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ISBN 1-440-463441
First Edition - 01/2009
for Levittown…
Not Just a Package 134 Bad, Wicked World, Your Opinion, Bad Luck,
Trixie's Trying Trick 136 Filing System, I Don't Know What to Write
Dirk Doom 4 136 My Sacrifice, 911
The Sixth Year 137
Today Is Sunday, August 5, 10:25pm
Raffles 138
So Far 140 The Old Scottish Lane, I Fall for It Every Time
Amtrak from Harrisburg 143
Beat Street 181
The Mud Slide 144
Accidental Bully 182
Greyhound to Savannah 146
I Hate Rain 184
Fruity Toot Days Dirk Doom 6 185
and the Lazy Haze 148 For Those Who Have
Blogs 151 Defied the Odds 186
Death Rattle The Legend of Wolf-Rider 190
Predictions in the Year 06 My Mind Spoken 202
Glossary/Keyword Index 205
H2O>$GAS, I Need a Better Agent, Doggy
i
Style
This Time It's Personal
I Have Not a Phillips Head 155
Hocus Pocus 156
i
ix
Foreword
By Emily Q. Taggart
I thought gracing the cover of the book with my head on fire was honor
enough, but given the chance to get some words down about these fine
gentlemen? How could I pass it up? (4th, 5th, or 28th choice, it matters not)
Back in college Chris and Boomer used to let me attend some fine music shows
with them. Christopher enlightened me to the ways of ska. (They have horns? I
love a band with horns!!) Mike and Kyle would join occasionally, but Boomer
was a staple, often jumping off something and wreaking some sort of havoc.
Eventually I came to see that not only did these lunatics know how to have fun,
but they were also ragingly creative. Creative and driven; which is rare to see in
people over the age of 25, as far as I’m concerned.
I moved to California 5 years ago and despite all the shallowness and self
importance, LA/ Hollywood aspiring people have one quality trait in common.
They are driven. Can’t stay out drinking too late –I have an audition. Can’t
jump in the car with you on an impromptu trip to Vegas – I’m working on my
script with my writing partner. They came all the way to California from every
corner of the US to make it. And god damn it they will! (-of course there are
screw ups and burn outs, but I’m speaking generally now and of my fellow
transplants good qualities)
Back to the boys, these fools didn’t need to travel to California, pay high rent,
sit in traffic and worry about earthquakes to stay driven; they did here in good
old Pennsylvania! Using what they have –and a bit of beg, borrow and steal –to
continue their creativity, and among a myriad of other things, this book of
writings.
So read on fellow fans! These boys do not disappoint, and if all else fails, ask
Christopher to make you a mix tape, they’re the best.
xi
Introduction
By Boomer Wadaska
xiii
A Mental Trip
A Mental Trip
C Michael 1
Introduce Yourself
Introduce Yourself
Blonde-headed ambition
blue-eyed superstition
Scorpio constellation
tattooed inanimation
Locally traveled
myopically resuméd
sexually unraveled
financially dismayed
Socially abnormal
hurriedly mislabeled
casually informal
wordly capable
2 Boomer Wadaska
Thoughts
Thoughts
Opening Day
jostled up
at the crack of dawn
because everyone knows that
fish are light sleepers
i put on all the fishing gear
i got the day before
but it didn’t seem to fit me
i went down to the creek
my grandfather
cast a line to the water
meal worm stabbed limp at the end
i sat down and
waited.
my bobber shot
red bullet in the water
so I yanked back like
i was taught
reeled & pulled
soon a fish laid by my side
down on pebbled shore
4 Michael C. Flor
Opening Day
Michael C. Flor 5
Opening Day
6 Michael C. Flor
T.S. Eliot
T.S. Eliot
Boomer Wadaska 7
Off-Kilter Poetry
Off-Kilter Poetry
This word
Is
“Omen”
No
For uh uh
An eerie sunshine
So there
illuminates
Go go
my dad’s Tempo.
Grrrrr
8 C Michael
Off-Kilter Poetry
Clank!
Whirrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.
Clack.
Shzzzzzt.
KERBANG!!!!!
KABOOM!!!!!!!
BANG!!!!
POP!
Fizzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
Crack.
WeeWoo!WeeWoo!WeeWoo!WeeWoo!WeeWoo!
C Michael 9
Off-Kilter Poetry
“I Stir”
My head itches
As my right hand falls asleep
From leaning on my elbow.
The knuckles of my fingers and toes
Beg to be cracked,
Followed by my neck,
Back,
And eyes.
An itch tickles the inside of my knee.
My head itches again.
I stir
I stir
I stir…
10 C Michael
Off-Kilter Poetry
A
rai
ncloud
fullof
r
a
i
n
d
r
o
p
s
f
a
l
l
i
n
g
d
o
w
n
m w
get e et!
C Michael 11
Off-Kilter Poetry
“Beauty is Truth…”
Keats was full of it
because this book
reeks
of truth.
Its pages are soaked
with horrific accounts
of depression
and brutal demonstrations
of irate madness…
sugar-coated with just a hint of delirium…
12 C Michael
Off-Kilter Poetry
“Chapter Two”
Christopher Gets Somewhere “Eva’s Gone Away”
I am awake.
“As a Matter of Fact”
I am an alert and fully functional being.
My body is gelatinous;
up.
I quiver and fall down...
goes
Splat, I go.
ever
I dream.
None of my poetry
I am awake.
“A Bomb”
Ut-o
There is a bomb on this page!
C Michael 13
Rumble Strips
Rumble Strips
i passed away
and live in a dream
where you still ride
beside me, and we
continuing
our travel route together
driving on smooth
concrete, on straightaways
and comfortable curves,
my hand on the wheel and yours
holding mine...
14 Boomer Wadaska
Rumble Strips
my body bears
slit-like scars
salted by time from
dried spit.
i am confined in
fiberglass and plastic,
too stubborn to relinquish my license
but driving without
gas money or toll cash...
Boomer Wadaska 15
Rumble Strips
16 Boomer Wadaska
For the Love of Valencio
Valencio was very sad- distraught in fact- for alas, his hot
tootie-frootie had left him. Or, rather, she kicked the spittoon, sang
her last ditty, bought the potato...she died. This, for some strange
reason, left Valencio feeling lost and lonely inside, for he truly liked
the little dormouse. That's what he called her. She hated it. She
hated him. He never got the hint.
Let me tell you how she died whilst we leave Valencio
blubbering away in his Sani-Fresh tissue. He first saw her when she
was driving her brand new car from the dealership. Oh, it was a
grand sight, let me tell you, but I won't. Anyway, she was cruising
down the road, doo-dopping to her most favoritist song playing on
the radio, while Valencio was out on the same road studying the
cracks in the aforementioned same road. He was doing this because
he felt that the cracks in the road had a direct link to the xerophilous
plants growing in his shower.
Now, back to the woman. She saw Valencio facing her, butt
first, and she thought, "Hmmmm, you know it would be an awful
shame to slow down about now and swerve out of this fool's way. If
I nail him just right, he probably won't leave a dent in my car."
And nail him, she did. With a great satisfying clunk,
Valencio went down as he was hit by the car's bumper and rolled up
and off the hood. Valencio's snuggly-wugglies smiled a morbid little
smirk as she glanced at the sprawled-out body in the road, but then
her eyes widened in horror as she realized the possible ramifications
of her actions. She threw the steering wheel about and returned in
for the final blow to snuff out Valencio. "After all," pondered she, "I
just can't let the poor creature suffer like that and besides, what if he
lives to sue?" This last thought encouraged her to depress the pedal
to the floor.
Just before the woman crushed Valencio's head into a big
gyrating mess, he noticed a new crack had just formed and he rolled
over to observe if this was why his moldy cheese collection failed to
bring in the chicks. Fortunately for him, it also failed to bring in the
100mph chick spinning rubber doom on asphalt.
"**!!@@," exclaimed the throb of Valencio's life, "I'll just
have to take him out with a crowbar!”
18 C Michael
Sunday School
Sunday School
8 years old
watching grownups watching the Super Bowl,
mature men crying hearts breaking,
"Next year's ours for the taking!"
Boomer Wadaska 19
High Heaven
High Heaven
Freshman Poetry
C Michael 21
Freshman Poetry
22 C Michael
Freshman Poetry
Persnickity-snack,
I got hit by a big ol’ Cadillac;
Nothing like a big black sunuvafockingbitch
That guzzle gas like an alcoholic guzzle whiskey,
And takes up two
Parking spaces,
Colliding with my entire body cavity.
The pain just feels like hurt,
But nobody feels it like me,
Because I’m the guy who got killed by the over-sized bastard.
I’m dead. How could you possibly know how I feel?
Butcha wanna know what really pisses me off?
The Goddamned bastard of a driver didn’t even honk!
What a prick!
C Michael 23
Freshman Poetry
“Shaving”
shaving
does a number on my face
my electric butcher
burning my skin with a splash
of aftershave
alcohol-free?
obviously not
smooth?
no way
“Autumn Leaves”
I wish I could paint…
leaves of autumn,
but patience has no place on the end of my brush.
“A picture is worth a thousand words…”
Better for me to write a thousand.
My picture lacks visual perception—only words…
My pen is my brush; my ink, my paint.
I paint,
but not autumn leaves.
24 C Michael
Freshman Poetry
“Neglected Thoughts”
Stunted thoughts
Trapped in my head,
Prisoners of war
Held hostage by my despot mind;
The thoughts that didn’t escape,
Those thoughts nobody hears.
Send in the Green Beret,
My thinking cap;
Rescue these thoughts
And bring them safely home,
Free at last,
Soldiers on file,
But now shunned from the world…
Scoundrels, these thoughts,
Except to a brave few…
To them these thoughts are heroes,
Suffering for their nation,
Their United States of Being,
And finally understood,
Now their work is done;
What is left for them?
These poor neglected thoughts,
These thoughts nobody hears…
C Michael 25
Front Porch
Front Porch
When the hell will all of our vain efforts for global warming finally
bless us with Los Angeles weather and flood Jersey into the Atlantic
giving Levittown prime beach-front property? It has been snowing
for the past few days and is supposed to continue for Lord knows
how much longer. It seems as though State College has some sort of
precipitation every day throughout the year. Now, even though we
have these spells of incessant flurries, we have no accumulation to
snowboard on, just enough to cause bumper car pileups on route 80.
Tussey mountain was open a whole three weeks before someone
declared a drought and they stopped making snow. How on earth
could we possibly have a drought when every time I take off my
boots, my toes have transformed into pale, soggy prunes?
I don’t really mind so much wet weather as much as I do the arctic
State College temperatures. It wouldn’t be so bad if I could escape it
by hibernating indoors in my apartment, but the antique radiators in
this place, which are strategically placed under every single-paned
sieve for a window, have the heat sucked straight to the outdoors. I
am even more disturbed by the fact that three tankfuls of oil since
December hasn’t made a dent in the temperature of the
neighborhood.
If anything positive does come out of this frozen season it would have
all of us truly appreciate clement weather much more than all of the
idiots in Orange County whose biggest weather gripes are
precipitated by frizzy hair.
