly grill swordfish (although I rarely eat it anymore because I think they are taking them too small these days, and I want those little tykes to grow up before I eat them). My point is that even though I'm not the greatest cook, I can make a very enjoyable meal as long as the basics are of good quality so I don't need great restaurants. I need a greenhouse. A big one.

Friday, December 21, 2007

Something in confidence...

I’ve been told many times in my life that I’m a genius. I’ve also been asked many times if I am a genius. Something that has happened even more often in my life is the question, “what’s your IQ?”

I (almost) invariably respond to the first, “so?” to the second, “yes, but so are you.” and to the third, “IQ tests don’t measure intelligence, they measure acquired knowledge in a very narrow frame of reference. They are somewhat more accurate at estimating the intelligence of a very young child, but in order to truly test intelligence they would have to teach you something you’ve never known before and measure how fast you could learn, retain and use that knowledge.”

A genius can be good at anything. A genius can be great at math, soap making, soup making, sheep milking, tooth grinding etcetera. Everyone has skills and abilities that could be considered genius. Some prefer not to use these, or are not self-aware enough to realize they have such qualities without focused intervention and guidance.

I am super awesomely hyper intelligent in many ways, but I think my intelligence is simply to counterbalance the fact that I cannot store items in memory very long. The chicken/egg of it is that I may have simply never felt a need for the ability to retain information because I could learn so fast. As I get older my learning slows and I’ve come to value memory more, but I think that my memory has been suffering as well. However, to me there is nothing wrong with a graceful aging and dumbing down. My real genius never rested in my intelligence anyway. What truly makes me a genius is just one ability, my confidence.

I have a supreme confidence that isn’t based on anything external. I’m reasonably certain that there is someone else out there who is as confident as me, but I’ve never met that person. There are people who walk with a cocky swagger or some other affectation that represents to many a type of “confidence” but the confidence shown in these cases is an illusion. This type of confidence is one of two things:

1) A great act by a person who knows that they can bluff their way into a position of group dominance by showing a larger than life attitude. It takes a certain amount of confidence to pull it off, but someone will eventually chip through it, and it might even get ugly.

2) A person who is only circumstantially confident. On top of the world for the moment and everything feels like it’s moving forward. This eventually ends, and the individual crashes to their natural level or even below that level. Of course, their true lack of confidence makes constant appearances whenever they perceive any threat to their position.

I’ve been shown in many ways that I have little power in this world, and even less money, yet people invariably think that I am both rich and powerful. Obviously, people who know me reasonably well don’t think those things, they think I’m a genius.

The relatively rare times in my life that I have done well financially haven’t changed me except to perhaps make me even less ambitious than I already was. I’m no slacker. I work hard and am very self-motivated, I just find it difficult to be motivated by anything other than myself. Money, I need it, but I find it impossible to get myself to want it. To me what carries real weight is my own opinion, not prevailing circumstances or opinions of others. A big reason for this is that the opinions of others are based on the opinions of others and the prevailing circumstances, while the prevailing circumstances are also based on these same opinions. It is all fabricated to keep the people with a lack of confidence (the vast majority of humankind) in their places. Since these elements feed on themselves the person who is starting things in motion rarely knows that they are at the forefront of the downfall of a society or even “civilization”.

Since these circumstances exist, they must have been put in place by people who lack confidence. A truly confident person (which would imply some level of intelligence) has no need for circumstances around him to be altered, as long as he remains the same he retains the only measure of control he can ever really have.

Now, you might say that a confident person has more control than that, they can use the strength of their character to influence others to do their will. Although it is true that a confident person “could” do this, that is a lower level of confidence than what I have. My confidence doesn’t allow me the luxury of manipulation, because I would prefer to allow people to think for themselves. I cannot say that I have NEVER controlled people and that I never will do it again. Certainly, I have accidentally changed peoples minds on numerous occasions. That’s the curse of confidence, no matter how much you try to do your own thing, you end up with followers. This makes you appear to be a leader, but you’re not. They are just sheep who follow you in the hopes that some of your essence will rub off on them.

Getting back to my opinions for a moment, they are great because they are amplified (not embellished) perspectives on the truth. They are facts plus 1. In short, my opinions are like having extra facts in your daily apportionment of factual data. There aren’t more facts, but it feels like more facts, because the facts are better. It’s like the difference between having a puppy and having a puppy that can travel through time, disrupting the continuity of its own existence, to become almost paradoxically cuddly.

Okay, I’m sorry, I originally had a great reason for starting this post, but I left for a while and forgot what the point was. This is a great demonstration of my poor memory, and to further demonstrate my confidence, I’m posting this on the blog right now, fully ready to not care if you read it or not.

Oh, hey, I just remembered. I was going to explain how my confidence has many exciting features that aren't showcased in others. First of all, sometimes my confidence gets a bit out of control and I think that I can challenge people who are much, bigger, stronger and crazier than me and convince them that my brains are stronger than their muscles and fists. Often it has worked and that shows that my confidence was stronger than their brains. Later, as I walk away "a winner" the fear creeps in and I realize how close I came to being brutalized or killed. When it doesn't work out, I generally don't feel a sense of fear, but am still ill at ease as I am lofted into the air, kicked in the crotch or punched in the stomach (rarely the face as the people who can't be overpowered by my strength of character are often focusing below the belt).

Generally, however, my confidence doesn't seem like confidence at all. Because I've had many times in my life where I have accidentally forced my will on people or frightened people with my inadvertent strength of character, I try to subdue my natural forcefulness as much as possible. I am even nervous about looking people in the eye because I don't want to frighten them. What often results from this is that people think I am the one who is uncertain or afraid when in reality I am just protecting them from the weight of their own terror. I don't mind that people think this. It would be great if we could all live lives of fact and understanding, but if we can't, I can forcefully subdue my own confidence for the safety and well-being of mankind. A great side-benefit is that I don't get slapped around too often these days.

Thursday, December 20, 2007

chocophobic definition

A chocophobic is one who does not appreciate newly coined words that are counterintuitive.

Tuesday, December 11, 2007

Random things from years gone by..

Something I wrote several years ago. They are meaningful-less.

