Sunday, April 28, 2013


by Sarah Kay
I had already fallen in love with far too many postage stamps.
When you appeared on my doorstep wearing nothing but a postcard promise.
No, appear is the wrong word. Is there a word for sucker punching someone in the heart?
Is there word for when you’re sitting at the bottom of a roller coaster and you realize that the climb is coming, that you know what the climb means, that you can already feel the flip in your stomach from the fall before you’ve even moved?
Is there a word for that?
There should be.

You can only fit so many words in a postcard.
Only so many in a phone call, only so many into space before you forget that words are sometimes used for things other than filling emptiness.
It is hard to build a body out of words – I have tried.
We have both tried.
Instead of lying your head against my chest, I tell you about the boy who lives downstairs from me.
Who stays up all night long practicing his drum set.
The neighbors have complained. They have busy days tomorrow, but he keeps on thumping through the night convinced, I think, that practice makes perfect.
Instead of holding my hand, you tell me about the sandwich you made for lunch today.
How the pickles fit so perfectly against the lettuce. Practice does not make perfect.
Practice makes permanent.

Repeat the same mistakes over and over and you don’t get any closer to Carnage Hall, even I know that.
Repeat the same mistakes over and over and you don’t get any closer! You never get any closer.
Is there a word for the moment you win tug of war?
When the weight gives and all that extra rope comes tumbling towards you.
How even though you’ve won you still wind up with muddy knees and scratches on your hands.
Is there a word for that? I wish there was.
I would have said it.
When we were finally alone together on your couch, neither one of us with anything left to say.

Still now, I send letters into space.
Hoping that some mailman somewhere will track you down and recognize you from the descriptions in my poems.

That he will place the stack of them in your hands and tell you “There is a girl who still writes you. She doesn’t know how not to.”
I was sent this poem, so I want to keep it here.
It hit her last year. Its hitting me now.

Saturday, April 27, 2013


Back when I lived at Findhorn, the Scottish Spiritual Commune and classic New Age eco-center, where even the metal utensils were considered “beings” deserving of basic rights without regard the the accident of their manufacture,  and the holes in the colander were windows to the soul, poultry and livestock were well aware of their role in the cosmic scheme of things. Calf and Chick alike read the classics, listened to Opera, learned to tap dance. The television practically stayed on PBS.
Because at Findhorn, we didn’t just want food that tasted good, we wanted food with good taste.

Wednesday, April 24, 2013


1) Turn down cake on your birthday.

2) Become the type of person who sends back lattes.

3) Refuse to forget your ex.

4) Find new ways to make yourself sad.

5) Get fucked up all the time.

6) Look at old Facebook photos wasted and wonder where everyone went.

7) Talk a lot about things you know nothing about.

8) Monitor carefully. Succumb to nothing. Miss out on everything.

9) Don’t fall in love with anyone or anything.

10) Fall in love with everyone and everything.

Stolen and condensed from Mila's Thought Catalogue

Tuesday, April 23, 2013


For the things that I really don’t care for about Sophie Hawkins, I got to say she really nails this song both in the way she sings it and her body language. If you’ve ever felt this way, you know it’s a near death experience.
Dylans version, I swear he almost sings it like it a joke—
When Sophie sings it, well, it’s a suicide. I keep waiting for her to go ahead and rip her dress off and tear her heart out.

“The guilty undertaker sighs
The lonesome organ grinder cries
The silver saxophones say I should refuse you
The cracked bells and washed-out horns
Blow into my face with scorn
But it's not that way
I wasn't born to lose you
I want you, I want you
I want you so bad
Honey, I want you.

The drunken politician leaps
Upon the street where mothers weep
And the saviors who are fast asleep
They wait for you
And I wait for them to interrupt
Me drinkin' from my broken cup
And ask for me
Open up the gate for you
I want you, I want you
Yes, I want you so bad
Honey, I want you.

