Boy For Sale

movin' on up, to the east side, to the deluxe blog in the sky.

boy for sale can be seen here. all the archives are there, too, for your intellectual injoyment.

a poem to recite when remembering how to love freedom

freedom isn't free.
hundreds of people have died
over dozens of years,
protecting your freedom to shop.
let us never forget the
horrible events of 9/11,
the day that the stores closed down
early
and very few items were bought.

a poem to have sex to while in your parents house that has thin walls.

be quiet.
shut the fuck up, i said.
(bed creaks)
(rhythmic pounding)
fuck. be quiet.
(rhythmic pounding)
(a moan from a woman)

the size of your life.

you can find a quote from the bible to make yourself believe just about anything. after a few verses and chapters you almost actually convinced yourself to believe in god. how embarrassing.

A Hard Language To Master

Sometimes it's easier to walk away from the scene of the crime.
It's hard to admit everything you've ever thought has been stupid and wrong.
Sometimes if you look at the words on a page of a book, you can see faces staring back at you.
It seems like we're always looking for meaning in the wrong places.
Sometimes I want to remember what it felt like to want to change.
You look at me differently these days, when we're alone.
Sometimes I pretend I didn't hear what you said when I know what you said.
It's hard to live up to how you see yourself in your head.

I'm Not Into The Whole "Poetry" Thing, But Sometimes It's Good To Do Things You're Not Too Into

Oh My God! Oh My God!

God finally came down from heaven
One day.
He was moderately disheveled
His hair was visibly unclean
His shoes were Air Jordans from
1993.
And the hat covering his head
Said: "God Bless America".
There was one flagon his hat, too
The hat contained the colors: red, white and blue.
There were stars. Fifty of them.

The mouth that was on God's face
Said: "What the fuck is going on down here?"
"What is with all the racket?"
"Turn down that goddamn radio, you rowdy teens."
"Don't make me come down here again."

And the world turned down the radio.
But not ten minutes later was it right back
To where it was before,
Loud and raging.

The Boy (and the well)

The little boy fell down the well
And when the cameras descended
On the small little boy's small town
A man with a plastic face and rubber hair
Said, "Keith Hamilton, reporting live from the well."

PEOPLE I WANT AT MY FUNERAL, PART ii

A log cabin Republican, a Jew, a stoner, a bitch, a cunt, a scallywag, a ninja, a turtle, a lawnmower man, a Trisha, a Norman, a lipstick lesbian, a social outcast, a person that knows how to skank, a junky, a sniper, a lowbrow, a bookworm, a sure thing, a next top model, a gay guy who thinks he's straight, a long jumper, a colorman, a baron, a saint, a woman that smells like lemon grass, an honest man, a teamster, a lawyer, someone with three toes, someone with a wooden leg, a cum dumpster, an oil tycoon, a hopeless romantic, a sycophant, a fuck buddy, a spokesman, an elder, a wiseman, someone that when they hear they hear only silence but they're not deaf, a priest in a nun costume, someone that can recite pi to 100 digits then in reverse. I want to be buried in concrete and sleep with the fishes.

People I Want At My Funeral, Part I

My sister, a grandchild, an artist, Amber Courteau, someone with breast implants (male or female), my dog Billy Pilgrim, someone singing bad 90's pop songs ironically, Joe Winterer w/ Annie Davidson, my high school art teacher, Jon Stewart, someone sobbing uncontrollably--almost to the point of annoyance, Reverend Fred Phelps, Kurt Vonnegut, Josh Langberg, someone wearing a homemade shirt that says something nice about me, Heather Kiger, my brothers and their ugly babies, my high school Spanish teacher in a wheelchair w/ oxygen tank, an editor, a publisher, an ambassador, Mrs. Herda-Mckee, a bad poet, someone with secrets, someone who knows too much, a photographer, a slut, a smelly hippy, a veteran of a foreign war, a rising star, David Zellar, annoying children running around disrespecting the solemn nature of the day, a friend, a secret lover, a wonderful peace.

Some Things About You, If I Were Ever To Have To Write An Essay

1) you dont believe in relativity, only god.

2) sometimes you walk in funny ways, with your toes pointed in. you never tie your laces.

3) sometimes you dance in front of your mirror and wonder what it looks like to the invisible ghosts surrounding you.

4) you try to fit in. it hurts. you're not the right shape.

4a) you are square. the world is round. sometimes you squeeze in, but certain things have to be left out to make room for your sharp corners.

5) sometimes you think you are part of something bigger.
mostly you just feel stupid and alone.

6) sometimes life is so beautiful it hurts and the only way to take the pain away is to sit down and watch murray povitch. mostly it's just really boring, though.

7) you try to wonder about big ideas. sometimes it comes so easy you think you must be completely off track; you forget it before you can write it down.

8) your ass is getting fatter, fatty. you might want to start doing something about it.