Lyphe Scentans

Welcome! Except your imminent defeat.
Visit the banana
Be my grapefruit
Tantalize the napkin fox
Reeds are teeth to mandy
We'll perform the "not with the knife dad" routine
They clap back in shocked amazement
There are tigers in my pants!
Will there ever be a wind of a dollar and change?
I like to ride the mice
Tennis is as tall as my eyebrow
I'm never going to kill the cat
Sylme rental plethoid
I detest your wilting arm
Degraded to airplane
Alarm is my gladys lamp
Ok your dime!
Indulge in fake lace
Restore gender bucket
the dimple was blue
my arm is left
cream of rope
razzle dazzle toilet bowl
keen as karp
telula carp
gym has been paint torn
stimulate the canopy!
refresh the pint at tomb land
quench my air hole
tease the resperator
glandular testimony refuted!
corpse alert!
I've been coloring your business cards
Qweep is my rasp of or for to tape
Rinse the lady
kelp is donated to keyman
report is my lollipop
green plywood
refoil the couch
you are still on fire
he is not on fire
the dog will choke when ready
i need lung density
i was stung by a be or not to bee
crane was the dinner in my heart
tonight we're killing tape with dread locked tight
tune in at elbow
never rely on wax
i can't see your lips
where did I leave the foam?
are you trigger around
cry for the tree of fire
my cat burned
dissolve in water
just add water
hot blooded badger alert
count me out
you are giant barbequed teeth
stereophonic rotisserie shovel
cranial tray of saltines
tigersticks are unfolding
rent drips from the lawn
doors that once were shut are now open to disease
enchanted lifestyles of margarine
today you are 61
I have a letter from the tornado
here is a memo from the asphalt distributor
telegram from murderer -- have accepted mace
blood was folded to the left on the arm
the hoax handed out tickets to carnival explosives
I'm the #1 contestant in a love contest sponsored by you!
face the man to mend the face he hands you
try to do your homework without the spoon
ok now land on mars
are you sure this is illegal?
count to ten and dismember
the rifle will be confiscated by the non-troll
you can't tell me what to say
you can't tall me what to say
you can't tell me which to sway
Sunroom can't be type-cast
are you all tired?
where did these subtle nuances come from?
be gentle, It's my last leg
are you sure this is wrong?
be careful to kick the dog before tripping
the moon dropped its groceries on steve
sparks flew into the dog
the rabbit was eaten by my sled
there were four attempts made by wednesday
is there any salt on this planet?!?!?
i left the door open on the wastebasket
I'd like you to meet stork, he's from wednesday
are you entered in the truck launch?
I've been watching you staple out the eyes on my photo
krill alert
are you 5?
I can't see through the axe
i'm sorry, did i blind you?
stop saying "cheese"
when two people love each other they are said to be "grapie"
are you entering this into the nut log?
I have a problem with your being correct.
I have an issue with you on the cover
are you entering this into the cheese log?
It's just staple love.
are you entering this into the rice cake?
I've just been fined 40 million percent!
I've just found 40 million percent!
I'm allergic to having my limbs cut off with spoons.
I'm allergic to eating liquid cake
I'm allergic to having my ribs removed
I break out when someone pours jail cells on me.
my cousin doesn't like getting killed.
you wouldn't know a bite if it bit you.
I'm licensed to relieve myself for the weekend
are you wintering near the equator?
no, I am a tray of unused cigars
will you allow me the pleasure of this knee surgery?
frankly my dear?
you are the only one with elastic legs on foam for me
are you near the electric warning dime?
can anyone spell the genus of that carrot?
are you sure I should fold the sandwich outward?
I have hidden my boring identity
you are the only secretary for me
you are the only legal secretary for me
you are the only convenience store clerk for me
you are the only mostly female convenience store clerk for me
you are the only crumb for me
you are the only quarter ounce portion of minced steak for me
are you a piece of orange flavored cornhusk sausage?
I said, are you going to eat that styrofoam?
are you sure about the pun award?
mom, dad, i think it's time you knew my awful secret for making rice
mom, dad, i think it's time you told me i'm not really adopted
fish, sock, i'm not really zorro
kite, lint, i'm not sure what your last name is
cork, tire iron, i am not eating any more cadmium
i reflect the ugly colors of the sun
i like the way your keys sparkle in your mouth
tents are for jumping in
i can't replace your smile
are you sure you hate trees?
i'm in your window
this is the wednesday shuffle
are you rocket powered?
cable and grease are on loan from the interior designer's lunch
hammer and thread
i kept this because it reminds me of yolk
the tire had three electric nipples
use the hammer to drill your way out
last time I was in a well i had the cheese puffs
there were ten reasons to eat the dog but this wasn't one of them
i can't tell where your head stops and your heart begins
i had the tricycle frozen until they find the pedal
i had my ant farm excavated to build a mall
i found many primitive foam tools
i rasp when my cable breaks
i stapled the gum to your wrist
will you teach me spend?
count to nub
are you really central park?
this is the way to feed the glowworm
are you a giant slab of concrete?
there was a lampshade in my eye.
premium mind will consult sewer face
that avalanche didn't pay
are you still trying to earwig that truncheon?
I can't live without tarpaper in my lap
ten percent less trees!
are you going to kill me now?
I'm seeing the back of someone's head for a while
i need a bucket spacer
you are not are is am
this does vonvern you
this does bonbern you
this does not concerb yoo
are you going to fly north today?
my pencil loves you
my rope likes steak
are you a red bus?
I am a tropical disease
Mmmm lumbar roll
Tetanus anyone?
The glass rolled down as my hair unfolded
I don't consider you to be insignificant to a very great degree
I lost my wallet in your mouth
The fur chipped off my leg
I licked the tree for a penny
Will you dance with this sample?
I've known all along that you were angle plated
The difference between you and me is the letter me
I don't know what to say but I can guess
All you ever do is salt the warthog
Can you identify the ant that bit you?
Can you identify the aunt that hit you?
Are you folding grapes?
What time was it?
The elephant is on fire
The elephant is under fire
Flames licked my elephant
A single tear
Applaud, for the density is reaching singularity
Cranefly always hides the curvature
Dentist willl blink for the fire
Tree is my understudy
Can you tell when I'm lying?
Tell me a secret in the summer of love
You've been caught transplanting elephants
Abigail is the Wednesday sound
Wedding day is full of starch
I've got you included
Tent is my hammer tread trying to breathe
Will you ever be sound in your carapace?
We call it lunch with jelly
Are you stupid or is the shart folding on my neck?
What does it mean to be shlorkie?
Why do I always find myself shaving my ear?
Are there any unknown questions?
I laughed my arm up!
I haven't told you this yet!
Why are you teething?
Are we bleeding the right end?
I can't believe you because you are full of flowers
I've typed out a code in hammer language
Have you been counting the arteries in my hair?
Too many buddies
Carrot spleaning time!

Saturday, December 1, 2007

civilization does not exist (Part I)

slavery vs. employment

In this first installment I will perform a slapdash comparison of these two occupations and wow you with the outcome.

Employment: Being in the working world has its benefits. You can make a little money and thus attend to your daily needs and perhaps some of your desires as well. Of course, you’ll need to pay close attention to your pocketbook, or you can easily end up starving on the streets. You may even find a job you enjoy. But more often than not employees are subjected to abuse, ridicule and long hours. Often illegal treatment, including inappropriate pay and sexual harassment must be endured. If you work very hard you might get a partnership, stock in the company, or you may even be able to take that dream vacation or even buy your freedom. Of course, the positives that I just mentioned probably won’t happen for you, and the negatives are usually much worse.

Slavery: Being a slave has its benefits. You may be provided a modest stipend that will allow you to get some of the things that make life a bit more enjoyable, you have a roof over your head and you generally don’t need to worry about anything beyond your daily work, which is usually pretty strenuous. Your master may be understanding and kind, or he might be a dirty bastard who beats you whenever he’s in a foul mood. If you’re particularly attractive, you may be subjected to sexual harassment. If you work very hard you might one day be seen as a respected member of the family or even earn your freedom. Of course, this best case scenario rarely happens.

Now that you see the vast chasm between between employment (where you are used by someone else) and slavery (where you are owned by someone else), I’m sure you’ll want to keep your day job. You may want to get more than one job just to show everyone that you’re on the side of freedom!

Friday, November 30, 2007

multicultural influence of the donkey

As we all know, donkeys have been around for decades and have enriched our lives with their ability to carry huge loads and the uncanny 'knack' they have for obtuse cuteness that qualifies them to amuse children and retarded people. The donkey can mate with other donkeys or with horses, donkeys seem to like it that way. The product of a daddy donkey and a mommy horsey is called a mule, while the unholy union of a female donkey and a male horsey is called a hinny. Although either of the offspring of these “relationships” would be totally half-assed, the mule is much more respected in the equine community.

Assertions of genetic espionage and insider trading have been leveled against donkeys almost since their emergence as major players in the burden bearing and needlework industries.

When Charles H. Darwin first discovered donkeys in the Galapagos Islands, he was most impressed by their athletic build and confident stance. When they were offered an all expense paid trip to the Scottish highlands, the donkeys just giggled like little girls and signed the papers. For untold weeks the donkeys roamed the rolling, rocky countryside posing for numerous magazine layouts and getting plastered on the finest single malts. When Darwin realized that his team of donkey supermodels were just getting fat and lazy, he banished them to south america (all expenses paid, of course).

While aboard the Kon-Tiki, they enjoyed the open bar freely, but the blended Scotch was a real disappointment. Everything else was a blur.

When they arrived in South America they began construction of a great land bridge that they would eventually use to start new civilizations on Mars. The depth and richness of science and culture that the donkey race brought to Martian society remains unsurpassed by any of the life forms that populate that planet today.