Now all my fathers they've gone down
True love they've been without it
But all their daughters put me down
'Cause I don't think about it.

Well, I return to the Queen of Spades
And talk with my chambermaid
She knows that I'm not afraid
To look at her
She is good to me
And there's nothing she doesn't see
She knows where I'd like to be
But it doesn't matter
I want you, I want you
Yes, I want you so bad
Honey, I want you.

Now your dancing child with his Chinese suit
He spoke to me, I took his flute
No, I wasn't very cute to him - Was I ?
But I did though because he lied
Because he took you for a ride
And because time was on his side
And because I ..
I want you, I want you
Yes, I want you so bad
Honey, I want you.

Sunday, April 21, 2013


I can't even tell you about. There are no pictures, no names, and  I really shouldn't even call it a date, but here it is 3 o'clock in the morning and its like I'm 16 again, ready to throw myself of the Hurstview Bridge.
It really does suck, finding out you still bleed red, and can still get hurt..

Here we are at _______  ________, having the time of our lives.
Ive never spemt an evening feeling so close, so warm, and so full with someone I can't even acknowledge my love for.
I can tell you all about it in 100 years or so.

Thursday, April 18, 2013

“for women who are ‘difficult’ to love"

"you are a horse running alone
and he tries to tame you
compares you to an impossible highway
to a burning house
says you are blinding him
that he could never leave you
forget you
want anything but you
you dizzy him, you are unbearable
every woman before or after you
is doused in your name
you fill his mouth
his teeth ache with memory of taste
his body just a long shadow seeking yours
but you are always too intense
frightening in the way you want him
unashamed and sacrificial
he tells you that no man can live up to the one who
lives in your head
and you tried to change didn’t you?
closed your mouth more
tried to be softer
less volatile, less awake
but even when sleeping you could feel
him travelling away from you in his dreams
so what did you want to do love
split his head open?
you can’t make homes out of human beings
someone should have already told you that
and if he wants to leave
then let him leave
you are terrifying
and strange and beautiful
something not everyone knows how to love."

Warsan Shire, “for women who are ‘difficult’ to love”

Sunday, April 14, 2013


For my friends Red Dirt Mule and Souby. They have been my good blog friends for many years now. They say his next plane ticket from England to Houston will be one way.
Thats so great.

We were standin' on a mountain top
Where the cactus flowers grow
I was wishin' that the world would stop
When you said we'd better go
We took a rowboat 'cross the Rio Grande
Captain Pablo was our giude
For two dollars in a weathered hand
He rowed us to the other side

And we were dreamin' like the end was not in sight
And we dreamed all afternoon
We asked the world to wait so we could celebrate
A gringo honeymoon

We stepped out onto the golden sand
The sun was high and burning down
Rented donkeys from an old blind man
Saddled up and rode to town
Tied our donkeys to an ironwood tree
By the street where the children play
We walked in the first place we could see
Servin' cold beer in the shade

We were drinkin' like the end was not in sight
And we drank all afternoon
We asked the world to wait so we could celebrate
A gringo honeymoon

Met a cowboy who said that he
Was running from the DEA
He left a home, a wife, a family
When he made his getaway
We followed him on down a street of dust
To his one room run-down shack
He blew a smoke ring and he smiled at us
I ain't never goin' back

We were flyin' like the end was not in sight
And we soared all afternoon
We asked the world to wait so we could celebrate
A gringo honeymoon

He said there's one last place that you should go
He took us to the town's best bar
He knew a crusty caballero
Who played an old gut string guitar
And he sang like Marty Robbins could
Played like no one I've known
For a while we knew that life was good
It was ours to take back home

We were singin' like the end was not in sight
And we sang all afternoon
We asked the world to wait so we could celebrate
A gringo honeymoon

We were standin' on a mountain top
Where the cactus flowers grow
I was wishin' that the world would stop
When you said we'd better go

