I can hear the clock on the wall humming, not ticking.  It should probably be ticking. Its a slight whine; its high pitched.  The hum from the lights duets with it.  Hum.  And then the light comes in; hum.  It is very different from Hall and Oates, or other famous duos.  There is nothing musical happening.  Actually, that is not true, it is musical.  I think its safe to say two notes being played at the same time is music, after all. 

I love this kitchen, with the table we stained.  A rough job.  We should have stained with something water based, and then gone back with a coat of polymer, but its our job after all.  The counters are white, roomy.  Just a general air of space in here that I don't have in other rooms.  You can see the trees out the front window.  I will often just sit here with my tea and listen to the birds.  We put up a black martin bird house a few months ago but there just isn't really enough space for them.  After several weeks of chasing out sparrows we gave him; its their home now.  I could hear birds chirping last night around 3:00 a.m.  Just out and about.  I couldn't sleep.  I over did it a little the night before which is great for following asleep but also great for restlessness.  I woke all night. 
I suppose summer is coming and that always means more heat but it also brings a somewhat juvenile mindset.  Think back to school. 

happy new year

My dog refused to be anywhere but my lap right now.  For reasons outside of my control, my work is canceled.  I think somewhere on I90 there was spotted .05 inches of snow like dust, resulting in the closing of the entire school system in the parish of Livingston.  I have touched slightly, in the few short hours that I have been home, the following:
1. Moby Dick.  I read one page, did half a push up, then read half another page.
2, The collected poems of Kenneth Patchen.  This one looks good on my table.  I opened it to a poem, read two lines, then decided to play guitar.
3.  I plugged in my electric guitar, allowed the cool tubes to warm up in the amp I am trying to sell, then decided to place said amp on craigslist.
4.  I swept my bedroom.
5.  I did more pushups, maybe 10?
6. I placed Moby Dick in front of me.  Starbuck, he is an odd sort no?  I wonder when Ahab makes an appearance?
7. Somewhere in there I took a shower.
8. I sit down with an empty coffee cup...ah, coffee.  I remember drinking coffee last Saturday with similar results to the ones I am dealing with now:  a kind of attention deficit (oh, an arm hair...let me remove that) that allows me to do a great number of tasks, but only in short, 1-3 minute intervals.
9.  I consider going record shopping.  What record do I need though?  For a while I was considering White Light White Heat by the Velvet Underground, but I remember I just found a bootleg copy just this last week.  I listened to it approx. .4 times. 
10.  Did I mention the weather?  It must have started in the early morning.  The gates of Baton Rouge airspace broken open to the immense pleasure of mother nature...as she is, to what can only be described as slightly less cool than freezing water dripping in the amount of a slightly open tarp, raised from the bed of rainbow gathering trustafarian, after nights of jive dancing, pill popping, placated love interests, (googling placated...ok, that may work here.  A love interest can be made "less angry or hostile," I am keen to imagine) where was I?
11. Oatmeal.  Be sure to add brown sugar, sometimes walnuts, always a milk substitute...
12. Did I drink more than one cup of coffee?  My fingers are numb right now
13. Social media updates, "journal" inquiries, blogs, "news," sports updates, the front offices of sports departments around the country, prospering ever so diligently off the backs of poor males with mothers like tree stumps, running every day, every day, getting stronger, drinking milk, washing it down with buttered eggs and toast. 

oh, just blogging like its 2003

Dreams of felt being run across my face.  In a felt board forest?  The trees; great childish greens and dark browns.  "Autumn" written in great big felt lettering above the sky.  Drone sounds, perhaps old men making Om's?  Old men:  old yogis.  Beards no doubt flowing, white and grey.  Mostly white near the ends, gray around the mouth, the chin.  Maybe inside the Om's sounds, whispers of words.  In the dream they are probably telling me my life objective; what is the meaning of this?  If you try to hard to hear it it just goes away so you focus on the forest.  The sun is a triangle of satsuma; it is Louisiana after all.  All the one's brought in during the fall.  Everyone has a tree, no one knows what to do with all of them.  You can only eat so much citrus.  Juice falling all over your chin, making your keyboard stick to your hands.  Dreams.  Later you try to turn the felt into women.  It is a dream after all.  Rosy lips puckered in rum filled pleasure.  The blush from too much drink; heat.  Their faces turn to demonic grimaces.  Its impossible to hold on.   The grimaces turn to knives. 

We pulled off the side of the road.  Amongst corn fields.  I threw my bottle as far as I could into the deep field.  I want to run through it, I said more to myself than to my brother.  My brother opened a beer. I watched as the vapor flew out of my breath.  Crystal white.  There were no stars, only the light from the car.  I traced my finger on a corn stalk and unzipped my fly.  We should just take off through this shit, I said again.  Just take off running.  There isn't anything at home.  What are we going to do there?  Sit in the heated square?  Flush the toilet?  Take night classes so we can learn French?  Maybe we will get a little older and run off with our kid's third grade teacher.  I zipped up and walked into the deep corn.  Spider webs immediately formed around my head.  I brought up my hand to try to break them.  My brother laid down on the road and started singing Eleanor Rigby horribly out of tune.  You could live out here in this corn, I said, already bored from the scratchy leaves of the corn stalks 

I boarded a plane correctly once; I had my earphones in, sony walkman playing "Nebraska," by Bruce Springsteen.  Somewhere over  Texas I got chills during "Atlantic City."


Never been much of a flyer.  Though sometimes I wonder if I make a deal about it just to have a deal about it.  Once up there I enjoy gazing at the clouds and the fun shapes of the ground. 

I wonder how one indents on here?

Is this a journal of my thoughts?  Who do I write this for?  What time was it, the date, last time I laid on the ground next to my stereo speakers, moved by George Harrison's Rickenbacker?

My cousin has a Rickenbacker.  I have never actually played one; not guitar, not bass.

Running in the cold makes me feel something.  I pretend its a feeling of living.

Cage does Cage

Found this just now, and what a joy.  On the final quarter mile, no, 200 yards of Bolano's 2666.  Can't really say enough how excited I am to have made it as far as I did and too see what a better reader I am now compared to 4 years ago.  For whatever reason Book 4 just stopped me last time.  This time book 4 shaped up to be one of the greatest things ive read...except book 5, which is just amazing.  Ok, enough about me.  For your viewing pleasure:

Was fairy good for laughs while it lasted