As for the donkeys that remained in South America, they became oppressive overlords and eventually enslaved all of the native grasses and some of the herbs. When the vegetation of the earth finally had its fill of this oppression, the revolt was great and the entire earth wept, while the donkey hair poultice market boomed.

Blood of donkeys muddied the streets. Terror was $1.95 a box and the boxes were filled to the brim, which was really a great deal if you’re into that type of thing or know someone who is. Much of the terror was bought as gifts for anyone known in the family, yet not in general company of the family except during holocausts and occupations.

Eventually the donkey leader - known to everyone as “wheat” - decreed that the donkeys should no longer be harmed, but become indentured servants to their grassy overlords. Nibble by nibble the donkeys infiltrated the domain of the grasses and eventually overthrew them. The donkeys had learned a valuable lesson from all of this, but they couldn’t remember what it was. And so it has been ever since.

We enjoyed taking this little trip down memory lane, hope you did as well.

Thursday, November 29, 2007

the taste of money

Once there was a little man named Everybody. He got a job that took his money to a place called eternity. When he felt like reading, he would fold his hands to mime the opening of a book, but his hands were thin and brittle with poorly designed cover art. The title was a real attention getter though - The Story of our Hands by Everybody Smith. One day Everybody decided that it was time to put his money where his mouth was. Once the money was in the proximity of his mouth, he was able to taste its great power. It was akin to that of a very spicy Thai dish that starts out hot and builds in intensity until you are dribbling and sniffling. Oddly, Thai money doesn’t have the same effect at all. But neither does American food.

That one taste of money was all Everybody needed to motivate him to sell his manuscript.

The first publisher refused to publish the work because it was more than 40 percent digital, and the industry was already in a severe number crunch. The second publisher found the book very handy and suggested that it be used as a doorstop. The third publisher thumbed through the book in a sluggish manner before suggesting a new name, “Everybody’s Handbook”. Everybody in the room loved it, except Everybody. Everybody ran out with his book covering his face, leaving everybody shocked and confused.

While everybody was discussing the possibility of a digital book being published on a single set of human hands, Everybody wrung his hands, and then the phone rang. Everybody rushed back into the room and clumsily picked up the phone with his literal hands. It was yet another publisher asking Everybody to hand the book off to him so it could be developed into a children’s bedtime story called “Show of Hands”. However, everybody had to remind Everybody that they had intellectual property rights to his hands because the work was developed under contract to the place that took all his money. Everybody was crushed, but everybody was overjoyed that they had gotten the upper hand in the situation. There was only one thing Everybody could do, he called his older brother (a lawyer) to help him handle the situation. After days of negotiations, the dispute was resolved. The hands were published (with minor edits) under the title “The Manual”.

Also, our hero - who preferred to remain anonymous - penned his own work. He was able to catapult to success by using the name of his sibling who was more than happy to help. The finished work was entitled “Grasping Intellectual Property Rights in a Digital Age - by Everybody and his brother”. Don’t gag, that’s marketing.

Wednesday, November 28, 2007

the poem

There once was a poem that was fined for rhyming too much. Had the papers covered the incident, the poem could have certainly benefited from the negative publicity. But everyone knew that nobody would read a newspaper that carried such a story for fear that the poem would be mentioned by name, or worse, quoted. The other poems were saturated with readership opportunities - sitting at the bottoms of newsstands, under newspapers at coffee bars, near parakeets, and even in the minds of the people who thought they loved poetry.

The little poem wept incessantly while pondering its tiresome redundancy, yet it was this same redundancy that made the feelings of the little poem ring false. Short of becoming a limerick and longing to be a children's fable, the sad little poem took its own life by stapling itself to a firecracker. In the true spirit of art, life sprang from death, and inspiration from pain. Love no longer rhymed with above, dove or even shove. In fact, love was entirely missing, which made the whole pile of disfigured prose seem somehow new and true.

Friday, November 9, 2007


The other night I dreamt that I was a stand-up comedian and electronics salesman at a local furniture and appliance store. Between sets, I would thoroughly hose down the furniture before the next audience would sit down. I could tell I was famous by the way everybody looked at me.

A new audience comes and takes their soaking wet seats and waits for the jokes to commence. I start in with my best joke right away, " I said to my wife, 'shut up and get me some toast', and she said to me, 'why do you talk to me like that when you never speak to anyone else that way?' So I said, '...' I said, '...'"

I knew the punchline earlier in the dream, but I just couldn't come up with it. I was too tired to care.


I was out in the yard about 3 hours ago and saw a large cloud of black smoke coming from a neighbors yard about half a mile away (one of my closest neighbors). I thought to myself, "I should get in the car and check this out, maybe it's a house on fire".

I went into the house and poured myself a glass of wine and grilled a couple of pork chops. Somehow the fire at the neighbors place made me hungry enough to forget all about my original idea of helping.

I just checked and there's no more smoke over there, I wonder what happened.

Friday, November 2, 2007

shame sucker

Shame erases a carcass of heart, soul and cliche that blend so perfectly, so balanced, so at one with the now, that everything drops from sight but the one so steadily wanting, so inherently errant in aberrant need that longingly, lovingly, lingeringly, yet somehow abhorrently sucks its cling to me in a desperate disparity that folds onto itself in a steaming, shifting, sand-like vacuum that peels back fur, hair and skin in a spastic search for a slab of succulent newness only to find a clean-shaven pick-axe drawing blood from a concrete vine of fire and tangled dreams.

Thursday, November 1, 2007


You stare back at me in my own special way of making you feel like I feel the way you do when you look at me in my way. You are never far from me and my way of staying close to you and me, when I follow what you’re saying to me just like me. Your every word is mine, like when I’m telling you what I just said and you repeat what I had in mind when I reminded you of when you said what I just said. I’m never far from you, and you never shy of saying exactly what I told you to say or what I already said. When I hear your lyrical voice, I have an image of something better, the words you recited almost perfectly that I already said. And now that you have captured my essence in my own sweet voice, feel free to continue on and tell the world everything I ever wanted to express, but was afraid I had already said.

Sunday, September 9, 2007

Writers Shock

A mistypd word gave me sleepless nights when paper was gone and ribbon was low. The sleeplessness sped over the cliff of writers block and down a deep chasm of aimlessness. Wandering as I was, tired and parched for words I spied an enigma that looked fat with inspiration. The razor sharp teeth of my mind quickly broke it into comprehensible morsels. But only after it was once again whole and reunited within me, did I feel the answer quaking at the core of my being. As my vision clouded, my thoughts became clear and my writers shock delivered me to writers death.

The Bleaching

Someone tried to bleach my mind to whiten the stain of my being.

Someone attempted to sandpaper my heart, never realizing it was a metaphor for feeling.

Someone took an interest in my bone structure …

Someone tried to steal my soul, showing a distinct lack of cognitive ability.

Saturday, September 8, 2007

I would like to say nothing about art and take up as much of your time as possible

In general, people like to categorize everything so that there are words to associate with concepts and objects. This specificity is a time saving tool. It keeps us from having to mime everything in daily life.

Sometimes specificity can become a burden, especially when the information regarding a certain thing obscures what it actually is. Søren Kierkegaard is often quoted as saying “Once you label me you negate me.” I’m not sure of the original context of this statement, nor am I sure that it did indeed come from him, nor am I willing to do the research that would be required to find out. Suffice it to say that a confident person would not be likely to indicate that their personal value was so fleeting as to be snuffed out by a casual encounter with another’s taxonomy. Therefore, I am assuming that Kierkegaard was not very confident, thus not likely to state unbiased information, thus quite likely to have said something of the ilk of the preceding quote, thus unworthy of my time and attention. I could be wrong, but my current opinion is of greater importance to me than ruminations on the speculations of what may or may not be true regarding someone that isn’t even alive and didn’t seem to have it all together when he was.