Tuesday, April 09, 2013

Papa Bear’s BBQ Hot Link Sandwich

It’s a secret, but no secret, and it’s a rule, but no rule, that you will find the BEST BBQ in the most unlikely places.
Down in the piney woods of east Texas, just south of Carthage there is a little 10 foot Airstream Trailer with a smokestack coming out the top and an awning over the window where you place your order. There are a couple picnic tables in theparking lot, and a beat up sign that reads:

I remember the first time I stopped in at Papa Bears. I was hungry as a horse, on my way home from fishing at Toledo Bend. I said hello to the girl at the little window, and decided on “Papa Bears BBQ Hot Link Sandwich”. I thought for a minute I might get two I was so hungry, but I asked the girl if that came with onions and jalapenos and cheese and stuff.
“Oh yes sir, we put lots on there”
“Good” I replied and went and sat down at the picnic table,and watched an old man with a broom sweep the asphalt in the parking lot.

A few minutes later the girl brings my hot link sandwich out.
I couldn’t believe it!
It was two Hot Links on a bun, open-faced and topped with about half a pound of chopped BBQ Brisket, smothered in onions and jalapenos and buried underneath grated cheddar cheese.
I didnt expect the chopped brisket on top. Nice touch. I guess that's what made it Papa Bears.
The thing must have weighed about two pounds.
I was really glad I hadn’t ordered two.

So as I ate this sandwich with the plastic fork she gave me,I took note of the old man sweeping the parking lot. A weather beaten face,grey whiskers, and kind wrinkles around his eyes, he looked to be a really fit 70.

“Excuse me sir, are you Papa Bear?” I asked.
He stopped sweeping and leaned on his broom. ‘Yes sir that would be me.”
“Well sir, I just want you to know that I am a chef at a really nice Country Club up in Fort Worth, and this is a damndest sandwich I ever had. When I get back to work, I’m going to put this on the menu. I’m a gonna call it Papa Bear’s BBQ Hot Link Sandwich, just like you do!”

Did he swell up in pride? Uh-uh.
Was he impressed to have a REAL CHEF eating at his little BBQ stand. Not so much.
Nonplussed? Not at all.

What Papa Bear did was stop sweeping the parking lot long enough to lean on his broom, and with just a little touch of amusement on his face say to me:

Friday, April 05, 2013


You might think of him as a guy that just talked about movies...

“Many films diminish us. They cheapen us, masturbate our senses, hammer us with shabby thrills, diminish the value of life. Some few films evoke the wonderment of life’s experience, and those I consider a form of prayer. Not prayer “to” or anything, but prayer “about” everyone and everything. I believe prayer that makes requests is pointless. What will be, will be. But I value the kind of prayer when you stand at the edge of the sea, or beneath a tree, or smell a flower, or love someone, or do a good thing. Those prayers validate existence and snatch it away from meaningless routine.
Roger Ebert
Gathered at Crashingly Beautiful a couple years ago.

Today  at The Sweetest Spots:
-Roger Ebert

Tuesday, April 02, 2013


Texas Rehabilitation Hospital
Where my sister, who suffers from MS, is trying to recover from a major surgery.
She had 3 discs in her neck fused together. In addition to these specific maladies, she is also pitiful, miserable, has a low (zero) tolerance for pain, and will never miss a chance to complain.
Here is how yesterday went:

“They are kicking me out of rehab” she said.
‘Why?” I ask.
“Because they are a bunch of horses asses here. They are not taking care of me. This bed is uncomfortable. The pillows are like bricks. They locked me into the bed last night without telling me. They keep changing my medicine without telling me. They made me eat broth because they said I was constipated. That won’t work. They don’t know what they are doing. I asked for water, and they won’t bring me any, and now I have contracted Thrush, and it feels like my mouth is on fire. I can’t get any rest here, so I can’t do the therapy exercises, so they are releasing me tomorrow.”
(there is a sign on her door saying she is not to be awakened until after 7am, I don’t know what time they start there, but my sister is a special case)

