and so it is… [another place to catch my word drippings]
and what a lovely idea. i cannot think of anything i love more than writing to complete strangers. if you do happen to know me in real life that’s ok too, i am willing to pretend if you are. i need this place to muse and vent and maybe figure a few things out. if you aren’t interested i understand, if you are, keep reading.
color-in-dreams
pomegranate thoughts drip from
my mouth to the ears of a provolone-ly
moon-faced man with gaping
wisdom-tooth-sized-cavities
(with roots deep in impracticalities)
like the inevitable nature of sleep,
and dreams. my pillow sours, a flushed
cheek turns cool wondering at the thing
(the monster lurking near the drinking
glass) a tinge of a dream that singed a lash
as it fluttered fully open…
the mystery of the missing brian hall
i slid in the mud–voices on t.v. floated out the window, my owww
an unnoticed howel to the hungry hangnail-moon.
AIM yrs l8ter: OMG WTF EVER HAPPENED 2 BRIAN HALL?
but that night broken glass was embedded in my foot. a long deep cut,
bloody foot gushing on wet blades of grass…he chased me
around the house in circles, we rode out bikes with0ut touching handlebars.
we picked up broken window-shield glass, pretending the shards were priceless diamonds.
we pulled hairs from giant green men, single strands at a time or in chunks connected to roots
and dirt. once i broke a branch off a tiny tree his dad had just planted, i grabbed it
and put my full 60lbs into a swing, landing hand in hand with wrinkled leaf and bending limb.
The White Stripes – Apple Blossom Time (Live)
there is no one sexier than jack white. i just thought i would share this and give you an idea why the white stripes have been my favorite band since i was like 15 years old and i saw the dead leaves video on late night mtv and watched the stripes on conan when he was still ON late night. growing up is hard to do but at least i’ve had idols like jack, kurt and hunter. i am in good literary hands for all three of these men are literary geniuses and we all know how i feel about the way jack and kurt can play a guitar. each of them represent the most important things in my life so far: honesty, beauty, and poetry. i want to share my favorite moments from my heroes and idols so that the world will not overlook or forget them and their contributions to me and generations of dreamers and artists and writers and ever silent observers. i hope everyone enjoys the new blog i will be tackling (a list-blog but one that will be full of the most interesting things i can think to write about, i hope you will join me there, oh my brothers) your humble narrator will make it all better and show you what real music can do to the gulliver once left to sodding warp in the like sticky mess of mind-goo. go forth and prosper and perspire oh my little sissies and brothers because tomorrow we might be knocking down the door and busting out of these chests, shit we might be buried up to our necks or worse. we might not get a chance to say goodbye, god knows it’s happened before, so let’s pretend for now that goodbye is now so we won’t miss the chance later after life has handed us its last tart lemon…
musings:laundry
is it called that because you used to have to hang your laundry over your “lawn” to dry? is this yet another example of the power of folk-etymology on the transformation of slang into language or simply a happy accident? you be the judge (or i could look up the origins of the word) hmm good call,go ahead and let me know what you discover, i’ve already looked it up for myself and i believe the ability to look something up for oneself is an honorable and helpful attribute. you will all thank me in the morning… or something like that!
i think my explaination is fun 
i think i should bring you more word origins soon, they are fun!
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hardy -har i crack myself up but i don’t do my brain on drugs. (only on mondays) watch this if you have 19 seconds to waste (i wouldn’t do it personally) but don’t take my word for it see what the satisfied customers have to say in the comment box!
THE FINE PRINT!
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this is your friendly neighborhood youtuber and like all things my affections can be purchased with your loyal viewing of my horrifyingly lame poetry and attempt at art-house productions and college films (at best) but come on down and tell ‘em blasted goat sent ya… i think it is only fair of me to warn you that by viewing this video you are in effect selling your soul to the devil by which i mean me and by your soul i mean the 19 seconds i stole from you in order for me to get my point across. i mean you better watch out, someday life as we know it, the internet as we know it will no longer be the same. please think about each and every caption and ad you allow to overshadow our creative endeavors and ask yourself if the ads are worth it? why do we spend more money on advertising than on solving diseases or building things that are useful? i for one am sick of living in a world that is conjested with commericals, exhausted with e-mail spam, and overloaded with consumerism at its worst. we have a devalued dollar, a country that is falling apart from the inside out and we have nothing better to do than talk about fucking jon and kate plus 8, brittney spears’ vagina, or a creepy 50-year-old that liked to touch little boys. MICHAEL JACKSON IS NOT DEAD, HE IS JUST PLANNING ONE HELL OF A ZOMBIE COMEBACK TOUR!!
last day of june
it is beautiful outside, especially for an iowa summer. we are just breaking into july which means fireworks 
i hope nobody blows their hands off but you can never be sure… i am drinking (slightly) if you call two beers (one shotgunned) and a strawberry margarita slightly drinking… i have never been a heavy drinker but i feel i better prepare myself… sparks might fly tonight.
not from me of course but we are hanging out with andy’s ex nikki tonight and we just so happen to live with andy and his new gf so i have no idea how this is going to work out. he was sent to the store with change to get more booze.
if that isn’t the answer… we surely be fucked, sucked or on a trip for biscuits or some such nonsense.
i rarely drink and type… i wouldn’t call this writing exactly… i suppose it is letters arranged in sentances, still it seems so insignificant but so does everything these days… everything so meaningless where i used to dream up meanings in everything.
still i hope the summer will be fun… we’ll see…
closing time… aka mandy’s sanity unravels!
your attention please it is almost time to close, please pack the fuck up and get the fuck out!
i have been sitting here 8 hours (omg) can’t believe it… my seat has fallen asleep…
anyway, i just wanted to let you all know how boring it is working in a library… during the summer : /
maybe i can see the sun over the 4th of july–happy birthday AMERICA (not the band) about time you started acting a little more mature,
all these celebs are dropping like flies and mandy keeps writing silly-willy-itty-bitty-little-blogs (on the side) FOR SHAME.
you keep coming back for her charms (you’re so lucky) she will apologize now for stupid things she might type any second…
oh, and all the silly things she thought before
i saw him… [revised]
i am envious of the lens that saw him moments before he died–
he smiled. kids rolled down hills, their screams were the things of dreams…
i tumble and feel wet grass, growing around his gravestone, a place that marks
the letter sealed inside. words eaten long ago by worms–scorched on a sidewalk,
split in half for the world to see what’s inside him and inside me.
nothing feels right
until i watch this tape.
i can’t be sure how many times i have been half expecting to see him
turn a corner.
instead he floats further down river…
i never saw him, i wasn’t there when they pulled him from underneath a bridge
after days of searching and seeing dated photographs
on the channel 7 news. i didn’t see his smile, we never kissed at all…
a picture someone gave me after your funeral makes my fiance jealous,
jealous of bones and a seven-year-old-conversation late in to the night
one summer i spent the night at home alone.
june 10 2009
feeling like a fish
with a skeleton grin
smelly and wise,
many rivers i’ve swam
hair tangles in wet knots
around my bony spine,
i hate dead socket eyes
staring at me-but
in the mirror
they’re mine…
