Thirteenth Week of Poems

January 23, 2013

Shoot it like Scalabrine, BABY.

January 24, 2013

Is it odd to feel so unhappy at the start of the day, and then to end it on a high note and end up so happy and optimistic, thanks to one single person, J, thank you a million and one times over.

A long Thursday now seemingly too fast, too quick:

Why is everything that’s bad feel to last so long, while the good runs off too, too fast?

January 25, 2013

A long day comes to an end, and I’m having fun again:

I’m a bit strange, and a bit nervous, of course,

But I’ll make it.

Somehow, someway, I’ll make it.

With Lady Gaga and Gillian Anderson and Emma Stone and Natalya Neidhart,

I’ll make it, all right.

I’ll survive.

Ad infinitum, maybe to boost my own self-confidence and egotism, but one more around the range, fellas and gals; fuck it, why not.


January 26, 2013

Peanut Butter, Tomatoes, and Cheese on white bread: That’s the shit I do like.

Or am I just deranged?


Oh well

This poem is ass

But this sandwich is great

(Say what you will, but you can’t deny

A good sandwich is here to stay, folks)



January 27, 2013

Royal Rumble Royal Rumble

Royal Rumble is here today

Royal Rumble Royal Rumble

CM Punk please please please please


January 28, 2013


Here I am

Whoopee Dee

Whoopee doo

It’s so great to be alive and with you beautiful people

It makes me all cold and tingly inside

I don’t mean that I’m better

I’m not, of course

I mean that, am I supposed to care about this stupid bullshit every single minute of every single hour of every single day of every single moment for the rest of my life?

Don’t you get sick of that? Sick of dressing up, and of wisecracks and of pretending to show interest in people and what not.

I’m tired of pretending like any of this matters.

I’m tired of pretending about pretending, in the first place.

Because, I guess, I still care, and I’m still human, even though I’d rather be an alpaca at this moment or a manatee.

Or an amoeba, that sounds nice.

I bought a girl a manatee toy once, and she said thanks.

I told quintillions of girls that they were beautiful: they squeaked out thanks and didn’t believe me. Of course.

Where’s AM at, that crazy supercomputer Harlan Ellison God machine who hated humanity and what not? I can understand him, but not empathize or sympathize with him too much.

I guess I’ll live.

Eh, what else is there to do? I’ll see you in my dreams.

(And I’ve still got my doggie and NBA2K13, so I’m movin’ on up, indeed.)

January 29



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