26 Boomer Wadaska
Front Porch
So as I am standing on my porch, I take notice to cars approaching the
intersection of Sparks and Beaver. Every car that arrives at the
intersection draws a red light. I then begin to witness a sociological
phenomenon concerning how impatient drivers can become when
they are the only car stopped at a light, not waiting for opposing
traffic, but for a stupid light to register a different color. This has
obviously irked the woman sitting in the Suburban who wants to turn
left onto Beaver. She hasn’t even been stopped for ten seconds when
she honks her horn at the light. This is a practice I somehow missed
when studying for my permit test. Does this woman think that there
is some kind of audio sensor in the traffic light that recognizes the
sound of two short Chevy beeps which translates to a switch to
green? As I ignorantly find this amusing, sure enough, fifteen or so
seconds later the light changes and the disgruntled motorist is on her
way. Shows you what I know! Is this a universal practice that I have
been oblivious to all these years of driving? Just think, all of those
precious seconds wasted, spent needlessly waiting for a green light I
could have summoned at will! Wasted time I could have otherwise
purposefully spent with loved ones or doing sudoku.
At this juncture, I light another cigarette and wait for another vehicle
to see if I could possibly witness a repeat of this fantastic modus
operandi. The suspense builds and, three cars later, approaches a
Civic hatchback that has a slightly different interpretation to the
governing rules concerning intersection signals. The driver of the
Honda seems to believe that the light also operates in conjunction
with a sensor implanted under the stop line on the road. The Civic
rolls over the line back and forth a few times to get it going and, again
to my surprise, this also changes the light. Some time later, a guy on a
motorcycle under the impression that a video camera hidden inside
the light light monitored by a guy off in a booth somewhere can be
triggered by waving one's arms above said one's head can attract
attention enough to motivate a signal change. The subsequent
automobiles that don’t display any visible strategies for traffic light
changeability I can only deduce that telekinesis is involved. From this
night on, my world of traffic light demeanor has many options from
which to choose.
Boomer Wadaska 27
In Just a Few Hours
It always ended the same way. It always started the same way as
well. He always felt the same way afterwards. No matter how bad he felt, he
found some comfort in his misery. There is always comfort in the familiar.
A known pain is always preferable to the unknown, the unexpected, the
different—where all things become possible.
The sun rose like it always does—the first soft rays of light give
shape to the darkness. Objects appear out of nothing; they do it all the time
really. The conservation of matter and energy is a myth. It was a construct
of old science to keep the sheep thinking they were sane. A joke of meta-
cognition, nothing more. The sun rose, the pigeons sang the only song they
knew-the only real song left. The call for food, the call for sex, the call for
family.
The alley looked the same as it had for years. If possible, the only
difference was the smell; it might have gotten worse. But that really wasn't
possible. His head hurt in the way that could only mean that it was Saturday.
The film on his tongue and teeth felt alive, like a separate entity from his
body, or consciousness, or whatever he is/was. It hurt to move, the left arm
more than anything else, and the blood, once warm was now hard and sharp
below his eye. He couldn't remember who exactly punched him. Most times
he fought his memory, never seemed to want to remember the specifics; in
many ways he thought, it wasn't a bad thing—forgetting.
28 Michael C. Flor
In Just a Few Hours
eyes. He knew he would not fit in. He knew where he had to go. He knew
very many things. His job was to take it to her. The cure.
In the street, the sounds of life marched on. Progress and so forth. It
was a sound that always sounded alien. The smell of food passed his nose:
pizza, spring rolls, samosa, wonton. The cars hummed past. The lights
flashed on and off. People avoided the eyes of other people. The beep and
pop of credit continued undaunted. The trash was always kept out of sight.
Out of sight, out of mind, out of time. The robed people danced in the street.
The saffron colors twirled like rainbows. Soon they would distribute books,
flowers, food; in another life, their food was delicious. In movies of the
future, he always saw them and wondered what it all meant. And then he
remembered that there was little room for wonder in this, his world. One of
the dancing preachers missed a beat, a slight forgetting of the call-response
pattern hard wired into the human race. It was these little changes,
something different, that made him almost feel what we, collectively might
call hope.
By now, his cigarette problem was long since solved. The hover
cab's low drone, continuous like a heart beat, was almost able to make him
forget the mechanized world around him. He was on his way to meet her—
again. Every time they got together, it didn't end well. Things that start great
have only one direction they can go. It had only been, in a way, a few hours
since he had last seen her, last held her—but it had also been, in a way, a
lifetime. Whole life cycles have come and gone since their last meeting.
Fruit flies only live 24 hours. How much living can you cram into one day?
Or and endless string of one-days?
The sun was starting to set. In the dim, spreading shade, shapes
began to get fuzzy, lose their shape, and become one—one with each other in
the long dark of night. It's funny how dusk and dawn almost appear
identical; that's why he kept his watch set on military time. He checked the
time and rubbed his head absently- barely conscious of what he was doing.
Some actions become familiar that they require no thought whatsoever. You
can do things so often, like tying a shoe, they seem to happen. Auto-pilot. It
was seven o'clock again. It is always seven o'clock at this time of day.
The cure would reach her by the deadline. He would reach her by
the deadline. He always made his deadlines; he was the best. He knew what
Michael C. Flor 29
In Just a Few Hours
she wanted. He knew what she really wanted. He felt his eye throb a dull
burn. He knew what he could and could not give her; he always knew. The
hover cab had blurred into the past, the dim dark of all things—the dim dark
of himself. His hand reached up and swiped his entry card. The visor
flashed “diplomat;” he dropped something and entered.
They were on him. They punched, they kicked, they asked. She
watched. He thought the only thought worth thinking-would things be
different if I turned it over. Is his life, his many lives, worth a few ounces of
liquid? So many have died for less. So many have died already? Everything
dies. Even the phoenix.
It always ended the same way. It always started the same way as
well. He always felt the same way afterwards. No matter how bad he felt, he
found some comfort in his misery. There is always comfort in the familiar.
A known pain is always preferable to the unknown, the unexpected, the
different—where all things become possible.
30 Michael C. Flor
To Someone Who Doesn't Care
Koch
32 Boomer Wadaska
Koch
Boomer Wadaska 33
Koch
So here I am
a critic much like
yourself, Mr. Koch
(or Dr. Koch, as it may well be)
when you've gone and
got me all inspired and stuff
to stop halfway through
The Circus ©1975
From
Selected Poems, 1950-1982
(Vintage, 1985)
Copyright©1985
by
Kenneth Koch
and write, myself
in a manner that isn't necessarily
of my own particular
idiom or ilk or understanding
(and it's painfully obvious)
patterned that of a
tribute
to your silly style
although I tend to
hit the return key
a
little
more
often
...
34 Boomer Wadaska
Koch
Of course,
this particular poem
will have to be
workshopped and critiqued and
revised with caution
concerning and
directly attributing to
a grade of
excellence
as a tribute to my own peculiar
idiom or ilk or
return-key style.
Rest in peace
Mr. Koch,
(or Dr. Koch, as it may well be)
who
passed away this past summer
which saddened the Blue and White
as, I am quite sure also,
the nouns
and the adjectives
and verbs and
sentences.
Your words will do the living from now on
and play with us until we join you in
The dreams in our toes.
(whatever the hell that means!)
Boomer Wadaska 35
ABOUT GEORGE
ABOUT GEORGE
Tom Waits:
'Twas a dark and stormy night
in a metropolitan dive
without a woman in sight
amidst the local barflies.
Jack Kerouac:
Hells Angel biker smiles at cool poodle-skirted kitty dancing
with zoot-suited hepcat near the table of pinup Bettie, Atomic Fratboy
and El Mariachi when Rastabilly tells Dudeman to get Joe Punk
to notice that, for one second- a wrinkle in time-
everyone simultaneously sipped a pint of Guinness.
Ogden Nash:
A shamrock, what's this?
Nothing should grow in my Guinness!
I'll delight in a draught that prevails
not halved by lagers, pilsners or ales.
Take back your snakebites, your velvet, your shandy
the old Irish standard suits me just dandy.
Please don't think me impolite-
just don't intrude in my perfect pint.
38 Boomer Wadaska
Shoe Store Girl
Coffee Stains
Self-Portrait
40 C Michael
The Louvre
No Fishing
C Michael 41
Ahem..we interrupt this segment to bring you this important message:
Don't Panic
42
The Louvre
Life Is Oblong
C Michael 43
The Louvre
44 C Michael
The Louvre
C Michael 45
The Louvre
46 C Michael
The Louvre
Gone Fission
C Michael 47
PeopleAreAfraidToMerg e...
PeopleAreAfraidToMerg e...
Intersection dyslexia
by rednecks rubbernecking
and bypass bottlenecking
into five points perplexia
Itinerary actuaries
assess without exhausting
cautioning of ghost crossings
and hitchhiking Bloody Marys
48 Boomer Wadaska
PeopleAreAfraidToMerg e...
Boomer Wadaska 49
Katie's Torchlight
Katie's Torchlight
Impressionable Youth
Vale was five years old. He was watching cartoons. Some mouse
was ruthlessly pummeling a poor pussy cat with a frying pan, which
would then take the shape of the feline's head. The cat was just looking
for lunch and got more than he bargained for. Shortly after, sirens wailed
from outside. Vale, like his curious counterpart, ran out the front door.
The sirens, the lights, the ambulances, the squad cars; they were all on his
street. He hurried up past all of his neighbors just standing on their well-
manicured lawns. There, at house number forty-four, were parked all the
emergency vehicles. Chaos flung about like a flag in high wind as police
and paramedics stormed into and around the house. A gurney came
rolling out the front door. On it lay a large white shape, splattered with a
large red stain. It jumped up into the ambulance as the doors slammed
behind it. Then out rolled a second gurney, and again on it lay another
white shape, with a huge red stain, but something was different.
Dangling out of one side, from underneath the white, hung a loose, limp,
hairy arm, swaying, almost waving as it all rolled past and onto another
ambulance.
A police officer yelled at Vale to go home. He turned around
and started down the street, when a white police van caught his eye.
There was a dog in there; a big one. The window was cracked open just
a little and the dog was just sitting in the passenger seat. Vale walked
closer and moved his face toward the glass, his hand over his brow to
block out the glare of the morning sun. He waved tentatively with his
other hand and eked out a “Hi, puppy!” with his little voice. The dog
snapped viciously and started barking, steaming up the window and
splattering drool on the glass. Vale jumped back. Another officer yelled
at him to get away from there. The ambulances drove off, but there were
no sirens.
C Michael 51
Truth and Soul
There are too many things in this world to distract a man from
making himself a better person: television, sports, internet
pornography, beer & drugs, brooding on thoughts and memories...
I can't believe I haven't checked my Powerball lottery tickets yet!
$200some million could procure a fantastic lot of distraction! One
could piss against the wind with a wad like that! After all,
productivity is in the eye of the overbearing parent, the nagging
girlfriend, the know-it-all friends, the crusty old teacher... where's the
fun in responsibility or accountability or karma or self-respect when I
could surround myself with a posse of yesmen to validate my life!
