Archive for funny morning stories

rumblings of a planck physics misfit…

Posted in afternoon requiem, Funny Morning Stories, Ha Ha Funny, Hysterical Romance, Laughter, Learning About Life, Poetry with tags , , , , , on November 18, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

rumblings of a plank physics misfit

& i’m not sure breathing out
is as much of a solution
as it used to be. trying to keep
sane enough to listen to the music
i’m pumping into the room.
existential questions about bits,
hawking radition, information.
it’s not what the music is about,
it’s about what the music is.
sanity slips away in the strangest
of ways.

all i can offer is comparison by
analogy; without notice, tiny changes.
no two maps converge anywhere
relative to the land. confusion
reigns; reading lands the faithful in
trouble with various laws of universal
application. entropy will ensue,
in time, so we wait. didn’t mother
ever tell you how impossible
it really is? this must be why
they dance.

it’s all geography & sound.
amplitude variance is the same
as the rest of existence, another
place to put misanthropic trust;
same as faith except less preconceived.

the comfort of knowing it’s always
something encapsulates the air
& whatever is left of my ability to
reason out potential sensory data.
the whole thing reeks of ‘later’
& so do i.

exhale.

——————————————-

Perhaps overly complicated. Such things happen all the time lately. Should have stopped for BBQ; live & learn, apparently all while hungry off & on.

9 a.m. wakeup call…

Posted in Cigarette, Early Morning Silence, Extreme Spinal Pain, Funny Morning Stories, JL Stories, Laughter, Learning About Life, Poetry with tags , , , , , on September 28, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

sewer-diving

is it cliche to watch a
strange woman dive into a sewer
& rise up with diamond watches
on both wrists? i don’t know
enough to judge the scene
as anything except more of
the ludicrous mixture of
luck, doctor-drugs & realizing
somebody has to win.

besides, they can’t all make you
sick when morning arrives
with kanna colored glasses making
everything appear safe as
sepia; no sharp edges or
sudden turns. bounds of the maze
all go to the same place, just
a more tortured meaning of path.

of course it ends the way it begins.
no respectable artist would
ever make any other choice.

what happens next…

Posted in afternoon requiem, Cigarette, Poetry, TWTC with tags , , , on September 15, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

stuck in the middle

far too early for anything
as democratic as breakfast. our
cigarette cornucopia verified
by a single burning tip showing
through momentary darkness
hiding anything certain like
whether we’d been up for days
or needed to wipe the sleep
from eyes barely open,
then & now.

formally paranoid aluminum
men swear allegiance to an
indeterminate theory of
causality found in an
out-of-date textbook they
can’t read. a few of us
fence-squatters decided it
was easier to sway with
the breath of wind;
never having to push
harder than some minimum
effort against crowds
of delirium on both
sides endeavoring to plead
a case we few didn’t care
to hear.

enticements of experience,
expositions of the possible
& every soft animal pelt
running around the forest
keeping winter freeze at
bay; it all meant nothing
against decisionless paradise.
without anything said or
or done or planned.

enticement to momentary adulation…

Posted in bumper sticker stories, Cigarette, Funny Morning Stories, History, Laughter, Philosophy, Poetry, TWTC with tags , , , , on September 9, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

omphaloskepsis

it got easier when i realized
not every problem requires a
solution; substitute ephemera
watchin’ a cherry smoldering
in a soon to be stolen ashtray
straightens out my evening hours
faster than pacing back forth.

holding my breath in a pocket
without a reason while my faithful
incendiary waits on my hand
to descend & bring the smoke
right up to the pearly gates.

neither of us has the countersign
& the wrong one knows our
schedule. sitting one-to-a-booth
with enough time to notice a
high-watermark stain reaching
for the top of a leased coffee cup,
i wonder if any of us are
washed frequently enough to
get any kind of close to clean.

no solution to the moment.
trying to share some sense
of a saving grace during
consultations with all
involved; it’s easier to
pawn off neverending nights
knowing there’s always
another hiding behind
tomorrow.

too much going on to worry
about the coffee tasting
like cigarettes. waiting
on an explanation is out of the
question; even a complaint
would take too long. looking
around the booth, around a
mostly empty restaurant, at
a mostly empty pack of
cigarettes wondering what to
do when the last one burns out.

