(Some of) the ones that got away
I have no excuse for stop posting, really. For the oddest of reasons, whatever it is, I simply cannot stop writing.
For instance— I was kind of rummaging for nothing special on a pen drive I’d found earlier this morning and that pen drive alone has a folder named To do, which pretty much contains aborted posts for this blog. There are tens of files, some of them barely a handful of words long, some of them that go on for pages.
There are poems in there, haikus, unfinished scripts for movies, comic books and cartoons, half a dozen aborted, barely not even started novellas and short tales, you name it. I wish I could tell you each of them would get me a Pulitzer but that is not the case.
Either way here’s my excerpting from some of them, loosely ranging from 2007 to 2009:
I. From file ‘fellatio.doc’:
On fellatio (the word if not the act)
We were walking across the mall, M**** and I, going back to the office after lunch the other day, and I told him: “You know, if you really think about it, not too many people know what fellatio really means.”
“What does it mean?” he asked me.
I told him.
“Oh,” he said. “That.”
That brief conversation dawned upon me a brand-new theory:
You can actually say “fellatio” aloud anywhere, and no one will bother you.
With M**** as a witness I tried at the Shopping Center, then in the elevator, at the office, including when talking to the Management. It was something like, “….so you sir, when you’re actually comparing the- fellatio- ratio between those two points on the chart…”
What I really think is that, in reality, everyone knows what fellatio means, but everyone who knows thinks the next guy doesn’t: Like, here I am saying fellatio to M****, who says he doesn’t know the word.
II. From file ‘gnothi_seauton.doc’:
Gnothi seauton, pt. I
So fast-forward to say a month or two afterwards and there I am, on a Friday night at home in the future, scotch-taping some funny-looking scribbles to the inside of my door. Then I’m sitting on the couch, morosely, barely moving, slouching, contemplating.
Enjoying the silence.
“Know thyself” it says in Greek; it’s supposed to have been written over the entryway to this temple of Apollo at wherever, really. Philosophers employ the expression to symbolize man’s need for self-awareness and self-cognizance: understanding oneself as the first step to understand those around you and all the crap.
I wouldn’t know any of that, though. I totally ripped it off some Batman comic book I’d been reading.
III. From file ‘spit.doc’:
Pondering some of life’s greatest questions
I’m in the bathroom at the office, okay? And all of a sudden I get this nagging feeling I must spit.
Should I spit at the sink, the toilet, or the urinal?
Is there a proper spitting place at the bathroom?
IV. From file ‘several_haikus.txt’:
Tonight at the park,
windblown petals on the ground
-- my damp evening blues.
A few years ago,
asking, How to eat oysters?
-- Rev it up and go.
A phonecall away,
Yeah, she says but never comes:
College in Summer.
Earlymorning dark,
the book of poems unread.
Hey Jack Keroauc...
Two brunettes in heels
borrow fifty for a cab
Then say Good morning.
Roast chicken on sidewalk,
past stores that have since closed down
--Ode to my hometown.
Long line at restaurant,
families waiting for tables,
come Election Day.
For instance— I was kind of rummaging for nothing special on a pen drive I’d found earlier this morning and that pen drive alone has a folder named To do, which pretty much contains aborted posts for this blog. There are tens of files, some of them barely a handful of words long, some of them that go on for pages.
There are poems in there, haikus, unfinished scripts for movies, comic books and cartoons, half a dozen aborted, barely not even started novellas and short tales, you name it. I wish I could tell you each of them would get me a Pulitzer but that is not the case.
Either way here’s my excerpting from some of them, loosely ranging from 2007 to 2009:
I. From file ‘fellatio.doc’:
On fellatio (the word if not the act)
We were walking across the mall, M**** and I, going back to the office after lunch the other day, and I told him: “You know, if you really think about it, not too many people know what fellatio really means.”
“What does it mean?” he asked me.
I told him.
“Oh,” he said. “That.”
That brief conversation dawned upon me a brand-new theory:
You can actually say “fellatio” aloud anywhere, and no one will bother you.
With M**** as a witness I tried at the Shopping Center, then in the elevator, at the office, including when talking to the Management. It was something like, “….so you sir, when you’re actually comparing the- fellatio- ratio between those two points on the chart…”
What I really think is that, in reality, everyone knows what fellatio means, but everyone who knows thinks the next guy doesn’t: Like, here I am saying fellatio to M****, who says he doesn’t know the word.
II. From file ‘gnothi_seauton.doc’:
Gnothi seauton, pt. I
So fast-forward to say a month or two afterwards and there I am, on a Friday night at home in the future, scotch-taping some funny-looking scribbles to the inside of my door. Then I’m sitting on the couch, morosely, barely moving, slouching, contemplating.
Enjoying the silence.
“Know thyself” it says in Greek; it’s supposed to have been written over the entryway to this temple of Apollo at wherever, really. Philosophers employ the expression to symbolize man’s need for self-awareness and self-cognizance: understanding oneself as the first step to understand those around you and all the crap.
I wouldn’t know any of that, though. I totally ripped it off some Batman comic book I’d been reading.
III. From file ‘spit.doc’:
Pondering some of life’s greatest questions
I’m in the bathroom at the office, okay? And all of a sudden I get this nagging feeling I must spit.
Should I spit at the sink, the toilet, or the urinal?
Is there a proper spitting place at the bathroom?
IV. From file ‘several_haikus.txt’:
Tonight at the park,
windblown petals on the ground
-- my damp evening blues.
A few years ago,
asking, How to eat oysters?
-- Rev it up and go.
A phonecall away,
Yeah, she says but never comes:
College in Summer.
Earlymorning dark,
the book of poems unread.
Hey Jack Keroauc...
Two brunettes in heels
borrow fifty for a cab
Then say Good morning.
Roast chicken on sidewalk,
past stores that have since closed down
--Ode to my hometown.
Long line at restaurant,
families waiting for tables,
come Election Day.
posted by 186282mps at 3:47 PM
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