We covet what we see and hear in movies and songs, the dream we
drone on and on about while smoking pot with the local hippie
squatters. Turn off the TV and become a drama or a sitcom or even a
CARTOON! Do I ever want to be so bored with life that I feel the
urge to take a yoga class?! Yessir, talent can be bought and sold to the
mindless. You know that because you have an extensive collection
yourself, don't deny it! Maybe the resale value of that Milli Vanilli
album at Positively Records won't exactly buy a beer but it sure has
all that intrinsic and emotional attachment to memories of once being
part of the flock of lameass sheep who also bought the religion-back-
up-plan to save their ass, you never know, just in case...
People have no value! No one loves you just because you are you!
How egotistic can you be to imagine that you aren't being used? You
are a utility service and even worse, covering the tab! Seal your heart
emotions in a tin can and join the big boys son! Do you think people
actually care what comes out of your mouth? Words have no power!
The Powers That Be laugh at their own laws! LOL!!!! ;p
Is it god's plan for you to collect garbage for employment in order to
acquire your own, personal garbage? The American Dream is all
about trash-picking and never having one original thought in that
slab of meat you think is a pretty face in the mirror. Stop looking at
yourself because you're not as unique and you've been convinced by
your mommy. You are a recycled trend that may once again be
popular with the ladies... Who lobbied for this PH-balanced world?
You make a better door than a window to conclude, in brief.
52 Boomer Wadaska
Dumb Ass Flower
Oh, to be a flower!
Full of so much power!
The sun's rays, I photosynthesize,
and young lasses I mesmerize.
An easy life is mine,
being tended by grannies is fine.
In the ground, I have my roots,
...but I get trod on by boots!
Addiction
(inject)
Since the first time that
I ripped my skin, I
no longer bleed; I
have the strength that
you pulse through my veins...
(inhale)
I breathe you in and want never to
exhale;
to keep you inside forever as you exhume my
essence;
and transcend my idle mind...
(ingest)
I- consume [you] whole
without: calorie, belch or choke.
You- "sizzle" on [my] tongue
as I relinquish my control...
54 Boomer Wadaska
Future Interests
Future Interests
C Michael 55
Every Girl Is Broken
56 Boomer Wadaska
Every Girl Is Broken
Boomer Wadaska 57
DNA Mother
DNA Mother
and goes:
s s
p
i i
r
a a
l
i i
n
g g
n
i i
l
a a
r
i i
p
s s
i ask you
how you expect me
to turn my back
and leave indiscretion
behind and
let bygones be gone
to be forgotten
with a non-revolutionary
solution
to fix what you call
a problem
a constraint
an end to your life
and what i call
a responsibility
that we should assume
that maybelline cannot cover up
Boomer Wadaska 59
Dear John
Dear John
It’s sad
Instead of you
I want to write about my house:
60 Michael C. Flor
Dear John
You know
Where I grew up
(almost as many miles from you
as there are days in the year)
You know
Where you smashed out a wall
Without checking with anyone first
Because you thought we needed more space
In that back room which always flooded
You know
Where you went to the Hechenger’s
And were pissed they wouldn’t sell to you
On credit
You know
Where my mother (your daughter)
would lie to you
And tell you what you were eating
Wasn’t cheesecake
You always liked cheese
Except when you knew you were eating it
She lied to me as well
You know
Where you repeatedly
Tried to teach me the value of hard work
Michael C. Flor 61
Dear John
You know
Where we once watched the Three Stooges together
(or was it Bugs Bunny?)
You laughed so hard
I thought you were crying
It is the first time you ever seemed human
You know
The place where you once danced around my bedroom
(the same room where my dad said his good byes)
I was listening to the Red Hot Chili Peppers
Your lack of self consciousness even won me over
62 Michael C. Flor
Dear John
This moment
One finger wagging side to side
You’re left hand on your stomach
You’re eyes half shut
In snake charmer ecstasy
And the words: “testify-testify
kick a hole right in the sky”
Sang out
Michael C. Flor 63
Low Down Man
Low Down Man
64 C Michael
Low Down Man
So there's this door, and I opened it. I entered, or exited as the case
may be, and found myself within a void, or so it would seem, except I was
standing on solid ground. I felt around to find a light switch. Nothing. Then
suddenly, as if my thoughts were being read, the lights went on.
I was in a room with no walls; hence, no switch, and behind me was the
door. The devil stood before me, brown hair, brown eyes, friendly smile, looks
just like me. He shook my hand and said, “Sorry, pal. Deal's off!” He tore the
contract we signed into tiny little shreds and discarded them into the void. I
shrugged and turned to leave, noticing that on this side the door was marked
“no exit.” I actually quipped to the devil, “Sartre's been here,” but he was not
amused. With an unexpected full body spasm, I instantaneously awoke in a
hospital bed.
Perhaps that part was all just a dream, but the doctor assured me that I
was clinically dead for about five minutes and that a miracle had just occurred.
So all of this left me feeling a little dejected so when I got home, I put on that
song. I still don't know all the lyrics, it's just the ambiance it emits really hits
home.
C Michael 65
Insensed
Insensed
66 Boomer Wadaska
Insensed
Boomer Wadaska 67
Why
Why
George's Uncle
Never start what you can't finish. George's Uncle Larry used to say that a
lot before he took his own life. After he died, he didn't say much of anything,
at least not with words.
George stood over his uncle's lifeless body and noticed there hadn't
been much change. He wondered why his uncle never lived up to that motto
when he preached it so vehemently. His uncle never finished anything, much
less started anything. Guess he finished this. George's thoughts were always
cruelly amusing to himself. He couldn't help but crack a smile, which he quickly
covered with a cough.
On a whim his mind eased away, observing the wake from afar, looking
at all the weeping people standing around miserable. He saw voluminous
amounts of mucous spewing forth into forests of tissue paper. A smile forced
itself upon him in light of this grotesque farce. The thought of a self-mutilated
corpse and viscous liquids crossed the boundaries of Chekhovian tragedy and
made him laugh past the threshold of restraint. This caused an astonishing
silence that marked the end of any emotion other than abashment; all of it for
George. George found this even funnier as he thought of his uncle's motto.
He let it out. He cackled as a general aversion to snot would most likely cause
Uncle Larry to take offense to this funeral fiasco. Then he stopped. The clock
on the wall ticked the seconds off aimlessly at the end of which everyone in the
room lost a minute of their lives in what seemed a lifetime. George walked out
as his audience was left riveted. That was the last he spoke to any of his family.
He drove four hours back to his apartment, crying, not over his uncle's
death, but just in general. He was enlightened that day. Uncle Larry committed
suicide because he knew he was a liar. This was his way of finally living up to
his truth. George didn't want that for himself. From that day on, every day was
to be full of truth. The hard part was facing it.
C Michael 69
Restless
Restless
70 Boomer Wadaska
Restless
Somehow, at the time, I thought that would be the way to get into the
groove of the livelihood of "doing great things in life." $44,000 in
student loans later, I realize now that I could have purchased a really
boss car instead and just threw a slice or two of Healthy Choice spiced
ham at that kid and told him to shut the hell up and mind his own
business.
Along with all of the agita that everyone is feeling, I recently got back
in touch with an ex-girlfriend. Last week, I found out that she
committed suicide. That really shocked me because I always thought
that she took life less seriously than me. She was quite an amazing
girl and I always thought that she was more cartoon character than
human. She was the only person who I have ever met who said and
did the things that even I wouldn't attempt, but secretly wanted to.
Maybe a bipolar disorder would have kicked me up to that notch too.
I will always remember one of the last things she said to me the last
time I saw her: "Out of all the people who I have met, you're the only
one who never tried to fix me." In the light of recent events, it may
take me a while to gauge that remark and find its true context.
Boomer Wadaska 71
Imagine
Imagine
Imagine. Dream. Wish. Hope. When you first encounter these words you
think they're all synonymous, then you check again and realize they're all
different levels on a scale of desperation, in descending order. First you have an
idea. It starts as an inkling of a notion in the back of your mind, or maybe you
borrowed from something else and changed it to make it your own. Soon it
becomes somewhat of an obsession. You like your idea so much, you begin to
grow it like a garden, adding the right nutrients, removing the suffocating weeds
until it blossoms into a bright big beautiful dream, and a conceivable one at
that. So you go about making your dream a reality, the whole time wishing it
would happen easier than you know it's going to happen. This can be a long
phase, depending on your patience of course. After all of this, you have hope,
which is not to be confused with any of the others. You can genuinely say that
you always have hope for something, but by this time you're just hoping your
wish will come true. And, as you keep failing, the scale gets longer, but we'll
just save that for later.
72 C Michael
Picture of Me
Picture of Me
SOMEWHERE
^ ^ ^ ^ ^
OUT \ \ | / /
<---THERE--->
/ / | \ \
v v v v v
IS A PICTURE OF ME
STICKING MY FINGER
IN CARROTTOP'S EAR.
i want it back!
“Inevitability of Days”
You can’t define a linear existence by giving it a name. What day it is
doesn’t matter. It’s still a part of my life. The events in my life are going to
happen in order no matter what I label them.
74 C Michael
Prose Part I
“The Purge”
The pencil scratched its way across the page leaving the unsolicited
mark of the damned as the cursed demons within the bearer’s tortured soul
released all of his pent up fury and wisdom in what seemed to be an
unconscious and unbroken flow of indescribable madness.
C Michael 75
Prose Part I
“Decentralization”
I have arranged it so I can’t be hurt so easily. The last time it broke, I
decentralized my heart. A ventricle here, an aorta there. You see, I figure when
your heart is in one place and it breaks, the whole factory has to shut down for
repairs because everything is linked tightly together. But by separating the
different chambers and placing them strategically throughout my body, I found
that the pain is easier to manage and heals a lot quicker. Now instead of the
whole thing breaking, just one portion of it does, and the others can keep
functioning throughout the healing process.
“Contagion”
When I think about what my life has been reduced to, I can do nothing
else but laugh; however, if laughter is a finite commodity, then I’m afraid my
supply has been exhausted by this moment. I wish I knew where I could get
more. If only I could borrow someone else’s laughter, just for a little while, I
could break it down into the sum of its parts, examine the chemical properties
and synthesize it. I’d have laughter again, but only externally. However, if
laughter is an internal entity, I’m afraid there’s no way to mimic it that would
convince me I’m actually laughing. It might fool others, but not me. Perhaps if
laughing is contagious, I could fake it long enough to make someone else do it
for real and maybe then I could catch it.
76 C Michael
Prose Part I
“A Digression of Chronological Importance”
And then the writing stopped…again…and it didn’t start…again…not for a
long, long time…and it wouldn’t…again…not for an even longer time than it
didn’t…which, incidentally, is more impossible than it is improbable…which is
possible because mentally time is intangible and therefore a perception
translated by personality and activity…even though it is also a measurement of
physical existence…and it happens to be consistently happening at precisely
regular intervals…even though it can seem (a remarkably vague word) and also
be infinitely varied…i.e. second to minute to hour to day to etc…but seconds
can seem like minutes, just as hours can seem like days and days, weeks…even
though they are exactly the same every single time (there’s that word again, this
time referring to any given moment as opposed to an actual measurement)
without fail…and time is always going…even though it doesn’t go anywhere…
yet we can still feel like it stands still…and once it’s gone, it’s gone for good
(even though it hasn’t gone anywhere)…and there’s always more of it, but less
or none when we’re late or in a rush…and it never stops…even when it stops
for you…but I digress…again…the writing stopped.