———————

Got a cigarette?

all at once (we were saved)…

Posted in Cigarette, Extreme Spinal Pain, Friendship, Funny Morning Stories, Ha Ha Funny, Laughter, Learning About Life, Poetry, thoughtful trips, Unanswered Questions with tags , , , , , , on July 17, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

we were saved

so now i know;
everything scattered
will be picked up by the
time we gotta leave,
no harm to the birds or artists.

sixty thousand dollar
apologies flood the post,
all it takes for acceptance
is to see the larger powers
at play. nobody is dumb
enough to apologize to a
head built like a brick.
call the meteorologist
& ask him which way the
winds gonna blow. we’re
all getting the same
answer, no matter who we
ask. maybe i’ll sign.
maybe not;
post looks light.

numb-minded misapprehension
feeds our celebration. don’t
let the bastards getcha down,
don’t let ’em know you’re holdin’
big slick in the river face
lookin’ like a double deuce;
everything is gonna be alright
for those of us ready to bleed
& lick.

scars are tellin’ me cuts
have healed; when my bet pays
off i’ll know it’s time to
move. until then it’s 4th
starters to the rescue ’til
the front line guys get back.
i will get back.

————————————-

Apologies for the length, this has been a long fight that hasn’t ended yet though news from the front speaks of smallish victories. Better than routed defeats. This was a morning I woke to greet the sun without waiting for the sun to greet me.

average fella…

Posted in Friendship, Funny Morning Stories, Ha Ha Funny, JL Stories, Laughter, Music, Poetry, thoughtful trips with tags , , , , , , , , on July 14, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

semolina from the heartland

what could be wind or just
6 billion voices condensed
into a breeze swept into
town this morning along with
the sun barely making any effort
to warm the planet on a string.
poets croon about dead trees,
forgetting it’s still summer,
time of growth. i can’t blame
them; they like the metaphor
too much ever to say no. (i
feel much the same about Semolina’s
close cousin.)

i had a minute or two free to
pick off almost healed-scabs
from when i had to prove
a razor was sharp as needed.
now i can breathe into this
morning & see wheat waving
to nobody in particular.

the penny arcade summer made to
last longer in these parts.
thorton & keen at the local joint
telling jokes & singing songs for
the price of a nickel steak,
little white pedro & his friends
on the radio playing games,
typical summer fare. the durum
seeds were planted way back &
we’re two months from harvest.
all of our worries boil down to
phosphorous deficiency. easy
solution to that.

——————————————

You’re welcome Doc. Not that it makes a difference (with nothing lost & all) but I have a really good excuse for disappearing. Damn. I forgot it; I got a mind for shite lately.

souvenir…

Posted in BSC, bumper sticker stories, Cigarette, Ha Ha Funny, History, Learning About Life, Poetry, TWTC with tags , , , , , , on May 31, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

souvenir

my baseball bat does most of
the work when it comes to
disposing any leftover souvenirs
from sometime prior-to. course
i’ve got enough kerosene to do
the job, but it’s cathartic to smash
before you burn, if we’re gonna
be sensible about all this,,,

pictures burn best & picture frames
smash easier than pieces of
paper exposing the asshole i mighta
been back in my asshole days.
right now a snake slithers across
pondscum water baking in sunlight
(code red kinda day i’m told.)

me & a cigarette both burn in the sun;
too fucking muggy to think about
past lives. i stabbed my
still-burning cigarette out in a
clamshell ashtray i found
on some forgotten beach
trip. don’t remember
when or where.

