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November 15, 2006
Why People Hate America
This makes me terribly ill in the same way that I want to crawl out of my skin during the last moment of pure, arcane discomfort I experience immediately before throwing up.
Interviews like this are why terrorists exist and proof that capitalism and fame shouldn't be the cardinal directions we set our moral compasses to. My mirth isn't even directed at OJ - I just feel pity for his vapid need to be back in the public eye - it's because of Fox News' eagerness to put it on national television in the name of ratings.
"So OJ, tell us...if you were to kill Ron and Nicole how would you do it? Could you go into details on how you would have gone about ending their innocent lives?"
Why don't they just cut production costs altogether and use a hand-held camera to tape the Fox executives spitting in the faces of the Brown & Goldman families. I'm sure it would accomplish the same thing.
Ugh.
Posted by Jon at 01:09 PM | Comments (3)
November 05, 2006
Poems From Summer Into Autumn
I haven't written anything long form in a while but have been churning out poems at a regular rate. Below are some of the latest. Leave me some comments and let me know what you think of them.
Good Morning, August
It could have been
you and me
or
her.
Us, really; we:
Me and me
with you to be
mine when it's convenient.
Like water through
the Grand Canyon
I would cut a switchback
to you:
My latest infatuation.
---------------
Fifty-50
Show me where to
sign-off on these
budgetary concerns;
your sales pitch
with the hair was
perfect.
Do you know that
I'm aware of every
movement; caught
off guard by your
perfect, improvisational
choreography?
---------------
Delivered Visit
I imagine you and I
together except for
when we are, and
then I just stare and
breathe in the scent
of your proximity.
---------------
Remember?
In college I set a bon-fire
with friends made from
discarded tables, pallettes
and dry pine.
Jesse used convenience store
matches and intermitten breaths
igniting the old Christmas trees
and knocking me off my feet.
We crossed the creek, laughing
and watched as the flames
licked the branches above,
pleased with our work.
---------------
On Blow-Dried Hair: A Reflection In Three Acts
I.
Do you ever imagine
as I do, coming home
and opening a bottle of
wine, sharing stories
and then making love
with the TV on?
II.
I want to tuck you into
bed and then wake with
the sun, sneaking past
your closed eyelids to
put the coffee on and
create an egg-white omellete.
III.
I used to think I could fall
in love with anyone but
The Office changed my
mind, Pam. Lets leave early
and get stuck forever in
a mutual routine.
---------------
Dad?
I wonder if you were there
in my morphine haze, playing
movies from my past to entertain
me while waiting for the doctor.
There was a palpable energy
in the air and I remember the
jokes you didn't say but I
laughed anyways while we
talked about the television I stole.
Belly laughs and a juvenile
spirit ebbed around me, its
as if I began to understand you
as my father, playing to pass
the time before leaving for school.
Maybe we have been building
a relationship but i've been too
distracted to notice but, there you
are, tilling my mind all the while
and shaking my ankle, trying to wake me.
---------------
Jealous
Watch this green sunrise
cast warmth over my
fields of envy, turning brown
and ripe for harvest.
Take your sickle and
cut me down to size
to build an altar where
I am set to burn.
---------------
Was she killed or left to starve?
Your spirit just caught up to me
taking it's time to say goodbye to
Philadelphia before heading out
on it's search; following the summer
sun as it sank to autumn.
You forced her quiet vulnerability to
fend for itself, watching her cut chain-link
fences and drifting along rivers
until it caught the familiar scent
of my breath on the cool fall air.
And now here we are, laughing
to ourselves and listening to George
play; forgetting all our hopes
and desires to forfeit and just be:
you and me.
Posted by Jon at 10:09 AM | Comments (5)