This was written when it was written…not a moment too soon…not a
moment too late.
“Self-Criticism”
The knack for writing I once possessed has deteriorated into a
disjointed series of words clumsily strung together into semi-coherent
expressions of useless rhetoric.
C Michael 77
Prose Part I
“Earn a Living”
I didn’t choose to be born into this world, but for some reason I have
to earn the privilege of being here. I have to go through my measured paces,
suffer the “slings and arrows of outrageous fortune” in order to gain some kind
of respect from the great beyond…
I got myself to the point where survival has become more important
than being. Responsibilities keep me from my dreams; responsibilities I took
out of necessity. Now I have something to lose. That actually causes “fear and
loathing.”
I fear financial destitution; therefore, I loathe my job. I fear the loss of
my significant other; therefore, I loathe her absence. You can’t have fear
without loathing.
So now I am stuck, and with it comes this heinous, crippling disease: a
lack of imagination, loss of creativity. The spark of invention has long since
turned to wasted carbon. I need a venue, a palate, a media to once again
stimulate ideas. I need to be doing, not talking. I must implement the stunted
ideas and allow them to flourish. Stop talking.
“Just Do It.”
Ignite the passion again.
Don’t question who you are.
Do.
The road is clear.
Drive on it fast and furiously.
Find what you’re looking for.
Boredom is past.
The future is now.
Go
Go
Go
Go
Go!
You are Go!den!
78 C Michael
I Shall Now Think
wysiwyg
So
Like,
I was just going to say
I mean, uh
Because...well,
In any case
It would be like
OMG
Yeah, um
BTW
I don't know, but
LOL
On the other hand
I think...
IMO
Just so you know
As a matter of fact
For what it's worth
ATM
As far as I know
80 Boomer Wadaska
wysiwyg
FYI
You know
To be honest
It's like
Something, something
Because
If I'm not mistaken
In other words
Don't get me wrong,
You know what I'm saying?
TTYL
;^)
Boomer Wadaska 81
Haiku
Haiku
Writing a haiku
is a tricky thing to do
when you’re not sober.
82 C Michael
December
December
a beautiful scare
crow. fragile & cold, dropping
pennies in the snow
Michael C. Flor 83
Prose Part II
Prose Part II
84 C Michael
Prose Part II
Feeling wretched and unable to sleep, I ran around the block. I was
angry. When I finished running, I climbed my sacred tree, as I always did, and I
proceeded to yell at Him, in the middle of the night. I probably woke him up.
My next mistake was so tremendous, who could blame God for shitting
on my head? I said, “I love you, but…” Now, do I need to explain how this
statement is an oxymoron? So it was at this moment that I heard a little squeak
and some bat guano dropped right onto my head, and just like a cartoon
character’s memory is jogged when a flower pot strikes his cranium, so too was
mine and the light bulb lit up bright as Einstein as I realized I had to put God
back inside of me. If only I could find Him.
Strength comes from within. If you pray to God for strength, and He’s
somewhere else, you’re not going to get it. If you try to find it yourself, and
He’s not there, you’re going to grow weary and frustrated. But, if He is inside
of you, He’s got to live there, so He’s going to give you everything you need.
After all, I imagine He wants a nice house.
“Brilliant Exhalation”
The phone rang and I spoke sheer brilliance and expressed proverbial
wisdom for the ages…and now all that wistful poignancy has aspirated into
carbon dioxide and either bonded with the atmosphere or entered the life cycle
of existing greenery. Where do the words go? We know they exist, but only for
a moment in time—then they’re gone forever, a very short life span. I’ll never
be able to recapture those thoughts the same way again, worded to perfection.
Oh, well…
“Letter to Beethoven”
Dear Ludwig,
You have a very silly name. I think changing it would be a bad idea
though, because the world needs silliness. Try buying a funny hat and a name
tag.
Truly yours,
Ludmilla
C Michael 85
Prose Part II
“Laundromat”
I’m sitting at the laundromat rereading the contents of my journal as
my rump is being massaged by the gentle pulsations of a General Electric 2
speed commercial washing machine. I’m tired and hungry and In the Heat of the
Night is on the television. Mr. Tibbs. Gillespie. Images of a new dead-by-his-
own-hand son of an acting legend. Simple diversions of what I really want to
write about, but there are too many strange folk milling about to truly get
personal. Or am I being lazy?
For a moment I was disturbed by something…I’m a bit restless and
almost…whatever…
The pen is doing strange things. How do I stop it? What can I do?
This woman keeps looking at me like there’s something unusual about
what I’m doing. What am I doing? I’m shaking…oh, the machine, the
machine. That’s nice. The detergent bottle dances and I have a listless grimace
upon my face. Am I doing well? Does the woman know?
No. Paranoia.
What? What?
I’m losing track here.
Hello. I’m coming back or I’m trying
or I can’t…
Washer’s done.
“Trapped in a Box”
The moon was so bright, as if someone punched a hole in the night
sky, leaving an opening just large enough to crawl through and escape the
darkness… Now, if only there was some way to get there…
86 C Michael
Prose Part II
“Media Sensationalism”
The further people take this nonsense, the more we enter the extreme.
This is the “Extreme Age.” There is no more middle ground. We are traveling
towards a black and white world under the guise of a rainbow. Nothing is
sacred anymore, especially not religion.
We glorify killers and criticize heroes. We treat celebrities like gods and
goddesses. Less than ordinary people smile in the camera light, blinded by their
own cosmetically bonded teeth clenching tightly without daring to open their
mouths and question their lives, held under duress by the risk of losing all of
that…attention.
C Michael 87
Untitled 7/5/95
Untitled 7/5/95
A holy circle.
Just a dream
a vapor
a movie story.
cOME oN pILGRIM
90 Boomer Wadaska
cOME oN pILGRIM
Boomer Wadaska 91
I Dreamt of You Last Night
I Dreamt of You Last Night
92 C Michael
I Dreamt of You Last Night
I have to rescue her. I dive in and grab her as my friend vanishes. The
girl and I are now in the ocean. She is no longer a little girl, but someone very
special to me. Someone I love more than anything in the world.
“…On a sidewalk Sunday morning…”
I take her arm and bite it. We are now holding each other comfortably,
sitting in bed, naked. I nibble lovingly on her arm. She laughs and giggles. We
are perfect, happy. We love each other.
A body startles. I sit up, suddenly alone. I shout her name. I am
sweating profusely. The only light in the room is emitted from the red numbers
on my clock-radio as it plays.
“…lies a body oozing life…”
C Michael 93
Swiffertail
Swiffertail
94 Boomer Wadaska
Swiffertail
begged and promised to do anything God would ever ask of me if he
could grant me that one favor. Within a minute Ben stopped
breathing and he was gone forever. I could not comprehend how the
Alpha and Omega of the Universe could not grant the tiny favor to a
most faithful kid to keep his simple pet hamster alive. I was pretty
convinced at that moment that there was no power in prayer at all
and, even though I continued to attend church every Sunday up until
I graduated high school, I never really regained any faith or pastoral
career aspirations...or any affections or desires toward ever owning a
pet again.
When I lived in State College, Setzer would appear at my door every
morning and follow me as I walked to work, weaving in and out of
my feet almost tripping me the entire way. I would find him again on
my return trip home and he'd follow me all the way into my
apartment where I would scavenge for something I thought might be
an appropriate snack for a homeless cat. Eventually, I started
stopping off at the convenience store and bringing home legitimate
feline fare. After his meal, he would disappear off down the street to
visit the other people in the neighborhood.
One night in late December I kept hearing a little chirping noise and
thought a baby bird somehow got caught in my outside heater
exhaust vent. I opened my front door to go outside to check and there
was Setzer, soaked and shivering with icicles hanging from his fur. I
brought him in and he's been cramping my style ever since. Now that
I've transplanted him here to Bucks County and work from home, I
pretty much spend all day with him. I've realized that when the day
comes that he passes on, I'll be pretty sad about it.
The other day Setzer brought to my attention that my studio was
being visited by a bunch of tiny ants, obviously trying to get out of
the cold and seeing if they could take me for some charitable sucker. I
tried to discern a walking path they might be following that would
lead me back to a point of entry but they were all just scattering
around in a typical ant-like fashion. Much like how I feel about
anything I attempt to write anymore. Words like wayward ants.
Boomer Wadaska 95
ITHINKICAN
ITHINKICAN
ITHINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANI
THINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANIT
HINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANIT
HINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANIT
HINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANIT
HINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANIT
HINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANIT
HINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANIT
HINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANIT
HINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANIT
HINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANIT
HINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANIT
HINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANIT
HINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANIT
HINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANIT
HINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANIT
HINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANIT
HINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANIT
HINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANIT
HINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANITHINKICANIT
HINKICAN
THEREFOREIIS
part of me @ least
Michael C. Flor 97
Prose Part III
Prose Part III
“A Warning”
This at all can’t be good. Bad times are upon us, my friends. The
legions of emotional doom are striking at our hearts and minds with almighty
rage. We are at the pinnacle of desperation and the winners will come out
smiling.
“The Pit”
As the blood flows through my body, a vengeance of sound soothes
my mind so savagely it drowns out all emotion in its wake. It is a sound so
relaxing that my brain grows dull to the world and is only aware of one thing—
the sound. It embodies all that is alive inside of me. It is a part of me. It is me.
The sounds flow through my veins and distribute an adrenaline rush vicious
enough to burn out the sun. From it, I thrust myself into the pit and flail
vigorously about. Unbeknownst to me is the wall of pain that separates me
from the real world. The sweat breaks off my body and all adjacent are covered
with my ablution. The sweat christens them as they respond to my movements.
The oxygen runs out of me and I no longer need it. The pulsating sounds
crescendo and come to a swift halt. All is still and once again, I am me,
exhausted. I push my way through the mob, but I can not escape. The next
song begins and I find myself no longer me again. I wish it never had to end.
98 C Michael
Prose Part III
“The Expense of the Y2K Bug”
The quiet always disturbs my peace. How long will the quiescence of
solitude plague my weary consciousness? It agitates every moment with fear,
loathing, worry…stress…sadness, naught for me so much as it is for the rest of
mankind.
The wind is a torrid gale right now and it lurks outside my window like
a succubus poised to drain what is left of my precious essence, my creativity. I
have been stunted by perpetual ennui. The worst thing is that most of it seems
to stem from financial woes. In a country where money is God…
$In God We Trust$
What happened to separation of church and state? That phrase was put on our
money by an act of congress in 1955. And now, go to prison for assault, rape…
8-10 years maybe. Rob a bank, 10-20 years? How dare you steal God? And
here I am attempting to be my own God, not for worship (another form of
idolatry), but for guidance. I try to find the strength within me and I often feel
like I am cast out of the rest of the world (living in Lancaster County doesn’t
help).
