The Electric City revisited

The Electric City

Took a drive down through the Electric City.
Some Kenwood 2 meter transceiver tech,
146MHz and a .5w input SMC-30 mic check.
Non-ionizing radiation, beef jerky gritty,
an appeal to their dynamic committee.

CQ CQ CQ this is Blackwater,

do you copy?

Half-assed half-studied,

Over.

We met the Hams,
we took the Ham test,
we shook the Ham hands,
we became ham-handed Hams in hand.

Impedance and resistance, Ohm I God!

They radiated in from far and wide,
curiosity frequencied at the speed of light.
They said ‘hello’ with their mouths,
‘who is trying to join our club’ with their stares.

Took a drive down through the Electric City.

O’Hare Motor Inn terminal Sip’n’Dip,

Rainer and MGD, large bill larger tip.

Ashtrays and repeaters, gettin’ shitty

shorting grounded regulations no pity.

KF7TBR this is KF7TBS,
Mission accomplished,

Over and Out.

Human Efficiency

Not Human Efficiency:  3 lbs of spinach artichoke dip for 5 people.

Human Efficiency:  The lone Christmas tree in the tree discard lot at 9:30 pm, December 25th.

Write something Randy

Something in here wants to come out.

I just don't know what, or when, or why.

Midnight Her

There she sits in her twilight world,
no drink, no company.

Wrinkled and stained, her face
bleeds and drips as an
ashtray coffee stain on the morning paper.

She watches and waits for me,
for us,
for him,
for anyone.

She delays at the ready, legs crossed
hands politely folded on lap,
a lady at one point perhaps,
this posture does not suit her.

"Excuse me, do you have...?"

A dollar, a drink, a moment?

For you no.  For her yes.

Tried

Yesterday it tried to snow in Missoula.  Tried like a young underweight red-head with glasses tried out for the football team.

Good effort kid.

Nice grouping

Was able to plant 5 out of 5 rounds into a pizza pan at 20 feet away with my Desert Eagle.

Nothing remarkable, but a big improvement from 0 out of 5.

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?

Dreamt of Her

What can I say or do,

Where can I go from here?
How can I move forward,

If I cannot have you near?

Far too easy at this time,

To cry and feel alone.

Far too easy at this time,

To lose what I've been shown.

All those things you've taught me,

The split from right or wrong,

Like how to make decisions,

Or pull meaning from a song.

But I know you've always crafted,

A world I can enjoy,

Just know you have succeeded,

For me, your little boy.

No poem could I ever write,

With which to tell you thank-you,

No word could I ever find,

To equal such a thank-you.

You gave to me the perfect gift,

And sealed it with a kiss,

So now all that I can do,

Is stand and read you this.

So let you know how much it means,

To carry on your love,

In my heart and in my mind,

To feel you from above.

Everything you stood for,

And all that I will be,

Let's me know, deep inside,

That it's time to set you free.

So no more pain and no more sadness,

You're off to better things,

Where singers sing and dreamers dream,

And angels flap their wings.

And on this earth from where I stand,

I know what I must do,

Keep your love and my head held high,

Press on, and think of you.

Even when the earth's storms rage,

And the sea just won't stand calm,

The memories will last a lifetime,

It's me, I love you Mom...

Dear Time

Dear Time,

Could you slow it down a bit?
Ease off or back off,
just something--
I don't want you to today,
don't want to be older.
I'm fine with yesterdays
not hungry for tomorrow,
no need for next week.

You need to relax
go have yourself a vacation
someplace nice.

Have you ever been to Rome?

Of course you have,
the ruins,
remember?
Take a trip through your universe,
love all your dead stars,
dance over their cold planets.
Your playground is our Oblivion.

You lay the bait with progress
and carry the torch
to a better and brighter future,
but it always gets out of hand
and turns to ash,
at least, eventually...

So chill out Time
You'll know where to find me,
Just dig through all that American Dust

Dreaming Considered

Deep Dreaming:

You stand there, knowing exactly what to do.  Raising your right elbow and cupping your right fist with your left hand, smash goes the thin emergency glass.  You reach for the tube of Crest Tartar-Control toothpaste, a few more clinging shards smacked away and you yank it free aiming it towards your pursuers.  You're squinting, fearing the recoil of the break-in-case-of-emergency-Crest-Tartar-Control-toothpaste, you squeeze it forth and it becomes a wheelchair of machine guns mounted forward and backwards over leather covered foam armrests.  Fifty cal, belts of nickel-wide hollow points spiral inwards along the spokes.  It is an old-timey 80s wheelchair, perfectly rounded wheels sitting upon a less-than-padded seat back tracking up to contoured 90 degree handles, weaponry all the live-long-way.  The politely aggressive aliens slide to a sudden halt and stare fearfully.  You sit down and use that chair like it was made to be used, the aliens' giant green foreheads and swollen googly eyes explode into gory vengeance.