9) sometimes you laugh at your dreams.

the things we saw (part 1.1)

there was a small jazz bar in chicago. there was a bull dyke that you thought was a man. there was a kindergartener singing motley crue. there was a priest dressed in drag. there was a piece of string tied to your swollen finger. over here there were three little girls screaming for your attention. sometimes there was a flash of light so bright you could see the entire world and there were no shadows. there was an accident. there were questions that even the smart kid in class couldn't begin to answer. there was someone selling candy to children while their parents made out in the backseat. now and again there was an old man watching from the window, rocking back and forth, back and forth. there was music. pop music. there were teenagers talking about it. there were blacks. there were jews. there were little punk girls with bad attitudes. there was a snowball melting in the sun. there was a fat kid. there was a nerd. sometimes there were flowers waiting to be fucked by bees. there was a pot head. there were uglies. there was a woman complaining about her hamburger (it was too cold). i think there was a note being passed around from table to table, but i can't be sure. there was a television that only played foxnews. there was a smiling boy holding a trophy for selling the most raffle tickets in the school raffle ticket selling contest. there were proud parents with bumper stickers explaining their pride. there was a loaded gun with so much potential energy it could hardly contain itself. there was a spiral that never ended. there was an old man calculating pi. there asian kids applying to harvard. there was an explosion that no one heard but me and you. there was a smile that no one saw but me and you. there were modern socks. there was a noose. there was a man with braces. i was wondering whether or not i was going to die in a car, or in a hospital bed, or on a sidewalk, or in a forest alone, or smiling, or with fear in my eyes. i couldn't tell what you were wondering, but it was something good.

you tried to love but it hurt too hard. you tried to give it up completely, but it only made it worse. you say you're a terrible singer, but you make them cry with every word. when you were thirteen there was a girl who kissed you on the lips and told you you were beautiful, but you never believed her until you were too old to care about beauty anymore. sometimes when you've got nothing else in your mind you can still see the outline of her face--her actual image has long faded, but the impression remains. Sometimes you can hear her voice perfectly. Sometimes you want to find her. But you figure it would probably just seem creepy and weird to her after all these years.

you see things

you see, there was this girl that had the smallest boobs in the world. so small that when she stood up straight they caved in on her. but to you they were beautiful. you see, there was a boy with a pin for a head, and when he laughed it sounded like that old sprint commercial where you could hear the pin drop on the table. god, did you find that sound brilliant. you see, there was a mother on the phone with her daughter, asking her how college is going, how her new boyfriend was, how were the dorms--is your roomate giving you trouble, is your C.A. still the fucking bitch she was since the last call two weeks ago?--how is life--is it still worth waking up for in the morning.

She sounded exhausted.

You see, there was this girl with a heart so big she had nowhere to wear it, and it eventually just shriveled up to normal size like the rest of us and eventually those big hopes and dreams shriveled up to, with the rest of us; and now when she wonders, she wonders small, she wonders about how much gasoline will be in the morning on the way to work, and if she can find a boy who she can stand long enough to marry, and if she can ever cum as hard as she did that first time with Steven when she was 17, and if she will be around tomorrow night to watch the last half of Lost or will she be stuck still at work stuck in overtime, and if she will have time to get the oil changed or will she have to wait until the next day when she has more time, and if her smile hurts too much to keep up, and if she keeps smiling so much will her face wrinkle and wear too fast for her age, and if she has time for friends or if friends are even worth much any more.

You used to be a punk, but it got old. Your hair stopped wanting to stand up, stopped wanting to be something it was not.

You used to be a nerd, but an internet girlfriend broke your heart. And its become too painful to touch a keyboard ever since.

You used to have a lot of friends, but one day you realized you had nothing in common, and they weren't as amusing to you as you always remember them being in memory, or in pictures where you're drunk and laughing, playing Scattergories.

You used to be a slut, but the sex in your head never matched the sex between your legs, so you just quit.

And you used to be so fucking brilliant and full of wonder, but sometimes things fade and they fade so goddamn fast, before you even have time to notice they don't shine any more.

The Man With the Mullet and the Mustache

YOUR FAVORITE PORN IS THE KIND IN WHICH NO ONE GETS HURT. You often wonder what it means to be poor. You try to imagine yourself in a poor person's shoes. Not literally because, ew, that would be gross--but figuratively you drift into thought and wonder what it would be like to have a used car, or sometimes to have no car at all. Sometimes you imagine yourself with an out of date hairstyle and a t shirt that says show us your boobs. Sometimes when you fuck yourself late at night, you think about your husband with a mullet and a mustache.

When he eats your pussy it tickles you, but you don't laugh. Never laugh. He would probably beat you.

Sometimes when you talk the words you hear in your head don't match the ones you hear on the outside. They're backwards sometimes. Other times just a single slight word has changed, a single word or syllable omitted. But given your single thought a whole different meaning. Sometimes when you drink you wonder about the first person who ever got drunk. Like how did he explain it to his parents when he stumbled home at 3am. And sometimes when you're fucking you wonder about that virgin, Mary. How did she pull that shit off anyway?