So I am currently in debtor’s prison and it’s worse than what I imagine
Hell to be and Heaven seems to be for the wealthy that live in palatial homes
and drive ridiculous automobiles… God is money.
We have to pay for our own edumacation, our own health care; in fact,
there’s not a damned thing I can think of we don’t have to pay for.
Air: $.50 for 3 minutes
Water: $.99 for 20 ounces
Earth: $?,???/acre
Fire: $80/month for heat
These are our basic elements and we pay for them everyday. Dare I go
on…
Time: See cell phone bill, or any phone bill for that matter
Space: $???/month rent, $???/month mortgage
Past: Income taxes
Present: Internet/TV
Future: Insurance
That’s right, we even pay for what might possibly happen! I’m sure
there are a lot more expenses I am overlooking right now. You have to pay for
your right to live! But don’t worry! God will take care of it all if you have
enough of Him!
C Michael 99
Prose Part III
“Y2K Compliant”
Here comes the ebb and flow of society. Here comes the rise and fall
of humanity. Television equals Coliseum. Sex is prohibited. Violence is
praised. Y2K destruction will come about by the hands of man based on the
notion of a computer error. The greatest conundrum of all time. Y2K
compliance is but a Pyrrhic victory.
“Limbaugh v. Machinery”
There were two sounds in the air that afternoon—Rush Limbaugh and
a high-pitched whine. There wasn’t much difference between the two, but I
chose to focus on the high-pitched whine because it seemed to have more
intelligent things to say.
“Semantics”
I wish I could decipher my mind for you, but words mean nothing
without experience. You would have to experience my mind, what my mind
knows and sees and understands.
100 C Michael
Prose Part III
“A Man Can Dream”
Sometimes I go for long random walks just looking for someone to
fornicate. Okay, I admit that I am an attractive guy with only a minor flaw I
blame on the entire female population—they are all shy at me. None of them
just walks up to me and proffers their body to me. Damn them. So can I really
be blamed for everyone else’s actions? I don’t think so.
One of these days there will be a female brazen enough to come up and
admit she wants to go to bed with me. Okay, so I’m dreaming. But wouldn’t it
be cool if I wasn’t? I could indulge in any sinful pleasures I wish, whatever they
may be, and die some painful death due to some horrible social disease.
So maybe it wouldn’t be as great as I thought. But a man can dream…
C Michael 101
Life's Collage
Life's Collage
Life's collage
an exposition of debris
inherited reminders
with intangible receipts
Pain's prompts
are idolized delusions
of illegitimate treasures
and embraced first impressions
Death's success
blueprint expectoration
total ego amnesia
affluent predetermination
Autumn Lonesome
Wind blows
blustery chill
Leaves change
and die
Empty beaches
and boardwalks
Fans crowd
Football stadiums
MySpace Girl
You'd think that all this would be a bit simpler, but it's not?
Escape the empty harsh world for a comment that "you're hot!"
Storms knock out the power and the little things we take for granted
become obsessive worry to consume the moment
and the wars and killing overseas pale in present company
compared to predicaments concerned with
running water, flushing toilets, food spoiling and beer getting warm...
My head lies on your stomach and I can hear your body churn,
we'll remember this day forever or at least until after the sunburn.
“Forsaken Legend”
Chainsaw in Hand,
A sinister Laugh;
“I am David!”
A mighty Giant falls,
“You are Goliath!”
Lumber…
More Lumber;
The Smell of Victory
is burning Timbers.
Wood begets Fire,
Fire forges Metal,
Metal replaces Flesh;
Mother Earth turns cold and bitter.
“Take that, You mighty Giant!”
“Take that, You dumb Ox!”
C Michael 105
The Paul Bunyan Trilogy
106 C Michael
The Paul Bunyan Trilogy
A Craftsman
Chops Wood
And builds Shelter
For Himself and His big blue Ox;
Protection from the Cold,
Friends forever joyous,
But wondering,
Remembering What might have been
A better Time
But always thankful,
This humble Craftsman,
Regardless…
Looking up,
He heaves a Sigh,
The Starlight hindered by Invention,
A venerable Giant defeated by the Technology of Man…
C Michael 107
Untitled 6/30/95
Untitled 6/30/95
she loves
i love
Beloved Dream
“Darkness”
Darkness shreds my insides with wicked sharp claws. I've seen too
much and it knows. It plagues my soul relentlessly, laughing at the torment it
causes. Why did I have to see? How could I let it know? Everything was well
hidden from it and then I opened my eyes and enlightened the darkness.
There is an evil lurking around it that wants to come out and play, but I
keep it imprisoned within in me to prevent it from damaging others. It riots
within my mind and weakens me to the core. How much longer can I restrain it
now that I have seen it all?
“Nothing Is Something”
The difficulty in writing lies within the ability of the pen to make a
mark on the page. My inability to write has been interrupted by the miracle of
actually doing it. It's so simple. I haven't written much in so long, I'm out of
practice. I will begin by writing anything. Then I'll write something. Then I'll
write everything.
Anything
Something
Everything
Now even nothing is something...
Nothing
110 C Michael
Prose Part IV
“Quashed Hope”
His thoughts were drizzled onto the page, coming few and far between.
There seemed to be no focus behind any of them...except one; one glaring,
somewhat misogynistic statement spurned the notion of an idea on the inner-
mechanics of his mind, not to mention the ill-fated designs of an attitude borne
of mental anguish brought on upon him by many failed love affairs.
Complacently written in purposeful handwriting was the statement,
“Behind every great man is a greater woman holding him down.” It doesn't
take a team of profiling psychologists to figure out that here was a man feeling
slighted by his commitments to his significant other, held from his dreams by
prior obligations and required responsibilities. Here was a man with quashed
hope.
C Michael 111
Banana Meltdown
Banana Meltdown
So, my loyal readers of mindfunk and brainjunk, you may take heed
(and/or whatever is the opposite of "heeding") as you will, to this
story of which I would swear allegiance to the native granola statue of
Skitswabia (that is, if the imposing faction who has yet to acquire any
anti-gingham fashion sense whatsoever, firstly kill their chapstick
idols) were I forced to, in order to prove its whole authenticity to the
disconcerned and fashioned, vertically-stripaged.
It is my very hope, nay prayer, nay hope is good enough, that you
may now begin to understand that there may not have been any
conception of anything story when this entry was nothing but a mere
"Lad..."
My humble apologies to you for getting this far and having wasting
what could have been valuable time browsing for sexy new two-
dimensional faces with which to adorn the friend section of your
MySpace profile page or finally coming to terms with the fact that, no
matter how long you ponder whether you indeed did forget to put
the rain-scented Snuggle into the wash, the important thing to realize
is, that if no Snuggly-scented aroma emanates from the washer, run
the cycle again and pay closer attention to your load of dress socks
instead of reading inane, pointless prose.
“T.emporal V.ortex”
Staring at it
Second to minute to hour
The temporal vortex proffers
Relief from the humdrum.
114 C Michael
The Best of...
“Pb→Au”
It used to be
whatever I wrote
turned to Gold,
but lately,
it does not seem to
come out write;
it seems to be staying Lead…
(you could really appreciate the pun better if this were in pencil)
C Michael 115
The Best of...
(a 1 one)
116 C Michael
The Best of...
“Pieces”
you broke my
heart
into tiny
little
pieces
scattered
all
over
the
floor…
slowly,
carefully,
painfully,
I put the pieces together, but...
there is still
a
piece missing,
and I am left with
hert.
“Route Down”
C Michael 117
This Oughta Be in Reader's Digest
Once upon a time, a slave stole his master's horse and escaped to
Canada. The Master went to the officials and wanted his slave back
because he stole his horse. The officials stated that a slave was
considered property and so was the horse and property can't steal
property. So, since the horse carried the slave over to Canada, the
horse stole the slave.
Sophomore Poetry
“Get Up”
I realize now
That I’m the one
Get up! Get up!
That’s missing
Get out of bed!
From my life.
Get up! Get up,
You sleepy head!
“Was It a Cat I Saw?”
There’s much to do;
There’s much to see;
While I was wandering away
If you stay in bed,
From a caterwauling crowd of macaw,
You’ll never be…
I saw a shadow slink and sway,
So get up! Get up!
A ponderous perception, a playful paw,
Get out of bed,
Swatting, swinging, scratching at play;
And put those dreams
Was it a cat I saw?
To work instead!
C Michael 119
Sophomore Poetry
“Genius or Fool?”
120 C Michael
Sophomore Poetry
“I Hate Poetry”
C Michael 121
Sophomore Poetry
122 C Michael
Sophomore Poetry
C Michael 123
Sophomore Poetry
“What Am I?”
Am I a sandcastle,
waiting for the ebb and flow
of the ocean to slowly erode
my emotional fortitude
with the occasional tsunami preparing its devastation
not too far from shore?
Am I a decaying mummy,
wrapped in a shroud
through which no one can see my truth
until I am discovered and unraveled
and I crumble to dust?
Or am I a time bomb,
just waiting for the right moment
for it all to blow apart?
I just want to be something simple,
but once you know the truth,
that’s all there is…
“Ennui”
Ghosts
don’t even
keep me
company
with their
dauntless
haunt.
Boo.
Boohoo.
124 C Michael
Sophomore Poetry
“Wandering Soul”
I am
a
wandering
soul.
I lost my love.
When I
found
her
it
was
too
late.
Too
late.
Too
late.
It was
Too
late!
C Michael 125
INVINCIBLe
INVINCIBLe
LiFe aWaiTS me
witH LiTtLe feEDbAck beYonD a
stYLe ciRcULatioN
witH LiTtle fOrgiVenesS fOr
faLLen hEroEs
tHe wOrLd cAn stiLL bE sAlvAged
mOdern mEdicInE wiLL eXtEnd mE
tHe sALVATION aRMY wiLL pROtecT mE
my fRIends wiLL kEep me haPpy
whAt mE wORry
preParED to eAt it aLL
i am tHe caPtaiN oF MY SOUL
OH CAPTAIN, MY CAPTAIN
INVINCIBLe!
“Class Dreams”
C Michael 129
Two From Biology Class
It looked like a spider with its legs creepy-crawling all over the place,
but it wasn't. It had feathers. It scurried across the ceiling and ate my friend,
Jon. I screamed and ran as it came after me. Then it spit out Jon because he
didn't taste too spiffy. Then it ate Dr. Ha, but choked and had to regurgitate
him. The Ha-mass on the floor was half-digested and looked not so pleasant. I
almost hurled but I swallowed it and ended up with that yucky taste in my
mouth. I got a drink of water as I sprinted from the wretched creature.
Just as I thought I was escaping, I ran right into a huge mother-of-a-
woman at the door and was momentarily winded. It caught up to me, but I
managed to squeeze by the enormous lady. It couldn't get through because she
was so fat, she clogged up the whole doorway. It tried to eat its way through,
but the lady was so fat that when it ate her, it died of high cholesterol.