Shallow Dreaming:

Something is chasing you, you're not sure of what it is so you call forth.  As you call forth your voice cracks and gives out, your now two dead legs and arms see you crashing down with an open mouth.  SMACK!  Your head basketballs off of concrete and grit sticks to chapped lips, serious pain takes over.  You can't tell but you think you're crying.  Vision gone and memories of two hours ago.  Silence, cat purr, you wake up sweating.

No Dreaming:

You drink a grip of beer, followed by caffeine free tea (steeped, mixed with honey, iced) plus gin and two ice cubes, rock a few hits of goofer, then one more scotch.

Prophet

No better wisdom, no better ender
to all of your problems,
than your local bartender.

Sun Valley

Here we go, Idaho.

Clean Cut

Ockham half convenes

Atop a hill of slack

He will gladly cut you some

For the monkeys off your back

Grinning and Thinking and Sharpening

And Sharpening and Grinning an Thinking

Spit and grit whirl assumptions

A stew of fat and costs and shit

Red flags flying everywhere and always

The rule of thumb goes thumbs down

And you're left with two stars in your cereal

All over your long sleeved shirts

Keep it simple.  Keep it serious.

Science never boasts a sense of humor

Science gives monkeys serious haircuts

And shoots them into space

Sunshine

Warm glowing sunshine and crisp fall air go together like hot cocoa and marshmallows.

2:27 on a Friday (Saturday)

East Helena For Life

Comfort

The thermostat slides over in my hand, 'tick,' as it catches up with itself and clicks into place.  Small flowing sounds of a silenced indoor waterfall fill my walls as the vents are refilled after their parched summer.  More 'tick tick tick' and whirring as the inner mechanics come to life like a long dormant construct.  The smell of dusty warmth escapes into the air and my two bedroom apartment readies to adjust itself to a crisp 69 degrees.  It smells liked sun warmed cat fur.

Something oddly comforting about the sounds and smells of turning on our heater for the first time this year.

Is this a better Sonnet?

I have two feet that will walk and measure,
head out and string up ten lines of treasure.
Straight to the bank we go in a hurry,
Cash out and in with poetic fury.
Rhyme for a ducat, a ruby, or pearls,
Alabaster sexplosions with beautiful girls.
Ethos by envy as big as my mansion,
Paid off in full all thanks to my scansion.
Life on my paper, full of faux pleasure,
Go on and try it, all at your leisure.

The Turtle Sonnet

The Turtle can a world create on shell,
with all the mud and clay to support us.
Now set out in living rigor mortis,
we try so hard this gift of life to sell.
We lost our need to love and live and smell,
so turtle kicks back and soon will short us.
A foreseen revenge from gentle tortoise,
the land itself will try this threat to quell.
So if we keep up all this war riot,
we'll learn from turtle and then be quiet.

-Early morning stab at meter and rhyming.  Good to practice these things every once in a while.  Not the best but I'm feeling guilty for a lack of any poetry or fiction in this dang blog.

Desert Eagle

-I don't prescribe to the 'Home Defense' camp of gun ownership and gun rights.

-I do get a small amount of comfort knowing that I'll be all the more ready for any zombie apocalypse.

-I don't go hunting, but I used to, and may someday like to again.

-'Investment' is a word I've been known to say when referring to a firearm.

-I'm not a whacko, don't keep my guns loaded, keep them locked up, and generally only shoot them at fresh produce.

-In 1979 Israeli Military Industries (IMI) began design on a new large-framed handgun.

-It was to be one of the first gas-operated handguns where the pressure of the cartridge would be responsible for auto-loading, rendering the handgun semi-automatic.

-Production began in 1982.

-In 2012 I purchased one of these handguns.  It is one of only a handful of .50 caliber handguns.  .50 caliber is the largest caliber allowed to be designed and produced by U.S. law.  .50 caliber is very large.

-It is called the Desert Eagle.  And it is extremely bad ass.

Favorite

Today I'm going to my favorite store.

The Gun Store.

12:05 on a Thursday

Charcoal skies of a glowing moon,
Missoula rests its people down.