The point that I am (finally) approaching is this: We are not changed by the opinions of others unless we allow that change or we are physically unable to resist a forced change. Let’s use as an example a person who is labeled as “worthless” by others. This person may be of low enough self-esteem that they begin to believe this label to be true. They may have felt negated, and they might actually physically negate themselves by some means of self disposal. As another example a person of formidable self-worth, yet unable to move or speak is stuffed in a box labeled “incinerator”. These two examples could be extrapolated and expounded upon to cover pretty much every aspect of how labeling can negate.

The negation could rarely happen immediately because depression is not usually instantaneous and the cleaning lady doesn’t usually get in until after hours.

One label that is thrown around to a point of desensitization is the label ART. Most dictionaries have several definitions of art, ranging from “the quality, production, expression, or realm, according to aesthetic principles, of what is beautiful, appealing, or of more than ordinary significance” or “The conscious production or arrangement of sounds, colors, forms, movements, or other elements in a manner that affects the sense of beauty, specifically the production of the beautiful in a graphic or plastic medium” to “Artful devices, stratagems, and tricks” and “Skills and techniques”.

Personally I think the saturation of the meaninglessness of the term “art” has reached its apex. That’s right, a meaningless saturation apex! Being an artist doesn’t mean anything, it certainly doesn’t make you anything special. On some level everyone is an artist. No matter how banal ones expressions may be, a person cannot but help create something. They cannot help but influence the feelings of others. Even if that influence is just creating a sense of tension or chaos when they enter the room, they have created a unique and recognizable expression that moves people to discuss the work of that artist. They may wait until the artist has left the room, but any publicity is good publicity to an up and coming “edgy” irritation artist. The fact that individuals are recognized for their own particular creation (whether that creation is boredom, chaos, chewing loudly or anything really) shows that nobody can be totally unoriginal. So to say that your “art” is “original” is about as useful as saying nothing, except that it takes up everyone’s valuable time, so it is even less effective than saying nothing. Unless your art IS wasting peoples time, then good job! I’m sure nobody out there does it quite like you, and one day you will find your market.

People say that if you increase your vocabulary you will better be able to express yourself. That would be true if most people were smart and knew the same words as you. But sadly, even the most educated people just end up using more words in imprecise ways. The handful of people who know how to properly use pretty much every english word have to make constant compromises with their speech just to communicate. And a little news flash: the english “sticklers” are just people who are too oblivious to see that they are championing a losing cause. Yes, there are certain things that irritate each of us about the way others use language, but the “rules” will eventually change to accommodate the masses, just as they always have. So, if you’re “right” about some “proper usage” or punctuation scenario, just remember that in 10 or 20 years you will open a book and the rules will have changed to require what used to be “wrong” and the same people you “corrected” will still remember the story and laugh at you velocitously at anecdote parties.

I used to have a ponderous vocabulary, but I quickly learned that you use language primarily to communicate with others, not to write clever notes to yourself (although those notes are funny). Dumb it down and vague it up if you want to communicate.

Dumbing it down is difficult for many of us (I guess it’s a good thing that there aren’t THAT many). There is a certain voluntary cheapening or lessening of one’s self, an elective negation. One needs to decide how many scoops to take out of one’s own heart. What it then comes down to is, how many labels we are willing to accept.

I have always preserved the part I consider to be my “art” (whatever art may be), a visual documentation of “original” thoughts. Something from me, by me and for me, in a language that doesn’t change and doesn’t require labels or translation. On my end it doesn’t change, although I must say that the WORD “art” has changed for me over the years, and has - like so many words that have fallen before it - lost all meaning to me. I don’t mind if other people use it, if it still has meaning to them. I don’t mind if they use other words that don’t apply to what I do, to describe what I do. Even words like “abstract” or “contemporary” that have no descriptive value whatsoever don’t really bother me that much. I will still use such words with many qualifiers to convey a properly developed generalization to an academically inclined noggin.

So I will sometimes call my work “art” even though it may not be art by my definition or perhaps anyone elses. In the past, I have even tried to assign it an ism. I’ve tried Altruistic Depressionism, Objective Associationism, Artism, Artlike Documentationism and many others, but the fact is that none of those describe what I do. What I do describes what I do. I have never made a work of “art” for anyone else, I’ve just done what I wanted to do for whatever my reasons.

I always destroyed and trashed all of my school art projects immediately after the teacher graded them and handed them back to me. This usually resulted in a lower score, going from an A or A+ to a B, C or D instantly. I always wondered what made it so precious to the teacher when it had no meaning to me. Did it have meaning that was somehow negated by its new assignment to be trash? That didn’t make any sense, because it was always trash to me, from the moment the teacher gave us the assignment my process was all about how fast I could destroy the evidence of my compliance. I think the meaning the teacher saw was in the idea that he was helping young people see the value of art in their lives, so when he saw me throw away something created with thought and care, it hurt, and he made a quick show of the fact that he was upset. So, since my audience was visibly affected and could even put a score on it (B,C,D), it must have been art, but it was probably performance art (whatever that is).

Tuesday, August 28, 2007

Advent of the ladle

It has been just slightly shy of 52 trillion years since ladles first lifted themselves from the primordial soup from which they formed. These marvels of evolution have adapted over the millennia so that today they have come to populate most of the worlds soup kettles and gravy boats and even some the harshest pasta salads. Why has evolution favored the modern day ladle more than its brethren of eons past? For answers we must turn to the science of grave robbing, also known as paleontology, to the uninformed.

Modern grave robbery techniques have come a long way since the dawn of grave robbery, thus with modern tools such as the backhoe and toothbrush we can discern a great deal about a world until now shrouded in mystery - the secret past of the ladle!

A brief history of our limited ladle knowledge

Until recently, scientists believed that the ladle started its existence as a small bowl that eventually grew a dorsal bud which facilitated being grabbed by primates in search of tools. The more tool-like the ladle became, the more useful it was to monkeys. Eventually this resulted in longer and longer ladle handles and rounder “bowls” at their ends.

Although this theory is still taught in some school books, we now know it to be based on misinformation. As “onward and upward” is the motto of people who choose to better themselves, and in light of present bone sifting insights, we must let knowledge reign supreme.

Recent finds in my backyard along with some things people dug up while remodeling their homes, show startling new revelations about ladle evolution. Ladles it seems, did not come from bowls after all. It was in fact the bowl that came from the ladle.

The earliest ladles looked more like bundles of twigs than what we currently think of as a ladle. Besides this, there are many features in the evolution of the ladle that used to be thought of as found “missing links”, among these are spoon holders and pasta sauce lids. We now know these to be dead ends linked only by a diverging course from the ancestors of our modern ladles.

The fossil record helps us to clearly define the path of development of the modern ladle from a soup dweller, to a dormant phase during which it evolved a hole so it could hang from a hook, to its current, amphibious state. Occasionally one may find a ladle without a hole and wonder “What the...?” but this is simply evidence of the marvelous evolutionary heritage of the ladle.

Tracking the ladle

Believe it or not, there was once a time (until 1812) when there was only one known fossilized ladle in all the archives of science. It was misunderstood, handled carelessly, and eventually miscatalogued as a tea infuser. But new evidence once again disrupted all that science knew about ladles when Dr. E. J. Something Or Other discovered a cupboard full of ladles in the pantry of his guest house. Radiocarbon dating was performed on several ladle flakes that were harvested in an inert atmosphere. Sadly the information was corrupted by Mrs. Something Or Other when she mistook the credit to Willard Libby along with the notation of pumpkins on one of the ancient ladle handles as cryptic pumpkin pie instructions. Knowing that even the most stable pumpkin pies had a half-life of only days and not billions or trillions of years, Mrs. Something Or Other set about correcting her husbands recipe. As an added feature the pie was 32% glycerin which allowed for perfect cryogenic preservation.