130 C Michael
Meaningless
Meaningless
meaningless, meaningless
this page is meaningless...
Samantha: Okay. I was seeing this guy and I guess we were going out for like,
uh, four months before we actually, you know, slept together. It wasn't that we
were waiting for that special moment or anything, we just could never make a
go of it; I mean, I guess he wasn't very, I don't know. He was sexy, it wasn't
anything like that, it's just that he never really pushed anything, and I've never
been one to rush anything, so...we just never, you know, did anything. Well,
finally the uh, we went out on this romantic date, like dinner and a play and
drinks afterwards, and it's around twelve or so when we finally decide to leave
the bar and he takes me home. He walks me to the door and suddenly, it's
really awkward and then he just says “well, goodnight” and kisses me. Now,
I've been giving signals; it's not that I haven't, but I guess he just wasn't reading
them. I even thought that maybe he wasn't interested in me, but four months?
Okay, yeah, maybe he doesn't believe in premarital sex, okay, but I mean we
never really discussed, you know, sex or anything like that. I mean, we didn't
have that kind of relationship. It was starting to get a bit...dry. So anyway, he
goes to his car, I go into my house and I'm just like, “Shit!” Then there's a
knock on the door. It's him, of course, and he just grabs me and kisses me
really passionately and one thing leads to another and we, uh, we, uh, you know,
we make love and it's wonderful. And afterwards he tells me he's a virgin! A
twenty-five year old virgin! And I'm like “oh, God!” you know. I mean, I just
knew he really meant it! He was just so shy and so cute and then he's like, “So
do we smoke a cigarette now?” Neither of us smoked anymore. We both had
decided to quit at the same time, and well, that's sort of how we met, but
anyway, I say what the hell, right? I mean, the perfect end to a perfect evening,
so I snuck around the house, and I find a pack of my roommate’s cigarettes and
we light up. The next night, he comes over and we rented a movie and we
didn't even, you know, get halfway through it and once again, afterwards, we
light up. And I make this joke: “I hope we don't get started up again,” just
joshing. He says, “Well, let's make a deal. We'll only smoke after we have sex.”
One cigarette, that's all, and it's set. Well, for the first week my, uh, you know,
sex life is great; every night, sometimes twice even and pretty soon we find
ourselves going through a pack a week, then two packs. After we hit three
packs a week, we both caved in. I mean, you know, we were, uh, wearing each
other out and the sex was getting not so, uh, well, you know. I've been a born-
again smoker ever since.
132 C Michael
The Smoking Monologues
“The Photographer”
Tony: I'm smoking in bed, right, and I'm tired. We hadn't slept for like two
days, just going from one party to another and finally, I pass out, I'm in La-La-
Land, I'm dozy. So anyway, as you could guess, the cigarette drops from my
mouth and the next thing you know, the whole god-damned bed is on fire, just
like engulfed in frickin' flames, right. Naturally, I wake up from this and I'm
like flippin' out, got like this second degree burn on my arm and shit and I'm
just screamin'. Fuckin' Jimmy comes running into the room and he's like “Holy
Shit!” He tears ass outta there and I'm tryin' to smother the damn flames with
my pillow, right. Now, you're a cameraman so you can appreciate this—fuckin'
Jimmy comes runnin' back into the room with his camera and starts fuckin'
taking snapshots of the fire, me tryin' to bat it out, right. I'm like “Do
somethin', Asshole” and he's laughin' his ass off takin' pictures. Son of a bitch.
I'd show you them if I had them with me. I should keep 'em in my wallet or
something. So anyway, smoke's like billowing everywhere, I'm hacking and
coughing while Jerk-O is laughing and playing Ansel fucking Adams or some
shit and the frickin' phone starts ringing, right. So I pick it up and I'm like
“What the fuck?” I tell 'em to call the fire department—it's my frickin' mother!
So now I got her screaming in my ear, I'm yellin' at Jimmy and the fire's startin'
to get worse. Okay, so outta nowhere, Jimmy's girlfriend like comes plowing
into the room, buck fucking naked with a fire extinguisher. She must've
grabbed it from the hallway or some shit, right, starts fightin' the fire like a
trooper. She's like this naked fireman or something. She fuckin' puts out the
fire, and all the while Jimmy's still flashing pictures. Oh, god! It was wild! I'd
show 'em to you if I had them with me, man. You gotta see 'em!
C Michael 133
Not Just a Package
Basically, the strange package appeared twenty feet (and around the
corner) from my doorstep, but to avoid drawing a prepositional map
for those who have never visited my (landlord's) home (and you
know who you are, you discourteous associates!) I compromised and
described a general locale within the realm of a latitude 40.8803,
longitude -77.8129 vicinity, so sue me!
And, since it did obey these proper laws of physics, I must also
concede that the (completely unremarkable) package actually didn't
just "appear" in front of me. Whoever placed it there originally was
obviously long gone and I'll go out on a limb and assume that
particular courier does not moonlight as a freelance magician who
plays practical jokes on his and/or her paranoid neighbors.
So, the moral of this story would seem to revolve around the fact that
I have a very prosaic life and can muster the ability to make even the
most trivial events much more complicated and verbose.
C Michael 139
So Far
SO FAR 6/29/95
I stride forth.
What are you running away from?
Flit along, little twitterbug.
It's so pointless what you're doing!
Run jackass, runnnnnnnn...........
Questioning looks thrown at my back.
Snide comments thrown my way.
to prove to myself
I stride forth.
physically
spiritually.................
I don't want to die,
because I hold so many of my dreams with me here.
For those accomplished:
I feel the pride of a father seeing a child grow up and prosper.
For those failures:
Parts of me die, heartache lies in this place steeped in a
sweaty sorrow.
Then, there are those that are to come:
This place is infinite, I can do all things and not any at all.
This spot holds the most precious human drives,
hope and desire to achieve.
Here I am, immortal.
With these dreams, I can push my limit and know I elude death.
YOU'RE BEATEN
So be careful.
Yes, I think it's power.
My spirit flares and mind expands,
my focus is needle sharp.
I can be as strong as Samson,
as swift as Mercury.
I am hate and retribution personified.
I like the power.
Sodium and potassium deplete, muscles strain and weaken,
I peer ahead for the finish.
My sinews tire and joints ache, I slow to a halt because I must rest to
start over tomorrow.
There is no "finish" - just a journey to the abyss,
and for this journey, I must now rest.
My body flushes and pores shower on me with perspiration
like a baptism, it cleanses my soul.
My exhaustion comes with a sense of peace.
No "runner's high"
No "endorphin rush"
No "euphoria"
Just peace and a release from daily woes.
and this is why I do it.
This is why I don't snap and destroy you and your little
remarks.
PEACE
I hope you find it in your own way.
Meanwhile, I must find a shower.
The only thing even worthy of noting was the 300lb man carrying
with him a rolled up, skankified prison mattress who seemed
incapable of curbing the incessant urge to ramble incoherent
mumblings to himself between loud rumbling belches and gulps from
a mysteriously endless supply of cans of Coca Cola. The man’s two
inch bottom lip flapped non-stop, at times with great emotion and
sincerity with such phrases as, “Brock shivel a dumpsta gotta thun”
and “wreck blah pop a fonda shawn” to which I can only imagine
could be logically deciphered as “I just can’t contain my enthusiastic
love for this Coca Cola, it’s so damn refreshing” and “one day, I’ll
contrive a plot to enact revenge upon Greyhound for banning me
from riding their bus lines.” I’d have to admit, if my translations are
indeed accurate, (and, dependent upon a large majority of the
passersby within his daily realm going through such interpretative
lengths as I), he would be quite a compelling spokesperson for either
scenario.
Initially, I thought the man might have been either conversing with
someone via a cleverly-hidden cellphone device, practicing lines for
his upcoming, off-Broadway audition or chanting Krishna prayers,
but alas, it seems that the large gaseous man is just a testicle hair from
being certifiable.
To my dismay, the extra $4 one shells out to opt for train transport
over bus ride doesn't exactly weed out the riff-raff one might expect.
All this has just reinforced what I have long known to be true:
regardless of the situation, people who talk to themselves creep me
the fuck out.
I think we were about eight or nine, Timmy and I, when we had one of
the greatest times in our childhood. The games we created as children were the
best games we ever played, like Sideline Football in the snow, Gobble-Up, and
playing with our Matchboxes and Hot Wheels in the dry, pulverulent dirt of
summer. We were invincible kids, and I don’t think there will ever be kids like
us again. We were one of a kind and indestructible, untouchable, and dirty.
Not only have the kids changed, but you don’t see that kind of dirt
anymore, especially around Levittown, where it used to be everywhere, tons of
it laying around waiting for us to make dirt roads and towns for our die-cast
miniatures, or dunes for our plastic army guys to battle in the trenches. We
were so creative, we once made a flowing river through my back yard for our
imaginary wars, using a garden shovel, a gallon milk jug and some tinfoil.
But that dirt made it all possible. It was a very fine, powdery dirt, much
finer than sand, and you could get it all over yourself and easily wipe it off with
a wet washcloth and dust off your clothes with a few swats of the hand. It also
made the best mud; the kind we would make huge mudballs with for those
messy mudball fights we would start after it rained or our pops just washed their
paneled station wagons.
A specific patch of this fine dirt lay down the street by the stop sign
that marked the boundary of how far our parents let us travel without telling
them where we were going. One day after a thunderstorm had passed through,
Timmy and I wandered down towards this dirt patch, which was of course now
mud. The day was beautiful and warm and both of us were beyond bored.
Timmy was faster than me. In fact, he was faster than all the kids in
George Washington Elementary School, and out of his boredom he taunted me.
“Betcha can’t catch me!” he gibed, running away from me. Being the type of
person who always accepts a challenge no matter how low my chances of
winning were, I gave chase. Besides, it was something to do.
Ducking, dodging and weaving, agile Timmy evaded me with ease. Not
that I was a slow one either; he was just extremely nimble.
I pushed myself harder than ever and was finally drawing near when
Timmy, not looking where he was going, charged straight towards that huge
mud bog. Running right into it, he slipped and fell, sliding the entire distance,
about nine feet, on his backside.
Seizing an opportunity, I slid feet first through the mud, like a baseball
player sliding into second base, and crashed into him. “Caughtcha!” I shouted,
both of us laughing hysterically.
144 C Michael
The Mud Slide
We cackled like hyenas, gawking at each other’s mud-caked pants.
Timmy got up. “I’m doin’ it again,” he said and ran down to the end of the
mud patch. He backed up and yelled, “Outta my way!” as he bolted toward the
mud again, executing a perfect chest slide, almost crashing into me.
We took turns sliding through the mud, trying to beat each other in
both style and distance. Mud covered us.
Afterwards, we trudged back to my house, walking like Frankensteins,
not bending our knees because suddenly our wet and muddy jeans were the last
things we wanted touching our skin. It’s funny how it didn’t faze us while we
played in it.
We got to my house and oozed through the front door, into the
kitchen. My mother was at the sink doing the dishes when she saw us come in.
“What, in God’s name, happened to you two!?” She didn’t really yell, but
instead, the question popped out as she tried to hold in the laughter. We were
quite a sight!