Late night cries of some drunken goon,
Missoula rests its people down.

DUIs are the evening tune,
Missoula rests its people down.

Redemption

When I was younger my parents bought me a fish tank as a birthday present.  10 gallons in size, this tank was nestled upon a beautiful wooden stand with all the regular tank fixings; neon gravel, little castle, bubble operated skeleton drinking a XXX jug, the works.  Stocked with a nice variety of tetras and plecostomi, it was the perfect little habitat for a weird little boy to play God.

Too bad I played Satan.

That tank was a torture chamber of disease and mistreatment for nearly the entire time it was in operation.  I dumped Mt Dew in there, I reached my hand in and grabbed the fish, I never took care of it, and when all the fish died and the water receded to about an inch I caught some toads and made it into a terrarium.  I don't even want to mention what happened to them.

Now Melissa and I own a new 10 gallon tank that was given to us by one of her friends moving back to Minnesota.

I feel more than obligated to redeem myself.

We currently have 3 black mystery snails, 2 bottom feeding catfish, 1 eel, 1 striped danio, and the most recent addition is 1 African dwarf frog.

It wasn't until getting the frog home that we dumbly realized it doesn't eat fish flakes.  So with a head cold (maybe a sinus infection - not gonna go to the doctor) and my car broken down, I set out on foot into the smoky Missoula afternoon to get across town and buy frozen bloodworms.

God damnit, this frog is gonna eat today...

Day Wu

I knew I was in trouble when I got to Tire-Rama at 8 in the morning and noticed on my appointment sheet that my car was spelled 'Day Wu.'  I drive a 2001 Daewoo Nubira.  The only other time I've seen the word 'Wu' is the 90s rap group the 'Wu Tang Clan.'

Also, even though I was scheduled at 8 in the morning, Tire Rama doesn't open until 9.

Good group of guys working on my stuff.

Little experiment in self-cheering

Head colds and nasal congestion are not pleasant.

Taking my first sick day in 2 years and playing extra video games while sipping OJ and Ginger Ale was pretty nice.

Coughing and sneezing for two days is not pleasant.

Melissa nursing me back to health and getting me soups and drinks and medicines was quite nice.

Having your car start to throttle and shake like a mechanical bull is not pleasant.

Watching a documentary on arm wrestling (a sport that I may be farthest from connected to) was extremely entertaining and even made my throat lump-up in sadness.

Missing 14 hours of work will not be pleasant when my next check comes.

Being able to see most, but not all, of the mountains out of my living room window means that the forest fire derived smoke, which is likely responsible for my condition, is starting to recede, that's nice.

Green masses of slime coming out of my lungs do not taste pleasant.

Green masses of slime coming out of my lungs means that they are no longer in my lungs, that's probably for the best.

Here I took five things that have really got me down and typed them out.  The positive lines were put in last, weaving them into the shitty ones.  Now off to work.

Tools

Found myself yesterday realizing that I shouldn't be jamming tweezers into the disc drive of our new computer to fetch an errant and unejectable cd.

Upon searching the internet's wealth of knowledge, that hunch was confirmed.

"Worst possible course of action," said the troubleshooting forums.

Tools can't fix everything, but they will break anything.

Man at Work

A photographer named Chris Autio came into Biga Pizza looking to take some black and white photos for a project he is working on.  The project is people working with their hands.  I think these turned out great.

Return to Return

The end of my delightful mini-vacation sees me back at home up to my usual tricks of figuring out how to get the day's 'To-Do-List' done next week.

Ode to a Deuteranopic Rainbow

I understand that I cannot know,
seven dancing hews of rain glow.
Roy G Biv wiped across the sky,
friend to all, but yet, not I.

Rods and cones struggle and schism,
a life devoid forever of prism.
Gone from eye but felt in mind,
a disease of vision, 'Color Blind.'

Genetic in nature, bizarre in effect,
unable to capture, light's intersect.
Institution of spectrum dull and faded,
complications internal, chroma jaded.

A joy I'm sure to see those views,
not dim but bright, with reds and blues.
My world of sight to yours is duller,
carried on forever, sans your color.

Yet I do not hate you Mr. Biv,
for what you take you also give.
Unique for me, I'll never show,
I understand what I cannot know.

If we could switch for just one day,
then I would smile and you would say,
"I get it now, why your brown is black,"
then you'll pause, "now let's switch back."

Metallica's Astronomy

My favorite song covered in a heavy coat of awesome.