Although the pie was a great success, the research was all but destroyed. The ladles were put to rest in the Smithsonian and scrapings were no longer allowed due to fears that the ladles were now too weak and had degraded from being taken out of the safety of the cupboard. All that could be done was to take the recipe to impartial experts to see what they said. They said that the recipe didn’t look very stable and that the pie produced would likely be structurally unsound at temperatures approaching 0 degrees Kelvin. On this count they were dead wrong, the pie was lovely, and even at a molecular level its configuration had not been altered by the dismally frigid temperatures. The experts also placed the origin of two of the ladles at 27,453,861,549 to 88,964,342,256 BP or about 27,453,861,605 to 88,964,342,312 B.C.E. At least on this account they were correct! This new information placed the “SOO Spatula” - as it had become known - squarely in the public eye, because it provided a much needed link between the earliest known ladles and these even earlier ladles.

Answering ladle scoffers

What was once mere speculation was now backed by overwhelming evidence. Today the ladle fossil record is indisputable. Even many charts and diagrams have been made. Yet there are still some that argue that the ladle is a product of “probable design”. How do you answer such an uninformed stance? Here are some commonly held ladle myths and responses that kick all ass.

1) Ladles were made by a ladle maker in a factory.

Many people blindly believe that ladles were made in factories that have no identifiable address or shipping routes. They were told this by their parents and their parents learned it from their parents. But has anyone ever actually seen a ladle factory? Have you ever been to a party, or even a cooking convention or housewares expo and met a ladle maker? Of course not! Because they don’t exist, and that is science talking.

2) If early ladles were so advanced why are modern ladles so primitive? Isn’t that devolution?

Again, many believe this but it doesn’t make any sense. The world of ladles was far different in the past and primordial soup was very thick and hearty ( more like a dense stew really) so ladles needed to be more complex in form to accommodate the assignment of bulkier morsels over longer distances to get to what would later become bowls. Try using a modern ladle with a pterosaur dive-bombing you. You can’t do it! So prehistoric ladles looked like bundles of twigs or “faggots” as they are known today.

3) Ladle development has never been observed in a controlled environment so there is no way to be sure what forces were acting on their development.

We don’t need to see every little detail of ladle development to be sure of what acted on them. We have an extensive fossil record that clearly shows ladles to be the oldest of all kitchen utensils. That record shows how ladles adapted over eons to become one of the most respected utensils in the household. Everybody has a ladle, even if you never use it. Ladles have found a way to survive. That’s evolution at work!

4) What about DNA?

It’s a ladle, it has adapted to the point where it no longer needs DNA.

5) Scientists have never been able to successfully produce a ladle.

Just because scientists can’t make a ladle doesn’t mean that they don’t understand the developments that have shaped ladle evolution over the years. Besides, partial ladles have been created in the lab on many occasions, scientists simply haven’t reached a point at which they can assemble an ENTIRE ladle. Seeing that so much progress has been made thus far, there is no reason to doubt that science will be able to create a complete, useable ladle in the next 20-45 years.

6) Aren’t there disagreement between scientists as to how ladles developed?

Debate is a cornerstone of science. Without conflicting ideas we could make no advancement whatsoever. What if everyone agreed to disagree? Or worse, what if they agreed? If everyone agreed, how would we know if we were right? Therefore, if no one is questioning a belief, it must be wrong! If I firmly believed the same thing as everyone else, I’d be trying to figure out why, rather than simply being willing to believe what I already think at face value.

7) There is a lot of talk about ladle evolution, but how did ladles fist come into existence?

The error here is simply being unable to grasp that ladles came into existence over trillions of years in a slow development. The first ladles were both very large and very small. Remember too, that they were not at all ladle shaped (as we think of ladles today) but shaped like faggots. Eventually these ladles fell into disuse and some of these early ladles even formed primitive notches so that they could be hung up when not in use, keeping the primordial kitchen tidy. During this dormant period ladles developed less woody and more metal bodies (when we see ladles with wooden handles, this again is a reminder of their faggotlike history). Today we often see ladles that are entirely made of plastic. There is no denying the evolution of the ladle and they will continue to evolve.

8) If you shook a box full of sticks for a billion years do you really think you would get a ladle?

If you put some soup in the box it is possible. But remember that ladles didn’t develop in boxes, most ladle development occurred after they began to be hung up, the disuse caused them to develop the ability to seem needed as a self preservation mechanism. Also, keep in mind that sticks are not rudimentary ladles, nor are they ladle precursors. Ladles used to RESEMBLE bundles of sticks.

I am confident though that if you hang sticks up for a billion years something neat will happen.

9) What about ladles that have been proven to be dead ends and not “missing links”?

Who cares? Ladles are everywhere. How did they get here? Magic? “Ladle makers”? Sure, there are going to be dead ends, suck it up!

10) The ladle is far too fantastic to have evolved on its own.

There are far simpler things in the world such as metal bars and wire, yet these simpler items are quite similar to spatulas, which are not much different from ladles. And remember, the ladle evolved from something much more complex. So after it became what it was, becoming what it now is, was a cakewalk.

It is important that we all know where basic household items come from because for far too long there have been too many cooks in the kitchen and not enough utensils. Now we have an overwhelming supply of kitchen tools. Were they all made? Hardly. There is too much similarity between them to think anything other than the logical conclusion. They evolved. Besides, the idea of “probable design” assumes the likely existence of a maker. For this to be the case, we would need a ladle maker, a spoon maker, a fork maker, a knife maker, a spatula maker, the list is endless. Is it not the logical, reasonable and responsible course to systematically analyze the similarities between these items so that we can arrange them chronologically and by size and color? Of course it is! Life is short, don’t waste it. Dedicate your life to the pursuit of ladle knowledge.

Sunday, August 5, 2007

currency in relationships

Sweet nothing

There’s a dime in my mind recollecting a pain in increments too small to appreciate. There is a logical deficit and a negative balance that goes with it. There’s an abundance of heart but no soul. There’s change to be made, but never enough to trade for a token of faith. If you could afford the time to see me right now I’d probably crack your head open like a broken gumball machine and take all the red ones. I’ll write you a post-dated check... for a penny ...for your thoughts.

Sweetbread dough

You are a reaching plant wanting sun and straining for a chemical reaction. Your food is what happens on the outside and your breath gives life. You are more than just some green, you’re a sugar mamma with big apple lipstick. You’ve climbed the corporate vine and you’re throwing me a line. You’re lush like the tropics. You’re no vegetable honey, but everywhere you go you’re tossing salad. When your wheat is ripe you pluck the heads and spread your bread. No, you’re no veggie baby, but you spread through the roots. Your branches are snug like a multi-national conglomerate bear hug. Sorry about the animal reference.

Saturday, August 4, 2007


I milk all the flowers of the world.

Little girls folding old men for tin.

Things left in place are abundant.

Cheese wheels occupy france.

My last time eating dried tape.

Brass nipple factory exhumes bread.

Year supply of prison body flakes.

Waiting lab.

Waiting is the disease that keeps you waiting.

Cake has energy.

Abundance is the feeling of why.

If we were equals

What’s in a name if we’re all the same and we don’t know the good from the bad? And why should we care who they fry in the chair? If everyone’s evil, should any feel sad? But if it’s really true that I’m better than you, and smarter and much better bred, then even your own validation of my superior creation would be yet another occasion for dispensing unto you my heartiest mockeries.

My Little Miracle

I have a little miracle, a life inside. I love my little miracle, it keeps me alive. If they took out my little miracle both lives would end. And I would say goodbye to myself and my brother, my tumor, my friend.

Friday, August 3, 2007

Life and death in the high desert

Here are some photos I took of good and evil nature. Most of these photos are from my yard, a few are from nearby areas. Unjoy!

cholla flower

tiger swallowtails

dead horse in the galiuro foothills

angel and maudite

sandhill cranes

devil's claw seed pod

roadrunner babies

looking toward new mexico in the chiricahuas

maudite with a gopher snake

tarantula and k's hand

mojave rattlesnake in mesquite tree

dead mojave rattlesnake

soaptree yucca flower

bullet holes in sign on hiking trail

chiricahua monument

gravestone near fort bowie

pine trees in turkey creek chiricahua mountains

vulture eating a dead rattlesnake

tagged ornate box turtle

spongebob in a candy store in mexico

Thursday, August 2, 2007

2 more things...