She made us strip down and get in the tub while she washed our jeans
and tees. When we finished bathing, we sat in the living room in our underwear
watching “Tom & Jerry” cartoons and eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches
my mother made for us.
This is my fondest memory of Timmy. A few years later, he moved
away and I only saw him once after that. He had a little brother and sister then
that he didn’t have when he lived on my street. I heard that his father died in a
tragic accident a few weeks after his visit and I read in the newspaper years later
about his amazing success in track and in football at his high school, breaking
all the eastern high school records. I don’t know what happened to him after
that, but I’m sure he went to the college of his choice, playing football, running
track and maybe someday he’ll be in the Olympics or playing professionally. I
wonder if he would even remember me, after all his possible fame, fortune and
glory; especially the time we played on the mud slide.
C Michael 145
Greyhound to Savannah
Greyhound to Savannah
That tired, old smelly dog idles, braced at the starting gate
delayed, but determined to wait for an infestation of flea riders;
its noxious blood draining, exhausted before budging
laboring harebrained, shifts into high gear
fleeing a Texas whip, motivated by Lentzschian spurs
gouging its sides, just below starved ribs
advances toward the crown
town of the commonwealth
to shake off its dirt.
The fleas leave and jump off with relief, one lone
louse allured by her beauty strand as she walks to her
Eden, barefoot she visits King Solomon who sits
by emerald fountains and fashions her a rose from his palm.
Savannah strolls by her river where the fish swim to greet her,
the louse smells the air as a gentle breeze blows through
her hair, he nestles into the answer to his prayers while Savannah
sits in Telfair Square and brushes her tresses, dislodging the cootie
onto her dress who tumbles off and cries in distress as he watches
her leave and disappear in the mist, he boards a passing puppy
longing to return to her.
Boomer Wadaska 147
Fruity Toot Days and the Lazy Haze
Death Rattle
Current mood: restless
Memories are haunting me...little pictures in the back of my mind, but more
than that...lost sensations...how accurate is my memory? I remember entire
conversations, but I don’t remember them consciously verbatim...that is to say,
in my head I recall them, but to write them down...there’s no way to be
accurate...so how accurate is my memory? All these feelings dance around inside
me...don’t know what to do with them...Cherished moments I long to relive are
fleeting glimpses that remind me of what is lost forever...Once it’s happened,
it’s happened...and it’s over...So I try to make new memories in hopes of
recapturing something, but I’m not aware of what that is...Rarely realize a new
memory...What moments of this current manifestation of my self will
predominate my mind when I can’t sleep 10 years from now? What the fuck
was the point of all my past history? The mistakes I made...the mistakes I’m still
paying for...because I was so stupid...so out of touch...and now here I am, most
likely making more mistakes, some the same, some different, and I’ll look back
and say to myself "What the fuck was I thinking?" But there’s some good stuff,
too...Lots of it...Can’t tell sometimes if it’s holding me back or pushing me
forward...Anchor or winch? I’ll die soon...maybe 10, maybe 20, maybe 30 years;
maybe tomorrow...what will I remember then? And where will I go? Where was
I before all of this? I have memories that expand back only an infinitesimal span
of time...Prior to that there’s nothing...If we spawn from what seems to be
nothing, then where do we go? Heaven, Hell, Nirvana, Reincarnation...the
mythologies that help us cope with the unfortunate knowledge of our own
mortality...what happens when you’ve not found the right faith yet? What
happens when logic still outweighs the fear? And yet here I sit in a rut, feeling
sorry for myself, remembering what I used to do, merely a human being, not a
human "doing". And I can’t get out...so I stick to my foolish vices because I can
escape from reality for prolonged portions of the day...and get angry when I
return to reality...frustrated that my time’s up from being some place else where
I’m a genius, a mad man, a hero, a sex god...and now I’m feeling
ordinary...everything great is a red flag of my own failures...A great movie, a
great sports moment, a political achievement that changes the world, a fantastic
invention...they all sting me...I’m not doing any of those things...I’m just my
aging, fat old self...and I don’t know how to get up off my ass and do it...the
energy seems to have gone out of me...Passion dissipated. I feel I’m not smart
enough to figure this damn thing out...I’m always one step behind...I want to be
ahead...I need to take a step in the right direction, but I don’t know which way
that is? And I could die tomorrow!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! My car’s falling apart on me...a
C Michael 151
Blogs
wheel’s going to fly off in transit and I’ll careen off the road into a pole and my
mechanical seat belt will fail me and I’ll launch through the windshield...and I’ll
never know greatness...at least not until the moment my head makes impact
with that same pole and just before I expire, I’ll have that fucking epiphany!
And I’ll know what greatness is...I’ll know exactly what to do...and then I’ll be,
to use a cliché, nevermore....Into the great abyss...whatever that may be...and as
for all of my memories? Will I still have them then? If not, what the hell were
they for?
Holy shit! It happened!!! If you read my previous, yet depressing blog, you'll
understand the full capacity of my hitherto unknown psychic abilities.
My wheel fell off!!! I careened off the road into a ditch and came inches away
from slamming into a tree!!! I stopped short of a huge tree trunk by a few feet.
What's more, it was dark, cold and I was in the middle of the woods with no
cell phone (because generally I consider them to be more like leashes than
anything useful.)
Even stranger: I'm buying a new car today; I made arrangements for my auto
loan yesterday, before I lost my wheel!! (Also, a dealership I had perused back
in December left a message on my machine last night!)
Stranger forces greater than I are afoot! I saw greatness, but not my own (of
course.) And I didn't have to ram my head into a pole, fortunately. No, I just
had to be stranded in the freezing cold woods until a stranger getting off work
picked me up and drove me to a guard station at the company for which he
worked. This is where, with no voice (I have a nasty cold and can't really speak
at all) I had to explain to the woman at AAA, for over an hour, the situation,
which she just couldn't seem to grasp, so I had to repeat myself over and over
and over...All the while, the guard is watching American Idol on a mini TV and
playing solitaire on a noisy hand-held. Another employee is standing over me in
a corner, sleeping (yes, sleeping on his feet!)
So now my car is sitting in my parking lot with three wheels...and a whole lot of
sod it dug up from the ditch. And naturally, true to my own form, I won't be
able to trade it in today...Thus is the cycle of my life...
Well, I gotsta go. I borrowed a friend’s car so that I can go buy mine today,
which I'll have to pick up another day...
152 C Michael
Blogs
H20 > $GAS
Current mood: Ripped-off
If soaring gas prices are a concern for you, how about the ridiculous water
prices. Even if you buy a 16 oz. bottle of water for the discounted price of $.99,
you are still paying $8.00 per gallon. The world's most abundant resource--
$8.00 per gallon. Spell Evian backwards....
My mind has taken a turn for the worse. I have ventured forth into this
cyberspace without a clue or a care as to why. Somewhere in the back of my
mind I wonder what kind of people would actually read my thoughts. If
anything, at least there might be more evidence that I existed....
Doggy Style
Current mood: cynical
As Americans have finally reached the apex of sloth, they have decided it would
be time to spread the disease, this time to our little canine friends. I just saw an
ad for "Doggy Steps." The revolutionary new product (evidently advertised as
having been around for decades) is a set of portable steps that will allow Man's
Littlest Best Friend to get into bed or onto a couch with ease. No more forcing
the poor little bitch to jump or whine incessantly until you pick her up. She (or
he) can walk right up the Doggy Steps for the low, low price of not 129.99, not
89.99, not even 59.99, but 39.99 plus tax, lots of tax and S&H. Not only that; if
you order today, you'll get a second set of Doggy Steps absolutely free! They
must be taking a loss on that one. How can they just give 'em away like that?
Don't tell anyone I told you, but a box at the foot of the bed might be a hell of
a lot cheaper.
C Michael 153
Blogs
It's come to my attention that some people find it more important to be hard-
core, funny or pretend to be insane than to express oneself in well-rounded
discourse. So, in an effort to be more popular, here I go:
Hard-Core Haiku
Chiseled teeth sputter
As the blood pours down my chin
And I feel no pain
My Manifesto
154 C Michael
I Have Not a Phillips Head
Where's my wrench?
Where's my hammer?
Don't look at me like I stammer.
No way!
Because his body needed it today
Hocus Pocus
Sam: It was four p.m. on a Monday. The night was slow; I was bored. That is,
of course, until she entered my life. I’m Sam Shade, Private I. As you could
have guessed, this is a typical opening to a typical detective story, but it is also
the not-so-typical opening for an abnormal love story, I think.
She was beautiful. There was something about her that made me
sweat, or a least I thought so before noticing the thermostat was broken. Her
legs were long, perfect, and silky, probably because of her No-Nonsense brand
silk stockings. She had a walk that could turn any man’s head, mainly due to the
way her dress floated upward with every passing gust of wind. My fan was
oscillating.
She sat down on my desk. I tried not to look, but from this angle I
couldn’t resist. Her backside was well-rounded, plump and nicely basted like a
Thanksgiving Day turkey. I managed to move my eyes upward, studying the
hills and valleys of paradise.
She had a smile that could blind the Cheshire cat. Her hair was as
golden as a blurred sunrise on a foggy day. I looked into her eyes; big and
beautiful and as blue as the ink in my Bic Erasable. This dame was smoking!
Parliament, I think. I was drooling; she slapped me.
“Snap out of it,” she said and went on to explain her dilemma. I’d tell
you her story if only I could remember what it was. After reviewing her case, I
realized this wasn’t a job for me; she needed a divorce attorney.
Her lips were luscious, like two ripe lemons. I tried to kiss them; she
punched me in the nose. Her bosom was firm like two water balloons ready to
burst with liquid pleasure! I tried to touch them; she broke my fingers.
I tried to embrace her as she started to leave; she broke four of my ribs.
I gasped for air as she kicked me hard like a two-ton truck in the place where
new life starts. I hit a high falsetto note; I am, or was, a bass. She swept me off
my feet, and she slammed me to the floor like a five-dollar whore in a cheap
motel. She was a pro wrestler.
Fortunately the paramedics were able to sedate her long enough to get
me out of there. Well, if you’ll excuse me; I’ve got to run like a cheap thief with
a car stereo before she finds me again!
C Michael 159
Quarter-Life Crisis
Quarter-Life Crisis
The problem usually occurs when your ego can no longer stand being
dwarfed, (even with your expensive import bottle strategically
displayed label-out) and you attempt to dismount the stool not
realizing that the chain has concocted it's own strategy to loop itself
around your shoe. The result is an awkward situation where nobody
in the immediate area wins. The standerbys don't want to patronize
you by approaching too late to be of assistance after your split-second
head dive to the floor startles everyone. Conversely, they certainly
don't want to appear insensitive, which could come across as sarcastic
to those who watched him watch you fall.
It boils down to you getting what you deserve, he's sure to rationalize.
He didn't ask to be in this situation, he just came in for a beer and a
smoke. After all, what twenty-five-year-old still wears a chain wallet?