Grass-Eaters and Weed-Hoppers

Weed-Eaters in all their fury send grass hopping and flying about.
No bag have they to catch or digest their damp earthy cuttings,
so really there is no eating of weeds or grass happening at all.
It was foolish to name a mechanical tool as a consumer of organic produce,
should have called them Electric-Eating-Grass-Hoppers.

Now Grass-Hoppers, they eat weeds and grass.
The grass itself is not hopping, though I will give them their name,
they do hop from grass to weed and back again.
What we should have done, was call them Grass-Eaters.
Or better yet, Grass-Eating-Weed-Jumpers.

Not all Weed-Eaters are electric, some older more industrial models run off oil and gas.
This could change everything, we would have Oil-Gas-Industrial-Grass/Weed-Destroyers.
Grass-Hoppers almost have oil as well.
Pick one up and it vomits a dark brown oily substance from its mandibles.
As children we knew this as Tabasco-Sauce.
Now we have Oil-Puking-Grass-Eating-Weed-Saucers.

Solarfibroptics

I'm not certain why every time I think about what I want to do or what I may end up doing, solar panels and fiber optics come to mind.  I know absolutely jack about both, but it seems like they would be great careers for Future-Randall.

Perhaps I could combine them, into a new hybrid technology.

Solarfibroptics.

They would know me as the father of that and maybe other words.

Goodbye

I've said goodbye to loved ones, friends, and family.

I've said goodbye to pets, toys, and cars.

I've also said goodbye to dreams, fears, and hopes.

None of which were easy, saying goodbye never is.

But none of them where as difficult as saying goodbye to the 'Best Summer I Never Had.'

Today I enjoyed...

A Tennessee Three-Way, and it was amazing.

Waxing Bloom

I have been safe and comfortable in my bulb the past decade.

Things and thoughts dear and true to me have arrived and departed.

Photosynthetic growth of imagination and responsibility has been fruitful and abundant.

The seasons envelope single-file around our planet like the mythical Ouroboros,
              and I have done many things, great things, and I also have done few things, small things.

Now my flower begins to bloom.  It is the beginning of my time.

Rare as the Titan Arum's flower my waxing bloom of life, but with a little good luck and hard effort hopefully not as stinky.

10 to 1 Revisited

To whomever had money on my designated driver from June 30th made off like a bandit.

10 to 1 odds, yet pulled through.

Thanks Dad.

Friend from Foe

As I slowly enter into the middle stages of my life, I've decided that one of the best ways to judge the ethical and moral core of my friends is to see whether or not they've made the bed after staying over for a night of drinking.

This naturally extends to family as well.

Happy Birthday America

IT HAS BEGUN!

July Johnson

That time of the year to go chasin' down that dirty old Jake Spoon for accidently shooting the sheriff's dentist brother with a buffalo gun again.

Beer Die Table

First we started with a plane Jane sheet of particle board and went to town with an orbital sander to bring out the wonderful pattern that is wood grain.  First 100, then 220.

 Next came an application of a darker wood stain that we chose on account of its name, 'Gun Stock.'

 As the Gun Stock dried, we applied several coats of Miller High Life, Bayern Dancing Trout, and Reeser's Potato Salad in addition to an amazing medley of kabobs.  The kabobs were composed of crimini mushrooms, red onions, hand carved pineapple, cherry tomatoes, red bell peppers, greek spiced lamb sausages, and a special-occasion-24-hour-Randy-original-marinade grip of New York steaks cut into ribbons.

 We were assisted by the hopelessly adorable puppy Walter.

 Several beers later we decided that another coat of Gun Stock was needed.  Not pictured is a base frame of 2'x4's we installed to level out the surface and prevent warping.  This also received Gun Stock.

 A few days later after recovery and drying, we taped off our pattern and added the white lines to what would be the centerpiece image and our end-zone lines.  We used an oil based paint here, flat white.

 Two days later and one more coat of the white we peeled off the tape and this was our results.  Not bad so far.

 Next came much more painters tape and the application of our flat black oil based paint.  Again here was two coats and two days to dry.

 Results here:  The theme we were going for was two dice in a sniper reticule, paying homage to the Gun Stock, as well as to the nature of Beer Die.

 We then hand painted the dice with a five and the fictitious die number seven.  This is on account of the most important rule of Beer Die.  DON'T EVER SAY 'FIVE' OR 'SEVEN.'

 Touch ups with an oil based paint pen as needed.

After all this roughly 3 weeks have been sent applying coats of polyurethane to achieve an NBA court effect.  Final results will be posted on our nation's birthday.

