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about me
poet, technologist, cynic, father of five, child of chaos, punker, prankster, patriot, punster, leftist, latino, japanophile, audiophile, beer drinker, quiche eater, dog walker, soft talker, deep thinker, shallow sleeper, introvert, covert operative in a parallel universe.

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  •  

    extra special bitter
    hops are bitter. life is bitter. coincidence?

    Thursday, March 27, 2008

    more dream-filled dreams

    We dined at a very nice restaurant in a city I don’t quite recognize. The meal is quite good, but as we get ready to pay our bill the waitress inexplicably grabs the check from my hand and declares “I forgot to add your last drink and the paper — that’s fifteen dollars.” I was dumbstruck. “Fifteen dollars? That’s outrageous! I was just reading it because it was left at our table. You can have it back.” “Fine!” she spat, hurling the check back at me. Suffice to say, she didn’t get much of a tip.

    Our taxi ride was equally surreal. The maître de flagged down a car that was new and luxurious but bore little resemblance to a cab. I seated myself and instructed the driver to wait for my wife, who had quickly run back into the restaurant to retrieve her purse. Instead, he took off without her. I screamed and banged against the plexiglas barrier until we were out in the suburbs, at which point he pulled over and asked me to get out. He sped off, nearly running me over as I banged against his window.

    Half an hour after phoning my wife, it was a wonderful sight to see her pull up in a real taxi. We drove back to a parking lot in the city where our adventure first began, where our car was waiting for us — running, lights on, and unlocked.

     

    Tuesday, March 25, 2008

    this beer has my name on it...

     

    Sunday, March 23, 2008

    guilty pleasure

     

    Wednesday, March 19, 2008

    mixed precipitation

    I like to think of myself as a basically cheerful person with a predominantly dour outlook on life, always anticipating the worst to the extent that I am genuinely ecstatic when something good happens. As such, I’m not happy when it rains, but I expect nothing better. Combined with sleet and snow, it seems to be some karmic revenge for something I didn’t do. Unfair? Yes, but just as the meteorologists called it...

     

    Monday, March 17, 2008

    Saint Patrick's Day

    It’s one of those days of the year that I am suddenly conscious of something I’m not (the other being Ash Wednesday). It didn’t even occur to me to wear green — just to blend in. And while the thought of a Guinness was certainly tempting, I instead sipped a hearty Tempranillo and envisioned myself running with the bulls.

     

    Saturday, March 15, 2008

    perhaps now the vultures

    perhaps now the vultures
    will think twice
    before scavenging
    in this neighborhood,
    where trash can fires
    burn unattended
    on every corner.
    try as I might to forget
    I still remember our first kiss,
    the shiver of time standing still
    and the taste of ashes.

     

    Wednesday, March 12, 2008

    headlines that could have been



    slut got your tongue?

     

    Sunday, March 09, 2008

    Daylight Savings Time

    hard to believe I could sleep
    through the hour I lost,
    although I did wake up at one point
    sitting bolt upright
    eyes filled with terror.
    was it a nightmare?
    or was something much more sinister at work?
    the illusion that we are saving time
    by manipulating the clock,
    adding sixty minutes to the hour
    of our inevitable death.

     

    Thursday, March 06, 2008

    zanaflex

    the bland gazpacho that was once my brain sloshes around in my skull like cheap wine in a plastic goblet. I don’t feel relief or relaxation as much as a benign and mildly benevolent numbness. I lowly recommend it.

     

    Wednesday, March 05, 2008

    new moon

    new moon:
    just a romantic rendition
    of “black starless sky,”
    just a formless canopy
    of wordless words.

     

    Sunday, March 02, 2008

    dreamless dreams

    I was walking the streets of a city I will never visit, lost in the rush of traffic and a sea of faceless faces. Descending into the subway, the mournful sound of an accordion is swallowed by an oncoming train. The musician’s expression never changes: he knows that he is playing for the ghosts who lurk in the shadows, just beyond those places that have never seen the light.

     

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