And what I am thinking is what a high maintenance patient she must be, and how they are likely doing everything humanly possible to keep my sister comfortable, but she is just too ready to complain and willing to be miserable for anyone to ever be able to satisfy her needs.
But then my sis continues:

“The doctor ordered a soft neck brace for me Sunday, and they haven’t brought that to me yet. He said it would be more comfortable for sleeping than the one I have now (a big green plexiglass monster looking thing) but they haven’t brought it for me because they are idiots and just don’t care, and I can’t get any rest in this Frankenstein neck brace”

Well, this makes me sit up and take a little notice. She is in a Million dollar facility, probably her insurance is paying 1000 bucks a day, and she has gone 72 hours without a medical device that has been prescribed for her by her physician? A medical device that would alleviate her discomfort, and maybe help with her therapy that she is unable to do and that is why they are releasing her? Suddenly, all her bellyaching has a certain credibility to it.
I'll tell you the truth...the fact that they have given her story some credibility pisses me off even more than her actual discomfort. That's how big an asshole I am.

So I go to the nurses station.
“My sister needs her soft collar neck brace”
“We don’t have one”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know.”
“It was ordered Monday right, yes?”
“Yes, but they keep them in storage downstairs, and no one is here with a key tonight.”
"But its Thursday today. What happened to Tuesday and Wednesday?"
"They didn't get the brace."
I look around over my shoulder. "They? Who is they?"
"The day shift."
“Is this some specialty item?”
“No, Mr. Bullets, you can get them at CVS.”
Holy crap! Now the short hairs on the back of my neck are going “woo-woo-woo” and I say:
“So if I go get one of these, you can put it on her, and she will experience some relief, and she will have one less thing to bitch about?”

So off I go to CVS to furnish the million dollar hospital with rehabilitation supplies they have, but just can’t seem to deliver to my sister. And the whole way there and back, the old chef, the crazy killer intolerant son-of-a –bitch that resides in a shallow grave in my head, he starts to rise up.

I am going up the elevator now, and thinking to myself “Don’t stop at the nurses’ station, just keep going and put this thing on her by yourself, and nobody gets hurt.
But I just can’t do it.

I set the package with a thud on the counter. Nurse Ratchet looks up and says happily:
“You got it!”
“Yes, I did. Could you please put this on my sister so that she doesn’t hurt anymore.”
“Sure. You really are a good brother to go get this for her.”
And that was it. That’s all it took.

“No I’m not a good brother. I suck as a brother. But she has laid there for three days waiting to get this brace the doctor ordered for her. There must be thousands of these down in your little neck-brace closet downstairs that nobody has a key to, and all I did was show a little empathy and take a 5 minute drive around the corner to get a medical device a doctor ordered 3 days ago for YOUR patient that cost a whopping big 14 bucks, and I think that is ridiculous. This is a Rehabilitation Hospital right? That’s what it says on the sign out front. I'm sure i saw a sign that said it was a Rehabilitation Something.”
She gulped, but another nurse in the station turns and tries to help.
She says “You know, you sound just like your sister.”
And she laughed.

Holy shit. I got two of them now. So I said:
“ I know my sister is difficult. She is pitiful acting, she complains, she’s vindictive and its always someone’s fault whatever is happening to her. I can’t hardly stand to be around her more than an hour at a time. But I love her, and if ya’ll here at the Texas Rehabilitation Hospital can’t supply her with the medical rehabilitation supplies that a doctor has prescribed for her to help her with her recovery, even after three days, then you incompetent dumb-asses deserve everything you get from her. I don’t think it’s fucking funny at all.”

They didn't even flinch, but went back to staring at their computer screens.
I said all this outside the earshot of my sister, but I said it plenty loud.

I went back to the room and told her that they would be in a minute with her neck brace.
“Thank you” she said, almost in tears “You are the best brother in the world”