Why I drink
Many drink to forget what they lost or what they cannot have. They drink to forget their desires. They drink to slow the mind and fool the heart. Some drink for pleasure, living life to the full. I drink for the noblest cause of all. I drink for the good of all mankind. I drink to forgive.

Mixed bag
What’s in your rhyme bag? Is it something about me? How I am the something of the something or the something to the something? I could read all day in your tear soaked ramblings, knowing you’ll be too embarrassed to show them in the future.

Wednesday, August 1, 2007

3 untitled things I wrote last night...


Dangercaps unfold a meadowlarkingly lyrical call for arms of string to arrange patterned colors in leaflet folds. The tears of anchors that sway in glowing altitude glance seemingly at nearbaked orbs. The thickness is a sensation by the lips of wired maggots that seek a destined recombinant metaphorical lessening. Do your midnights burn with the same intensity as your rebirths? Or do you fire the wednesdays like farming a range war?

Peeling back the sounds that frighten you will exercise a tenfold lust for the warmth of radiant protection. As the flames envelope me, my eyes diffuse sound.


Shaking into murk snakes with my mind, curling it into restless frames of ether. The constancy and vigilance of thought embodied by the coarse assembly of doughnuts and hair that somehow amounts to me, is a balance of wanton unwontedness.

Many delights are heralded as the fabric of the minds of passersby brushes softly across my cat-clawed mustache and the happy gaze they cast plucks the last ripe fruits from the harvest of my heart.

Weakly as ever, I will the beast of conversation into being, and as they are enraptured by it’s hideous grasping and thrusting, I hide the apple of destiny inside my own originality.

In the wake of these events, my thoughts are tightened down for a slow settling as comments are drawn from the lightest of the crowd.

The waves gently bed the unsettled tourists who misread the directions on my skull.


The flight pays me by and tangles down to sudden draws that play into traction with armored wheels. The depth of breeding ropes, grapples and snuggles with a satisfied lung-fighter for lunch wielding hypocrites that tend intention to justify fraudulent sensations of genuineness in worth.

Triangle lesions are parked on the outermost surface of the new-found you. When the baking of your soul has been thoughtlessly performed you stand up and at the ready, but are either never quite finished or worse, overdone.

Tuesday, July 31, 2007

Little girls from outer space

Space granny was poised to excel at the impudence rally. She had a 14 joule suffusion wand with more low gear plasma settings than any other wands used by ultra-senior space citizens who entered the competition. The problem with suffusion wands is that the overthruster transfer barrel never worked correctly on any of the pneumatic models and the glyco-hydron worm models had poorly crafted wooden handles.

Of course many would argue that the uniformly low quality of the suffusion wands leveled the playing field. When that was said, they immediately had to remind everyone that this was merely a figure of speech, since level playing fields are grounds for immediate disqualification at impudence rallies. Interestingly enough, disqualification only applies to the rally itself. At impudence rallies, it is impossible for any of the contestants to be anything less than overqualified. When a disqualification occurs, the regional rally representative travels back in time to a point three weeks prior to the time when Tooggie McBeelfuton came up with the idea for the rally. This “Ambassador of Winning Ways” convinces him to open a lemonade and assisted suicide stand. This banishes the rally into nonexistence from the perspective of Tooggie. Of course, this only happens once.

Space mom was poised to take the blue ribbon at the lemonade and assisted suicide rally. She had a 28 speed blood atomizer with a lazer arm griddle with more splizzon settings than any other blood atomizers used by other middle aged soccer moms who entered the competition. The problem with blood atomizers (especially those with griddles) is that the anti-static formanizer gets gummed up with embalmoplast.

It is not uncommon to hear people say that the low quality of the blood atomizers used at lemonade and assisted suicide rallies add a charm that would otherwise be significantly lacking at such an event. Plus, a suicide that only takes a few minutes doesn’t draw in the big crowds. If crowds of sufficient size cannot be drawn, then the event must be cancelled. The event is canceled by traveling back in time to the point where Bret Frarvere’s parents would have conceived him and starting a heated argument that will last nearly ten weeks. No title is given to the person assigned this task, because anyone can do it, really. This stops Bret from being born, so he can’t kill Tooggie McBeelfuton and steal his lemonade and assisted suicide idea.

Tooggie was never cut out to run a death related business anyway. So, after being in business for only two weeks he finally closes his shop and begins pouring his lemonade on the ground screaming, “behold the tainted lemonade of death!” When people see this they are intrigued and ask if they can pay him to join in the lemonade dumping game.

As it turns out, Tooggie has got “IT”. IT is what all salesmen need, IT’s the ability to sell anything even when one is not trying. By the end of that day Tooggie had pocketed twenty trillion dollars, which was a lot of money on earth in the 1750’s. Of course, Tooggie moved to outer space with his space girlfriend and was able to live there three weeks before being evicted. He came back to earth with a renewed vigor and some interesting sales (s)kills he had learned during his 3 weeks in space. Of course, earth had changed tremendously during the time he was gone because 3 space weeks was actually 49,000 earth years. Fortunately, his old high school friends were still there waiting for him. He would visit them every day at the museum of natural history. While at the museum he would sometimes wander away from the group and see what other displays were there. He came across a journal that just happened to be opened to a page that had his name written in it. He broke the glass and grabbed the book to read it. Shortly thereafter he was grabbed and the book was taken from him. He was taken to a penal enlargement colony where he was given plenty of time and space to think about what he had done. Of course, they had already scrambled his brain waves so he had absolutely no idea what he had done. He thought long and hard about his situation but he had no comprehension of the passing of time so what was actually 85 minutes seemed like an eternity or no time at all. But upon being released he realized that the world was very different from what he remembered. This is not because anything was actually different, he simply didn’t remember anything. After what he thought was a large meal - but turned out to be a very short cab ride - he was back at the museum of natural history. He was quickly arrested again because he had mistaken the place for a public toilet. After being allowed to finish peeing on the display with his friends in it, he was taken to a processing area where he was forced to process chicken feed. Then he was taken to a holding area where he was forced to hold a large bowl of rotting grapefruit - but was actually a medium sized bicycle tire. After he passed these two tests, they lead him to a large box of cabbage - which, even though he was wrong was exactly what he thought it was. He was forced to eat all of the cabbage in the box, which he found to be much easier if he imagined that the cabbages were really live kittens. After eating the cabbage kittens he was ready to commit lemonade, because he was thirsty. No such a thingy was to be allowed before the brain scramble. After the brain scramble he started to remember things. “The past three hours were pretty wacky”, he thought. He waited in stir for the required 85 minutes and was back on the street.

Since his attempts to read the book with his name on it were thwarted the first time he decided he needed to acquire the information from within the system. So he quickly built a small inflatable resume out of twigs, berries and a small sample bottle of Epinephran he had received from his grandmother who was desperately clinging to her failing pharmaceutical business. After a brief demonstration to the museums board of directors showing how the resume could be used to dredge canals or get him a job, they bought the resume from him for 8 tennis balls. He took the deal and went to the government and bought it with the tennis balls. He still had one tennis ball left over so he used it to play squash for a while, just to be a badass. Then he donated the final tennis ball to the charity of his choice.

After leaving the charity a large group of small girls with strong arms and deep pockets attempted to nickel and dime him to death. He was able to dodge the nickels and catch most of the dimes which he used to buy a large house with small windows and medium-sized doors. This house was immediately placed on the register of historic places and he opened a bed and breakfast. The bed and breakfast wasn’t as successful as his grandmother’s floundering pharmaceutical business. So he decided to check in on his government and see how it was doing. It turned out that his government plan was really taking off. He decided to flood all the streets with applesauce and not only did the people love it, the hornet and bee population skyrocketed. He could do no wrong.

One day he got off his high horse and rented a dune buggy to better relate to the man on the street. While driving around the town he remembered his motivation. He did all this so that he could read the journal with his name in it. He went into the museum and told them he wanted to see the book. They said that it was a government owned facility and he would have to ask himself about it. So he asked himself. At first he said “no”, but he knew it wouldn’t be long before he changed his mind, because he knew that this was something he really wanted. He waited a while to build suspense, then he said, “Okay, read the book”, he was so happy that he felt the desire to kiss himself on the cheek, so he told everybody to just hang on there for a minute while he got in his time machine.

