Inspiration

A former co-worker and all-around hard working girl Melissa Mylchreest was just featured in the Missoula Independent for her newly published chapbook Reckon.  I haven't got my hands on it yet but she handles the Montana narrative good as any who have come before, of this I'm sure.

I've been struggling and desiring to have a nucleus of an idea to write some poetry over, a recurring theme to hold it all together, and somewhere in reading this article I found it.

I want to write about Montana.

Warm chinooks and rolling pasteurs aside, I want to write about the darker side of Montana.

24 hour casinos, D.U.I.s, spousal abuse, the end of the romantic western ideal, racism and bigotry.

These are things that don't define Montana, quite the opposite.  They shy from the limelight, but are very much existant.

I don't want to sour our state by any means, I just want to create some beautiful language to engage the not so beautiful realities that exist in a place where there are fewer things to do than people in some towns, and the effect it can have on that populace's character and actions.

Bright Side of Town

Cheap living on the far side of town has its drawbacks.

I have never once had a neighbor knocking on my door yield any sort of positive results.

They have always either had their sink overflowing, car dead, needed money for cigarettes, needed cigarettes, needed cat food, needed cat litter, needed human food, lost their cat, were stuck in a tv tray, were annoyed at the volume of my music, locked themselves out, wanted to hang out, shrieking in the hallway, smelled dope and wanted some, etc. etc. etc. ad infinitum.  Been a real trashy streak in my life here at 904 Spartan Dr. #1.  Lots of good folk coming and going.  I did buy my car from a felon that lived here, and did get my hands on three bowling balls for free.

The people below us have always been real keen on smoking cigarettes in their apartment and flushing their toilet when I'm in the shower.  They love their little yippee dog as much as they like getting drunk and cussing at each other at 2 in the afternoon.  The smell of their ashtrays and what can only be a sink full of rotten dishes delights its way up the vents and makes my apartment smell like a Turkish prison.

Yea, a 4-plex on the not-so-bright side of town will save you money, but at what cost?

Blame November

Haven't been writing.

Haven't been doing anything really.

Blame November, it happens every year.

New Call of Duty.

Duty Calls.

Yea... Me too

When running groceries from my car to my apartment, my neighbor was exiting as I was entering with a large case of toilet paper under my arm.

She said nothing, nor did I.

In my mind I said, "Yea, I poop, do you?"

Election Day

Today on Election Day, for the first time in my life, I had 2 eggs for breakfast.  Yes, I know, I've had eggs for breakfast many times, but these were special eggs.  Farm fresh eggs given to me by a great friend.  I've never had farm fresh eggs before, only store bought industrial eggs.  The extra tier in the white, the earthiness, the egginess, the freshness, it was all there just like he said it would be.

Eating these two eggs on my way out the door to go vote, kind of made me feel a little optimistic for the future of mankind.  Our country may wake up tomorrow doomed, but at least there are great eggs out there for humans like me and you to start up the day with.

Turning Over

When out in nature (back yards count) and I approach a rock larger than the size of my head embedded in the ground, I am usually inclined to turn the rock over and inspect the scene beneath.  Sometimes there is nothing but mushed sun-starved grass and moist dirt formed to the undercarriage of the stone.  Other times a delight of scattering centipedes and ants taking their larvae out for a walk in the dark air can be seen.

Putting the stone back in place can go both ways.  If I put the stone back I am feeling particularly respectful and donate 3 seconds of my life to restoring the balance of the zone I just disturbed, a zone that may not have seen light in years.

Other times I feel unnaturally powerful and leave the stone upended, forcing all the bugs to move their entire compound of tunnels six inches away.  The earth and stone then have to begin forming a new relationship with one-another, settling into a new groove.

I wonder what I will find when I turn over my rock?