———————————————————-

quasar the vermillion dust (part 2)…

Posted in Cigarette, Poetry, Quasar The Vermillion Dust, Series with tags , , , , , on May 31, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

“heresy on the potomac”

lemming-angels on parade. there
is no crossing post vigil on Vine
Street, where kids play in the street,
fiddling around with zippos running low
on fuel. even with the flint ground
low & sparks hard to come by
everything still gets lit.

all the words spoken, written &
thought require more than is asked
with them. pseudo-intellectual ex-
pressions in daily vernacular. those
dirty looks shot my way feed my ego;
real hatred is as inspired as deep
love but given voice so much easier
than prayer.

shower-clean frame emergent
archetypical; any who follow must
(by all theory) listen to the words &
music. some go on to prove it later,
others sit in creaky chairs telling
stories about that time spit & paper
came together to build a better
cigarette.

musbeok…

Posted in Funny Morning Stories, Joe Henry, Learning About Life, Music, Poetry with tags , , , , on May 24, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

nice to meet me

after a shortly interminable drive
i let myself outta my car on
beachline & drove off to grab at
clouds floating on the surf
& turtles lodged in the sand.

much as i’d rather stare seaward
& decide on possible surprise endings,
there’s no time because i know
i’m already omphaloskeptic & bloody
to boot. maybe an accident
nobody saw coming?

musbeok;
vagrant screams are absent in
my windpipe. i didn’t bother to
warn me that you gotta
slice the bad bits off yourself
when there ain’t a soul around
to do it for you.

found a sunburned sonofabitch
callin’ himself by my name
waiting for a
ride back from the beach.
took the first chance to go along
& get along, he threw down
with a few bars from his favorite
song. i sang backup
so he could sing lead.

this asshole knew
all the hits. by the time we’d gone from
sand to dirt, we’d hit most of the
majors & even a few of the minors.
like i said;
musbeok.

————————————————————–

Music saves the day. Thanks Mr. Henry, you saved my ass AGAIN. (For someone I will never meet, I owe you a shitload man. Pay it forward, right?). And no, the poem isn’t ABOUT Joe Henry, it’s about something else completely. JH is just my idol.

happy holidays y’all…

Posted in Admin Announcements, Early Morning Silence, Friendship, Funny Morning Stories, Laughter, Learning About Life, Poetry, travel, TWTC with tags , , , , , , , on April 20, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

a general good morning

i’m not here to compete
with anyone over anything.
why bother? i’d rather be
playing swing-set games
past my expiration date
whenever it’s time to grow
up or find something else
to do for kicks.

one too many early hour slap-
dash pinners seeking a kind
effect; pulling a knife & spiking
my own punchbowl with bad
luck & proclivities for soft
baked pretzels knotted into
unpretzel shapes already
smoldering in the oven.

aces flick-a-trick brings a
little light into the room. temper-
ate zone behavior because
everything is different when
i can see it all laid out in
front of me; a toy map to
practice on where i can
fuck it all up without any
repercussion. my eyes are
half-open & i can kinda see.

plungers already done yeoman
work pushing the night past
another day. since i’m not
wearing black until damn good
& ready, i can pretend master
peri-sensibility like i had class,
like i was going to rick’s to
drink with sasha, dreaming of
a future whose most notable
quality is recognizability to
the past. everyone lives here
now-a-days…

we don’t always throw
bricks at windows &
each other; ya
gotta save something
for special occasions.

——————————–

Inspired by my poet friends. I’d list out y’all but there are too many, and besides, who inspired what line matters only to the rail-thin set of razor’s darlings. We, not being they, do not concern ourselves with such things. I’ve been missing in action for a while, for which I apologize to anyone who has read this poetry blog & deserves a visit back. I’d make a claim of irresponsibility, but you knew that already.

Special thanks to the 10th Muse (way better of a poet than #’s 9 or 11) for my first opportunity to read live (in public no less) Friday, April 22nd in Richmond. Go read her kick ass poetry @ Arspoetica and if you find yourself in Richmond, VA this Friday, look it up. I guess I should get new earrings.