10 to 1

Interested to see if my designated driver for this coming Saturday will stay true to his promise.

10 to 1 says he doesn't.

Looking back on it all

Should have brought a gun.  Maybe two.

Hunting Morels

Today will be my first attempt at hunting wild mushrooms.  I only have one question...

Do I bring a gun?

From the balcony of Green 9 Casablanca

This fine morning I am going to transcribe verbatim an odd journal scribble that was the only piece of word conjuring I could produce on the other side of the planet.

Miercoles, 07 de Marzo


        Well, its our third day in Ecuador (maybe the 4th) and Meyissa y Chago vas ento Atacames por la tarde.  I am in the hotel and just combo shit/puke out a really gross explosion of my insides.  I had some ceviche on the beach earlier, but I don't think that is what did it.  My body got sick from the heat and sun I feel like.  It is sunny and hot hot hot.  Everything is sticky and sweaty.  No rain.


        I am fairly delirious.  Splitting headache and unable to focus.  I'm trying to mustard up enough energy to go the la tienda y compra una grande agua y mas cigarettas.  Even though I feel like shit I can't stop drinking Clubs and smoking.  Me gusto vacation.  The coast is amazing, but I think I like Quito better because of the weather.


       In Ecuador of all places, we met a guy named Tom from Bozeman who had a surgical lung.  Of course he wanted a cigarette.  Of course we game him one.
    
                                                                                                          3 -7 -12

Eyes Wide Open pt. 1

Approach an African Anteater
Bowl a 300
Cauterize a canine nasal canal
Dig a deep dark drunk
Eyes Wide Open
Fall off a skyscraper
Grab a thunder strike
Hail an Ecuadorian cab
Imitate a blind person

Back on the Rails

May took off like a ten mile long train down an icy rail.

Fully loaded and front heavy she saw many stations on her journey.

Cinco de Mustache, my birthday, Melissa's birthday, Zipp's bachelor party in the Tobacco Roots, a wet and rainy Dustapalooza in Turah, St. Clair fish fry in Boulder, and very few days of recovery at home between it all and work.

Two more days left in May, and the train finally careened off the tracks.  Not in a bad way.  It was a good derailing.  Haven't got much writing in, but got more than enough living in to cope.  Time to put her back on the rails though, and herald in a wonderful summer.

The tent is almost dry, should have it folded back up nicely and repacked before June.

The camping chairs, coolers, coozies, and other camping crap are clean and put away.

Yes, May was a fun and crazy train ride through the spring of my life.

Silence

My own silence is sometimes the loudest annoyance in my life.

Dismembered

It took over a week but Cinco de Mustache has been planned for, executed, and then rebuilt from.

There is a certain leap of faith one must take in order to sanely invite thirty to forty people to their yard for a day of aggressive tequila drinking.

I will spare the details, mostly on account of them not being remembered.

I have heard that people who lose an arm or a leg with still have phantom sensations shortly thereafter as if the appendage were still attached.  I feel that way with my mustache.  Any man who has ever shaven off a mustache of over 7 months can attest to the oddity of taking a drink of anything and then going to suck it from the hair above the upper lip, only to find the duck bill that is the upper lip, dry as a bone.

Alphabet Experiment at 5:39am

A is about all I have to say
B is bout ball buy bathe to bay
C is count cool cry crab to crow
D is do not die in drab dew
E is forever M.C. squared
F is fountain foam flab to flow
G is giant gnome gnat to know
H is Hawaiin home hearth to heat
I is Indian igloo idea to beat
J is a Jamaican jamboree jumpin for joy
K is kalling it kwits

Alphabet Experiment at 3:15 am

A is an alligator's anus to start this shit show.
B is the best botched bingo tournament when you are 83 years bold.
C us before you judge us.
D is a dangerous dingo in the dirty dining room with a dull dagger.
E is obviously M C squared.
F is the finest finger food in France.
G is for gangster.  As in Original Gangster.
H two O?
I is definitely not an Indian igloo in Iceland.
J peg.
K should have been the C...  Koin... Kar...  Kandy... Kunt...
L is what you would say if you had a tracheotomy and you tried to say Hell.
M is my middle name!
N is on at least every compass ever made.  No nonsense.
O is for original.  As in Original Gangster.
P is preferably for Professor Peabody please.
Q is a quiet quail quilting in Quito.
R is a raunchy movie rating that randy can't review before royal reigning age (18).
St. Clair Road is where I want to end up at.
T is what an Indian drank 10,000 gallons of before he drown in his own teepee.
U are still reading this if you are still reading this!
V looks an awful lot like an upside down A without the middle bar...
W has all the question words on lock down.  Who? What? When? Where? Why?
X can only be a xylophone.  Or maybe an X-Ray.
Y is it that gravity attracts towards instead of pushes away?
Z you later!

