Boredom Diaries

Resurrecting a Corpse.

The Law of Conservation of Energy. One of few ideas I retained from a year’s worth of high school physics. Its main premise: energy cannot be created nor destroyed. My teacher, Mr. Dove, was a stereotypic science instructor. Heavy beard. A muted, bland daily dress code. And a monotone deliverance of information that, when it… Continue reading

Till Death Do Us Part.

We had spent the entire Fall building our jumps. Four total at that point. The main lip dug about six feet under sea level, we’d hit the water table often. You’d dip down into the ditch, fire off the lip and land six feet above. Reminiscing, I can’t believe they lasted long. For starters, the… Continue reading

Cyclone Barbiturate.

It was a shotgun home. Narrow and rectangular. An old cigar worker’s abode from the early twentieth century. Up front, facing the street, two absolutely tiny, closet sized rooms. In the rear, a half assed addition served as a master bedroom. Added as a lower level, it laid on the ground having sunk into a… Continue reading

Soul Sucking Literary Suicide.

It’s been a year. Twenty Six posts. Roughly twenty six thousand words. Half a novel. Each entry a tiny sample of things running past and present in my head. The sentimental crap, easy for me. Most people will tell you I’m a softie. On the other hand, I’ve had a really difficult time writing humor…. Continue reading

Revving Up Like A Deuce.

To have an Achilles’ Heal is inevitable. To have a laundry list of Achilles’ Heals is inevitably human. For me, my metal weaknesses include and are not limited to a terrible short term memory, adult ADD (self diagnosed), anxiety about existential things out of my control, and never saying “no” quite enough. Physically, I’m going… Continue reading

Neo-Nazi House Party.

Wherever they were, we went. We, the middle class kids, flexing behind our socialist, do-good for all banner. We served food to the homeless on Sundays. We hosted our grassroots environmental meeting on Wednesdays. We were the ones who broke away from home because we could afford to. Because our parents supported us financially. We… Continue reading

What The Desert Brings.

Simulacra, by definition, is the ‘imitation of someone or something.’ Jean Baudrillard goes even further, ‘the substituting of signs of the real for the real: a hyperreal.’ Las Vegas is the essence of this. A living definition. Walking out to get a taxi, Elvis brushes past us as he struts over to a rented limo…. Continue reading

The Unbearable Greatness of Being.

In November, I visited Gram C. at her nursing home. Although I stopped by as often as possible, it was always hard to visit. Each patient/resident in a different stage of the disease. The most well on, walking in circles, mumbling indefinitely. The rest, sitting at tables spread throughout the dining hall. Silent, they stared… Continue reading

Be Sure To Wear Flowers In Your Hair.

“‘The coldest winter I ever saw was the summer in San Francisco.’ I think that’s how it went? Was it Thoreau? Maybe Emerson?’” I listened briefly to the yammering. Some dude behind me on United flight 1589. Houston to San Fran. 7AM. He was making small talk with my wife. She brought up literature. He,… Continue reading

Cock and Balls.

Driving has always been difficult for me. Depth perception. Speed. Using the proper signals at the proper time. But, the more I drive, the more the act becomes an innate sense. I could close my eyes and make that 66 mile commute to work. I’m not claiming it’d be a pretty one. I’m not the… Continue reading

Bloodletting.

I was always told “The Princeton” was the proper man’s haircut. That was my grandfather speaking. And what he advised was law. High and tight. Military. A shellacked coiffure, ending its reign over young adults by the late 1960’s. The Princeton it was for me. And still is. —————————————————————– My grandfather said to never solicit… Continue reading

No Other End Of The World Will There Be.

“On the day the world ends A bee circles a clover, A fisherman mends a glimmering net. Happy porpoises jump in the sea, By the rainspout young sparrows are playing And the snake is gold-skinned as it should always be…” —————————————————————————— Our elementary school was the oldest building in the neighborhood. Red brick with a… Continue reading