He took the time machine back in time a couple of minutes so that both of him could have one. Then they switched time machines and both went a few minutes further back in time. When they saw him standing there they both ran up to him but decided to stop and explain that they were going to kiss him. He said, “Don’t you me’s know about time paradoxes?” To which they responded, “yes, we do. We know they’re great for a laugh.” “Oh, me” he said, as he opened the book and began to read aloud from it. “Wait” said the audience, “you haven’t asked you yet!” To which he replied, “this has gone on way too long, we’re going to have to start skipping some parts.”

As it turns out, the book didn’t have any information that would have helped him win back his original destiny. It was just a book of random names made up by a group of little space girls as a party game. The book ended with coded information regarding the location of the next slumber party.

Everyone cheered. The reading was a huge success.

Wednesday, July 4, 2007

Is this an art blog?

As you know if you've read a few of my posts, there is no theme at all to this blog. Unless that theme is that I write whatever I feel like writing. But sometimes a few posts in a row are similar. So, these little promotional pieces will probably be showing up for a while. So here is a link to my latest drawing on my gallery.

The image is called "Hand To Mouth" that is just for reference though. Really, it's self titled. But if I called everything "eponymous" I would be creating more difficulty for the people who might buy my work.

When I was young, I always thought that I would need to move to the "big city" to sell my work. I really wanted to show my work at galleries. By the time I was 18 and living in Minneapolis - which had a thriving art scene - I spent whatever time I could find hanging out anonymously in the downtown warehouse district. This is where the galleries all seemed to live back then. I was shocked to see that I didn't fit in with the whole art scene. Almost all of the artists were too heavily swayed by opinion. It seemed to me that they were trying to ride dead ideas until they rotted out from under them. I had insulated myself from culture (which was very easy where I grew up) and yet I had seen all of this before.

To me art was always expressing a thought I had, and thoughts I had were generally new and unique. It was easy to see that the majority of these artists had some real talent, but that talent was hidden beneath layers of "skill". I never wanted to see a display of skill. Skill CAN be great, if it doesn't obscure talent, but how many artists do you know of who can really do that? There aren't many, alive or dead.

Don't misunderstand me. There was some really cool work on display at many of these places as well, and some of it by the same people who did the trite stuff. I just expected to see something fresh, and my own drawings and paintings were the freshest things around. After spending 11 years in Phoenix, I long for the old Minneapolis art scene. Now, I'm in the high desert in the middle of nowhere, and I never once took an opportunity or even an offer to do a gallery show. I always said, "I don't have the right collection to show". When offered money for my work, I've always avoided the subject. So many people have said, "I really want that!" only to get the reply, "well you can't have it".

Well, an artist with real foresight would have acted on the inevitable moment that has now arrived. ART CLUTTER. I threw away all my work that I did as a young kid. But at some point when I was about 16-17 I started to hang on to some of it. Now, I still own almost everything I have drawn or painted since then. I don't have most of it on display, it just sits in boxes, taking up space. So, now after all these years, I'm willing to sell it.

I used to have several of my paintings up in my office at work. People always would ask excitedly, "who's the artist?" I would tell them that it was me, and they would hire us to do their web site. This worked exceedingly well with the women, but men would often hire my team based on the fact that I was 1) clearly great at my job, 2) creative. So I did sell my art in a sense. Or I used it as a sales device to sell my commercial art.

Above is just a picture of one of my old offices with a couple of my paintings in the background. I also insisted on real plants. People don't buy web sites from plastic plants.

Monday, July 2, 2007

Self Promotion....

Here is a link to my latest gallery. I've gone against my galleries of the past and put in very large pictures. This gallery is my first real attempt to sell my original work, thus the much more vivid pictures of the drawings. This gallery is super simple and clean. It's all about the images and getting to them quickly.

Xymyl Gallery

Here's a little art story to go with my little gallery opening....

When I was 8 years old my grandmother gave me a large book about birds. It was full of good quality illustrations. And I appreciated the gift. Then my grandmother told me as we were leaving, "Remember to send me drawings of those birds." I was shocked! Nobody had told me this wasn't a gift. She got me vested in ownership of the book, then out of nowhere switched gears for the hard sell. I can't remember anymore, but I think she gave me a quota. So once again, a seemingly thoughtful gift turns into a rent-to-own plan. I felt terribly undervalued. That's just typical though. How many people really GIVE you something?

I still wanted to make a go at my indentured servitude, because I really wanted the book. It was a 30 or 40 dollar book. And I had no money to buy it. Wanting to get out of this pickle as quickly as possible, I began to churn out drawing after drawing. The following is one of the first pictures my grandmother got. It certainly was not my best work, it was a payment to the rent-to-own store. It was money.

It didn't take long for me to get truly angry about the way my creative integrity had been compromised over this book. I was literally going insane. After a few more of those, the pictures started to look more like this...

I was very frustrated because I was still being forced to draw birds. It didn't take long before I physically could not draw those stupid birds. I thought to myself, "she can repossess her book if she wants it."

I waited, but she never came to get the book. I started to feel like drawing her some more pictures. Then I remembered that any garbage I could churn out would be much more meaningful than what she did. Yep, paid in full, overpaid really.

Wednesday, June 27, 2007

For My EMMY Consideration...

I know that this will be among the most boring blog posts I have made, but it is from the heart, so please forgive.

I’ve been getting my EMMY freebees that come with Variety magazine. I really don’t watch much TV. I refuse to pay for satellite. Where I live it’s not even possible to get cable. I can’t get Fox or the CW or even CBS. If I would just turn my TV antenna south of the border I could get many channels, I tried this once and it was amazing the variety, but it was all in spanish and I haven’t gotten around to learning that language yet. But I digress...

So most of these shows are invisible. I think it is great to stick these shows into the daily industry mag. One is immediately disarmed by free stuff. If you didn’t like the previews you might still give it a chance because it’s something with at least some perceived value - a DVD. These DVD’s usually have more than one show on them, so an individual may keep the disc sitting around longer and watch other episodes. Most of the discs have art on them that depicts the actors or even the environment of the program, so you’re reminded if you see the disc laying around the house.

Next in line I find the Heros and House, free iTunes downloads. I thought, “that’s cool, I could download it on my notebook and watch it in the while I eat. Now, this would have been really great if you got more than one free show. But, hey, it’s free.

The most recent one I got was something from “thegreencampaign” I was going to throw it away, but it did say “EMMY” on it, so I thought, “hey, more free shows perhaps?”

It folds out to about 3 feet long, and this is what it says:


“Once upon a time in a land called EMMY..."

“...There were BETA and VHS and then DVD’s. Each year in the season of for your consideration, cluttered packages collected, confusing the voting citizenry and threatening to destroy the kingdom. Until one day, the townsfolk in their infinite wisdom, made all things virtual and green.”

There is also a note at the end that states: “PRINTED ON 100% RECYCLED STOCK WITH SOY INKS”

So they have to start by explaining that this is an environmental issue, then they get into reminding us of clutter caused by VHS and BETA. Of course they must tag on the bulky DVD that takes up so much space and requires such destructive resources to produce. Then they get into the clutter on your desk, and the confusion it causes. That clutter and confusion is going to destroy the kingdom. The world? The world could be destroyed by EMMY clutter? No, from the context, we can see that it is the “LAND CALLED EMMY” that faces destruction. Wow, they are going to clear up the voting confusion! Then they bring us back to the environmental issue. It’s green, and even printed on recycled paper!

What forward thinking folks they are at CBS Paramount!

Now, I have some quibbles with this campaign. First off, you go there and there is no free download. You are locked to your computer looking at a low quality video in a browser window. Yes, the window can be enlarged to fit the screen and show how bad the detail really is, I think they are destroying their land called EMMY this year.