When It was Young

Late night of memory,
pupae of concentration,
thinking of and knowing that;
mute pulse of TV breeds lithe snores.

Ear and belly on cold linoleum,
the smallness of debris,
crumb and dirt;
feels strong on acute skin.

Out of sight refrigerator hums,
choired to my silent serenade,
it is felt and it is heard;
it is known.

Sensory experimentation of isolation,
just a young boy,
snuck from bed lying on floor;
playing alive.

A cell of the house I grow with,
too young perhaps,
for deep contemplation;
yet time is utmost in consideration.

Acknowledging the moment,
grasping back then and till then,
sensitivity for the immediate;
a snapshot of the senses, dog-eared in time.

Always available, always free of charge,
reach back and feel then now,
a gift from myself to whatever I will be;
a gift from myself to whenever I will be.

Steam Boat Randy

My brain feels like a 19th century Mississippi Queen chuggin' on down the choppy line.

Toss out the Mark Twain...

never read him.

Toot Toot

Is this even a Sonnet?

I have two feet that will walk and measure,
head out and string up ten lines of treasure.
Straight to the bank we go in a hurry,
cash out and in with poetic fury.
Rhyme for a ducat, a ruby, or pearls,
alabaster sexplosions with beautiful girls.
Ethos by envy as big as my mansion,
paid off in full all thanks to my scansion.
Life on my paper, full of faux pleasure,
Go on and try, it all at your leisure.

Cinco de Mustache

Every year I host a grandiose party on the fifth of May.  It is called Cinco de Mustache, and the only parameter for the event is don't bother showing up if you don't have a mustache.  Beards and goatees do not count, they must be trimmed down.

I drunkenly made a promise to not maintain my mustache (currently in goatee form) from April 1st until said May 5th.

With a little over a month to go it is already behaving like a wicked alley cat.  Every time I open my mouth to eat or drink anything in darts inside and makes a mess.  I feel like I need a broom to shoo it out.

The Regurgitator

I know someone.  I would not go so far as to call them a friend.

Nearly every day our lives intersect he will strike up a completely unwarranted conversation on the most abstract topics and carry on in great length and detail.  He prides himself an expert when talking about his fancies, he makes that very apparent with hand gestures and elite inflection.  It is a very polished and practiced routine, each day a new topic and he a new master of lore.  The stuff he rattles on about almost never interests me, even with me being someone who enjoys trivia and useless knowledge more than say the next guy.

Camera film, the 1988 Olympics, sexual fetishes, fluoride, burlap, any and all music (oh god the music), escort services, serial killers, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc, ad infinitum.

I recently discovered (but always suspected) that whatever appears on the web-page Reddit is always the days lecture.

He is a younger man, maybe 19 or 20 years old, and never finished high-school.  I can tell he wants to impress me by inventorying his brain and unloading the days catch, and I allow it to continue with "Oh yeas," and "interestings."  He treats his information like he is the only one capable of reading this website.  Like he has the only existing treasure map to some El Dorado of fucking news.

My new game is to bone up on Reddit in the morning and later when he starts up with his, "Did you knows," to follow up with, "yes, actually, I dids."

I am interested to see what happens when he finally catches on.  I feel like it is my way of gently letting him know that regurgitating wikiknowledge does not make you seem smarter, but rather the opposite.

51 Steps

I feel like I've taken 25 steps forward and 26 steps backward since I've been back from Ecuador.

Exhausting.

Lbs. Suit

The past many years I have allowed many people to put a great weight onto my shoulders, whether it be their emotions or burdens.

I have typically and calmly worn it well, usually without complaint.

I still do.

But I gotta say, it is starting to get heavy.

That's why I'm not a doctor I guess

As a professional doctor and surgeon (which I am not) concerned with the recovery as much as the outcome to any procedure performed on one of my fine patients, if there was an instance where I was required to filet open and fuse/splice/whatever nerves in the spinal column located within the neck, my initial route of action would probably BE the neck.

Not going in through the mouth.

Going in through the mouth would not be unlike attempting to repair a defect in the driver side tire of a car via torching a hole through the engine block.

Ockham's Razor.  Keep the cutting clean, please.

Positive attitude.

After buying Melissa's engagement ring, I'm broke as hell.

But I like to think of it as a regression to an archaic barter system where gold and diamonds are everyday currency.

In that case, I'm still broke as hell, but I'm engaged to someone who is filthy rich.

Photographer

I am not a photographer.

I do not own a nice camera.

My camera that I do own does not take nice pictures.

Still, The Sky Is My Garden inspires me not only to write, but also to take a stab at photography.

I think you will get a kick out of this one Mitch, it was taken in the bell-tower of The Basilica del Voto Nacional.

The church is over 600 years old, yet this room and its walkways are a recent remodel.

Reminds of M. C. Escher.

Winter Randy : Oct. 26th 2011 - March 26th 2012

Tuesdays always find me blindly stumbling my way into the shower after my alarm clock's awful song rings out for a second time.

This day came with an additional bonus.  After my shower, after I had raised my core level of alertness and put on my glasses, I noticed and remembered that my beard had became a goatee.

Winter Randy of 2011-2012 fame now gets to live the rest of existence in the retirement of the past, and Spring Randy 2012 takes off into a frosty yet warmly beautiful day.

I am excited, for I have not felt a breeze on my cheeks since before Halloween.

That day on this day

Here, at the Mitad del Mundo monument in Quito Ecuador, I proposed to Melissa.  If we had been at this location today, since it is directly on the equator, a unique phenomenon would have occurred:

The absence of all shadows.

Not bad for a St. Clair.

Hotele Vieja Cuba!

Trying to book a hotel in the third world from the first has been a headache.

But my dart has hit the bullseye!

Quito, here we come...

A leaf for the turning?

Many things are happening...

Our apartment building has been sold to the Devil.  Today he walks through.

I tried to work less this week in preparation for our trip.  I ended up with an extra shift.

We leave on Saturday for the other side of the world.  I think I'm ready.

My father has no end to complaints on nearly every aspect of his life.  I may give him a call.

My brother and his wife are with child again.  Hopefully it goes well this time.

Should I bring The Quartzsite Trip to Ecuador, or the Bhagavad Gita?  A few hours will tell me the answer.

Math

The total number of days until we leave for Ecuador is now less than the total amount of days we will be spending in Ecuador.

Salamanders

Gearing up for my upcoming trip to Ecuador has had me beginning a pharmaceutical program of taking the anti-malarial drug Larium.  This drug has many interesting side effects.  Rapid and vivid dreaming is one of them.  I must have had 1,000 dreams last night.  I struggle to remember my dreams.  This is one exception:

There were four of us.  We were humanoid but never human.  We were neither man nor woman, simply Man.

The Earth was a primordial sphere of pristine water and coral-like black rock.

We each set out in different opposing directions.  Our intentions were not discussed or known.

I went East.  The others went North, South, and West.

Arriving at East, I made a dock.  There was no construction.  I needed there to be a dock, so after a short while there was one.

Standing back to admire my dock I saw approximately twenty smaller humanoids working baskets and crates around.  They were dock workers.  Though a dock typically lies on the threshold between water and land, ours was completely water.  A water that you could be in, where the docks separated the other water.  I had accomplished what I knew not what I set out to do.

Then the giant salamanders came.

Pangaeaically massive, they swam up from the depths.  They had tiny eyes that took up so little of their blunt heads, yet shined with infinite knowledge.

They were smiling.  Their smiles were both the effect of a salamander's skull shape and a joy for what I had created.

They had been waiting for untold aeons for me to come and make my port town.

Without saying a word yet staring directly at me, they began to flex their bodies.

Me and roughly half of my civilization instinctively clutched at the coral rocks with all our might, the other half ran off scared.

The giant salamanders began to quickly draw in oceanic volumes of water into their mouths.

Everything rushed around me, I could feel the water sucking past my skin and hair, the sharp rocks digging into my fingernails as I held on against the force.

I wasn't scared.  Those who were scared were sucked into the salamanders.  A few that were holding on were sucked into the salamanders as well.

After a short while the salamanders ceased, smiled at me one more time, then slowly sank back down into the depths.

I and those that remained returned to our work on the dock.

Selfish Charity

I often times suspect selfish intentions in people who are overtly charitable.
Giving and giving all in the name of being known as a giver.  Any action we make puts our reputation at stake, great or small, good or bad.

It's not unlike being a warlord.
Killing and pillaging so that others fear your power.  Your actions directed by the final outcome of other people's opinion of you.  In the warlord's case you want others to tremble at your name.