Another thing to dislike is the fact that they are really confusing the “voting citizenry” by trying to pretend this garbled message is an environmental campaign. My House & Heros download cards probably require less resources than this piece of paper, they certainly cause less clutter, and again, they show an image that relates to the show. You actually have to go to the CBS Paramount website to find out what shows they have. Even though I was totally turned off by this ad, I went to see the site. They do produce Everybody Hates Chris, which I have seen in the past and thought was pretty good. I already forgot what else was there, and all I have to remind me is a three foot long piece of recycled paper with a blank back. Really, they could have been a bit more environmentally friendly by making this thing half as long and writing on the other side.

Personally, I want more free shows and less fake environmentalism. It’s not like these guys aren’t making DVD’s of their shows anymore. I watched Everybody Hates Chris by renting it from Netflix.

Friday, June 22, 2007

My full resume cover letter:

Pre birth: Being in a womb as far back as I could remember was a bit confusing for me, especially since I could move around and even visit people. Of course, I couldn’t communicate with them because I was unable to use my lungs and hadn’t quite figured out how to kick out the proper signals. Fortunately I never heard a conversation that made me think, “oh, I really gotta get in on this”. Plus, everyone was muffled and I imagined that if I could speak, I too would be muffled.

During these long dull formative days, my thinking was along these lines, “I know that I have more potential, and I know there is more to life than this, one day I’ll climb out of this hell hole and see what’s on the other side”. One day I did just that, about a month before anyone expected. Immediate issues became readily apparent, too cold, too bright, doctors suck, I’m pretty sure thats not my family, am I even on the right planet? You know, the usual stuff. But there were some positives, a general sense of autonomy, leg stretchin’ time, actually that’s everything. The sense of autonomy was soon crushed, and leg stretching - as it turns out - wasn’t all I thought it could be.

Pre school: I really hated being a baby, being lower than a slug in mobility and as high as a god in comprehension were just two sides of my existence. Everything was pain, light was pain, sound was pain, and even thought had become pain. But thought was the only escape from the prison of my newness.

I had to change some of my plans after my move from fetus to child, partly because, even though I knew it wasn’t the case, I had sort of planned on being a fetus for the rest of my life. Not that I was unaware of my development, I was just a little new to planning. To be honest, I did have the impression that I had been a fetus for all eternity prior to my knowledge of this state, oddly, I cannot pinpoint when I developed this belief. Of course, for me, everything is a blur prior to when I was 1 year old.

My first scientific experiments were entirely based on my dreams. Such experiments as “do the things that are shaped like other things do the same things as those things?” and “do the same physical laws hold true in dreams and in reality?” were the topics of the time. The answers to both were “sometimes”. This may not seem like breakthrough research, but I had completed many such experiments by the time I was 2 years old. Unfortunately, I couldn’t (and didn’t have the desire to) write, and couldn’t get anyone to take dictation. I remember the important stuff though. Lizards aren’t wrenches, wrenches aren’t lizards, not all lizards are chameleons, wrenches can’t change colors, not all lizards can change colors, wrenches can come in different colors, we can’t afford fancy wrenches, all my tools are plastic, plastic tools are generally worthless, well, this list goes on and on, but you get the idea.

From about the time I reached two years of age I was plagued by dreams about my former lack of existence and my current distinct lack of omniscience. In my dreams I was somebody, in fact, I was sometimes everybody. We all kept our eyes on us. We could see us at all times. Dreams where almost everybody was me were very comforting, but when I would wake up again, I was just little ineffectual little me.

As for “potty” training, I will not describe all of the details of this experience, but I will say that as a newborn baby you are given many impractical evacuation procedures. Once you figure one of them out (even if it makes little sense such as the “crap in your pants and we’ll get that later” method) you move on to the next step and it becomes apparent that you’ve been wasting your valuable time and embarrassing yourself. Fortunately the devices and methods do get more reasonable. My mother claims that I was using a normal toilet at 1.5 years or earlier. I would have I’m sure, if I had been given the option, but I remember distinctly being 2.5 years old when I got my first “training toilet”. I also remember that it took me exactly one try to figure out how it worked. I must admit that I needed a brief explanation, but it was not a problem. It made real sense, the stuff you no longer want goes in the hole, I don’t need to carry it around anymore! Now, I was a bit disturbed to find out that the big porcelain thing next to the training toilet was yet another phase in this process. If someone would have just given me a boost at age 0, I could have foregone all the trauma associated with finding out that nobody in my family was interested in pushing the potty training envelope to new levels. I wouldn’t have to write this sad tell-all either.

Being a toddler is no better than being a baby, you get some mobility but that comes at a great price. One of the biggest problems is that your “cuteness” attracts people at first. Then when you try to avoid them they think you’re shy. It’s called “hate”, idiot! People hate it when a “toddler” has deemed them unfit companionship. They get really mad. Now, I wasn’t out to hurt anybody. But how long can you listen to obvious stupidity just because someone is older than you? I did it for years.

Schooling: After years of listening to idiots talk about being older I was finally 5 years old, I had been eagerly anticipating my first day in kindergarten. I foolishly thought school would be a place of learning. Imagine my shock when my “teacher” turned out to be one of the most ignorant turds I had met so far. I spent most of the year sitting in the closet as punishment for having standards, intelligence and morality. It didn’t help that kindergarten wasn’t a place of learning. My mom and sister stopped reading to me when I started kindergarten, so I had to teach myself to read. I hated reading, and before I taught myself I knew I would hate it, but I didn’t want to grow up to be an idiot like my teacher. Building blocks, nap time and drinking milk are not my idea of a well rounded education.

Just to make sure that you understand that I was trying my best to cooperate with this beast, I will share another embarrassing story. The teacher left us alone in the class and was gone for about 45 minutes. Leaving 20+ 5 year olds alone for that long is dumb, but she told all of us not to move from our seats. Well, other kids were running around, but if it wasn’t a blatant moral issue I was going to stick it out and wait. I peed my pants. When the teacher came back, she had the nerve to ask me why I didn’t go to the restroom. I just thought, "even blind obedience doesn’t work with this idiot". I was willing to put up with the shame of having been responsible for creating the class pee chair. And she just acted like listening to her was the problem. Of course, she was right, I knew she was an idiot. Why did I listen to her? Oh, well, all the kids were so stupid they lost track of the pee chair after a couple of weeks. Besides, I had learned a valuable lesson. Quit school as soon as possible.

On the job: After I quit high school I moved to Minneapolis, Minnesota and started working at industrial temporary services with the lowest of the low. In fact, we didn’t even get to enter in the front of the building. We had to go around the back and down 3 flights of basement stairs. People were too stoned to fill out the forms or too shaky to fill out the forms. Sometimes I’d come in and there would be no work for me, so I’d wait around until somebody started screaming twitching and vomiting because they didn’t get their fix in time. Then I would get the call. If only they had gotten their drugs the day before, I wouldn’t have been able to eat.

I worked at so many different companies, making balloons, potpourri, diet drinks, sorting mail, packaging beauty products, refurbishing cash registers and computers, and working on all manner of assembly lines. I worked in so many different buildings and industries that I have little recollection of what I have really done and who I met, but again I learned a valuable lesson. Everywhere I went, I was the standout. I stood out among all the temps of course. But I stood out among all of the other workers. It was a huge ego boost that allowed me to move on to bigger and better things. Since then, I’ve found that being in any environment with any group of people is an ego boost. At worst, I will be slightly better than the best person who has ever done my job. This is not to say that I could do absolutely anything better than anyone else. But I’ve either been better at convincing everybody else that I’m better at everything I have ever done or the natural perception that everyone invariably accepts is that I’m better at everything. Either way, you’ll be sure that I’m better than anyone else, and that’s all that really matters.

Inclosed you’ll find my resume detailing many technical and creative positions that I have held over the years. Some of which have included perks such as very expensive company cars, large offices and great respect.

I hope this is enough to convince you of the great blessings I could bring to your tapeworm farm. Looking forward to your response.