The giver wants others to rejoice at their name, to be known as a good man.

Key word there is wants.

That is not to say that there aren't any truly charitable people out there.
I like to think they are living in hermitude and do great things for others without ever being detected.

An Idea Came To Me Just Now

The city of missoula has enjoyed a warm wintery season.  Very little snow, mostly rain, has been infrequently falling and drying up.  Thanksgiving and Christmas have came and gone, and most of my driving has been done with a zip-up sweatshirt and a downed window.

That is until two days ago.  When we received roughly 20 inches of snow in 48 hours.

It is as if our winter was delivered to us by a kinked hose.  All dried up as a bone, with pressure building and backing up on account of a hopeless curve, until the sharp acute burst open and we received our entire snowy payload all at once.

Now, artificially warmed by two glasses of Balvini double barrel single malt.

One of Speyburn ten year.

Currently enjoying a Dos Equis Lager Especial.

An idea came to me.



Tomorrow, on my day off, I am going to make a gigantic fucking snowman.

Instant Coffee

My heart goes out to anybody who has ever forgot to pick up more coffee at the store, yet for some reason owns a jar of instant coffee, and decided that the crystals will suffice for just this one day.

They don't.

Hourglass

Two more days will see me at work all day.

One day will see me drinking all day to celebrate the end of all work days.

One half day will be spent holding my head in recovery after the all drink day to end all work days.

Then it will be back to normal one half day after the half recovery day to the all drink day ending all work days.

Through Doors and Into Places

I will take memory
walk with it
hold it in my hands
in the folds of my body
through doors and into places.

I will buy it a drink
it will play for me
will burgeon and bloom
radiant and warm
in tandem we cherish.

But the sun always sets
and in the tomorrows
memory will whine
there in my hand
hungry for something.

And these days when it whines
needing what I can't give it
I will wish
to throw it away
to rid myself of its burdon.

I will try and hide it
in my pockets
in the folds of my body
for I will tire
of it's unchanging.

But my aching hands
they won't let go
no matter how I try
it stays with me
through doors and into places.

Memory will become my rumor
It will grow beyond my control.

Only then will we know
what we have done
where we are now
who we will be
through doors and into places.


(To be revised when I have more than 15 minutes to myself a day)

Rough Shape on the Diamond

I find myself guilty on more than one count covering multiple charges against my character and behavior the past 13 human calendar days.  

All crimes committed were legally negligible, ethically unoffending, and by no means indictable in a court of law.  No persons or sentient animals (beyond the mental capacity of 4 trout (all of which survived) and 1 walleye (deceased)) were harmed during my living of these past 312 hours.  In addition there were no objects of legally recognized property (aside from two coffee mugs (one christmasy, one futuristic) and mankind's champagne supply) damaged, burglarized, vandalized, or in any way set fire to, removed from proper ownership, or illegally broadcast over 2-meter amateur radio; nor was any offense directed toward public policy or morality in either physical or verbal modus operandi that would be worth documenting for use against me in a small claims court or the Supreme Court; nor was there any conspiracy to commit crime or inspire a conspiracy to incite a crime that would result in criminal conspiracy to incite a crime; nor further were there any lasting damages suffered upon the planet Earth as it exists as a sensitive amalgamation of geo-formations, bio-organic habitatry (habitatry (hab-i-tat-ree) is not a real word), and systemic climactic structures that would permanently alter the global dynamo (assuming that our planet has been ravaged to a point of insensitivity by centuries of human expansion).

There was however 1 cat removed from the windshield of my 2001 Daewoo Nubira (again no animals were harmed during my living of these past now 313 hours) via wiper blades while the the vehicle was in motion; a general elevation of volumes outputting from my voice, apartment, and overall adjacent vicinity during New Year's Eve from neural and electrical breakdowns caused by imprudent consumption of champagne; an excessive discharge of Buzz Bee Air Blaster's brand foam dart weaponry; an irritating but not illegal chatter transmitted over 2-meter amateur radio frowned upon by the FCC (by no means punishable (though stern lecturing from anonymous local Ham Operators was reported) or feasibly traceable); a failure to spend a week with the woman I love who was enjoying a week off from work (because I was on some sort of anti-vacation where I could only be at work all day and night); and a disgusting amount of tobacco cigarette consumption (for someone who has allegedly quit smoking).

Foremost and sternly mentioned is a first degree conviction of letting two weeks elapse without writing.

Judgement will be carried out swiftly and painlessly.