Maybe he's retarded, he may rationalize clued to the hat askew. This
peer-pressured/self-induced internal impasse is enough to drive a
person to not drink and walk straight out of the bar to scan the
parking lot for a short bus. Since most pubs strictly adhere to a "one-
head-dive-you're-out" policy, smart money is on you being out, with
your pricey half-finished beer tossed into the trash, label-up.
But that's only six instances-- hardly a tragic streak of misfortune one
might be apt to protest. I, however, just figured it would be highly
inappropriate to continue such a list for a reader who just came in for
a quick page turner. After all, one doesn't necessarily prepare one's
head to be accosted by such glum-downery and being bogged down
with the drudge-taking task of keeping track of countdown place
numbers. Unless, of course, you're a masochist, whereupon you
should quit reading all-together and spend your free time away from
the scrapyard listening to Gimp's Envy on your Walkman while
burning the heads off your little sister's Strawberry Shortcake dolls.
Might I suggest track 13, "Burny-Plasticy" for the occasion?
162 C Michael
School for Geniuses
“Hazel? Is everything copasetic?” inquired Mrs. Haversham, very
concerned, more for her own sake then for that of the two deviants upon which
Hazel just delivered a verbal lashing.
“'Copasetic' is slang of a disputable obscure origin,” she responded,
“but I am A-O. K.!”
Mrs. Haversham was aghast. She realized that if she had not before,
she now had her hands full and the holiday break could not come soon enough.
C Michael 163
Ode to the Paranoid Blowfish
***PUFF***
Sid sat still on his sofa. Terribly terrified he tapped his toe in tentative
trepidation. Utterly undone, he was unsure of the underside of the upholstery.
Vicious villains varied in the vivid vastness of his visions. What wicked
weirdness waited within while he worried, he wondered. An x-ray could explain
his expectations exactly; yet you usually don't use such unusual instruments for
that usage.
Sid resumed his za-zen pose in a zealous exertion to eschew seizure
from the presumptive hazard. Assuming an awful atrocity would assail him,
anxiety apprehended him. Boldly building brazen beliefs, the boy became
belligerent towards the beast below. Could he conjure copious courage to
combat the iniquitous creature? Delving deep down in his doughtiness and
daring a dismount, Sid dove from the divan and landed beside the door.
Expecting to expeditiously exit his extant environment and evade this
evil, ebullience encompassed his essence. Fortune frowned frivolously upon his
fruitless feat, for the foyer frustration was unfeasibly fastened. Great guttural
groans generated from his gastronomic gut. He hastily hurried hazardously past
his whilom haven, hoping to happen on a helpful hammer perhaps.
Inches in vicinity from his imminent imperilment, he instinctively
implemented an impossible impetus. Judiciously jumping was a justifiable jaunt
in his judgment. Keeping clear of the couch became his capital concern.
Lithely landing left of the lounge, he lunged toward the luthern. A moment of
mirth was muddled by a mulish transom. Noting that the nefarious nuisance
could be nigh, the nimble nipper maneuvered to a nearby niche. Opening the
oriel was an otiose option and now he was obsequious to his oppressor.
Perhaps he could parlay a pardon from this persistent peril.
Querulously loquacious, quoth he a quixotic query requesting clemency.
Rending him responsive, his relative roused him from his ridiculous
revelry. Instead of snapping to secular substance, Sid sorely selected to subsist
in his phantasmal slumber.
C Michael 165
Big, Big Fatty Boom-Boom
Sitting in a room
something went boom!
What could it have been?
Did little Bobby sin?
What should I do?
and, "Where the dickens, is my shoe?"
Outside, I run.
there, fat people are having fun.
Jumping really high,
blotting out the sky.
They bounce really hard
'cause they're big tubs o' lard
That noise that they made,
felt and heard like a hand grenade.
And I almost got killed,
so I sat down and chilled.
And that's what you do,
(but I still couldn't find my shoe!)
When you're sitting in a room,
and a fatty goes boom!
167
A Very Bad Day To Be Rich
The contradiction of this logic did not impair the development of his
simultaneous epiphany concerning his personal affairs and the idea
that he should make a concerted effort to be a little more aware of
them and quite possibly, should time permit, tend to them in a
purposeful and dignified manner that would ultimately result in a
celebrated assimilation with his surroundings.
Once upon a time, there was a big O. It began a fairy tale. It led the letters
n, c, and e, larger than the rest. This O was monstrous. It ate the town of
Quartz and then rampaged on to the Land of Troth. It found a lovely three
bedroom, two bath home on the historical register and settled down. Then I
met O. I was very nice. I moved in with O. I and O had children. Their
names were A, E, U and Sometimes Y. Sometimes Y was sort of a runt. The
other kids made fun of him because he wasn't like them. He wasn't always a
vowel.
“Quit picking on your brother!” scolded O, “or your father will let
you have it!”
The children were relentless. They were careful that Mother and Father
didn't see them teasing Sometimes Y. They called him names like “Whobehee.”
One day, Sometimes Y got so upset, it ran away from home. It left
Troth in search of something more. It wanted to know where it fit in.
Most of the other letters shunned it, but one day it met a gentle letter
named G that told it to see the Almighty Exalted X on top of Mount Alphabet.
Sometimes Y heeded the advice. It climbed and climbed the mountainside until
it reached the Plateau of Numbers, a dreadful place. Sometimes Y was
unexpectedly attacked by a ravenous 7 while a 6 fearfully hid amongst the
masticated remains of a 9. Sometimes Y picked up a 0 that was lying nearby
and multiplied the 7 into nothingness.
“It's okay,” Sometimes Y told the 6. “It's gone. Could you please tell
me how to get to the Almighty Exalted X?” The 6 just pointed to the top of
the mountain.
Sometimes Y continued his arduous climb to the pinnacle. The
Almighty Exalted X stood before him in all his glory.
“Help me,” Sometimes Y pleaded. “I can't quite cut it as a vowel.
What should I do?”
The Almighty Exalted X let out an almighty chuckle. “Why,
Sometimes Y, you have abilities that other vowels do not. Not only are you a
vowel, you are also a consonant. For example, in the word “sky” you function
as a vowel, but in the word “you” you are quite clearly a consonant. Without
you as a consonant there would be no yaks or Yodels or yo-yos. So you see,
you are really quite special to us all!”
“Oh, thank you, Almighty Exalted X! I am forever in you debt!”
Sometimes Y shouted with glee. It decided to go back home, back to the Land
of Troth and confront its family once more.
170 C Michael
When I Met O
When Sometimes Y got home, its family was elated to see it, even the
other children. They noticed something different about Sometimes Y. It
seemed more important.
“Look at you! My how you have changed!” I descried.
“Yes, Father, I have. I found out that not only am I a vowel, but I am
also a consonant!” Sometimes Y triumphed. O gasped upon hearing this.
“But how could that be possible?” I inquired. “No, you are a pure
vowel. Knock off this nonsense this instant!” I turned to O. “It's not possible,
is it, dear?” I asked as calmly as possible. O did not respond. It couldn't even
look I in the face.
I screamed in disbelief. “Go to your rooms, kids,” I growled. When
they were gone, I turned to its wife and yelled, “Who was it!?”
“Now, look, I...” O stammered.
“Who was it?” I repeated.
O burst into tears and cried, “It was P! It was P!”
Infuriated, I stormed to the gun cabinet and got a shotgun. I went to
P's house, kicked the door in and shot it right in the stomach.
Looking down at the now dead P, I laughed. “No good sneaky bastard!
Now you look like a goddamn B!”
I returned home. Too frightened, O didn't say a word. I just sat on the
couch with the shotgun and waited for the police.
C Michael 171
So Why Bother?
So Why Bother?
A 9th Grade Civics Essay
Billyons and billyons of long time agos the earth was formed,
postulated Charles Darwin, the reputed father of evolution. Darwin
theorized that every basic flake of life had evolved from a single cell,
relating all life itself.
The theory goes on theorizing that the modern homo-sapien,
developed from said single cell, as did all common senseless organic
photosynthesizing organisms, as did common avians, rodents,
amphibians, aquatic beings, dumb quadrupts and so on the lifeline goes.
One might ponder then, why man doesn't fit as well within this earthy
environment?
It seems that man has become so modernized with technology
and so involved with his own affairs that he has totally ignored his
surrounding world. Man may have traded organic instinct for technology
in that he is no longer animalistically barbaric; he is now mechanically
barbaric. Man does not fit into the ecology, his impact more determined
than dung and footprints yet, much less purposeful.
If the only apparent reason for modern human living is to lie on
California beaches with their ecru bodies and these single-cell descendant
beings depend solely within the existence of its own species, then where
did the evolutionary gap occur? Why don't humans casually associate
with their ancestral co-inhabitants? When, where and why did we lose
our bird brain and lizard sense?
There happens to live a lonely, moronic tribe on the southeastern
shore of an uncharted, desolate tropical island that flirt with highly
intellectual ideas. The tribe, as described by the only Californian to surf
to this exotic locale, call themselves Skitswabs. Coincidentally, the surfer
had innate knowledge of the Skitswabian tongue buried deep within his
left brain. They shared with him their philosophy of life in poetic terms:
“Strung Out”
e m a c i a t e d .
scary.
“Somewhat Lost”
174 C Michael
Junior/Senior Poetry
“Amity”
I think I like U,
Yes, you!
Why? Oh, you!
“Owwwwww!”
Healed wounds
Hurt worse
Reopened…
“Happenings”
C Michael 175
Junior/Senior Poetry
“Polyploidy”
I feel nothing
as I stand here naked
not empty
not happy
not sad
just nothing
then frustration sets in
and ties me up in knots
I heave a Pyrrhic sigh
that offers
a moment’s relief
I hang my head
and feel nothing
forever…
176 C Michael
Junior/Senior Poetry
“Filing System”
“Your Opinion”
My mind is a most complicated
You see my poem version of the Dewey Decimal System.
As it is The card catalog
And accept has been sufficiently
That it means suhflefd.
Whatever you think it means…
C Michael 177
Junior/Senior Poetry
“My Sacrifice”
“911”
What’s to become of us
in this suddenly tumultuous existence?
The imminence of war looms
ominously ahead and I…
abide
with such astonishment,
such horrific awe,
as my usefulness in the world
is rend asunder…
178 C Michael
Junior/Senior Poetry
“Today Is Sunday, August 5, 10:25pm”
I feel like I am dying
or
I am already
dead…
All my passion has dissipated into
an endless well
of pitiful
tears…
I’m growing more and more
a victim
of my own self-pity
as this depression sends
me spiraling down
into the darkness
of my own creation…
I accomplish nothing
and it seems the harder I fight…
the more hopeless I become…
Why can’t I find a way out of
this quagmire of
defeat
defeat
defeated
de-feeted
fetid
stench
something here
stinks
to
high
heaven…
C Michael 179
Junior/Senior Poetry
180 C Michael
Beat Street
Beat Street
There is no way to begin to tell you how awfully I failed to feel about
the misdeeds I perpetrated upon a stupendous portion of my school's
population. This momentous apathy towards my fellow students defies all
rational explanation, so I'll do what I can to present them as pragmatic facts
(which naturally comes across as apathy), and allow you to ponder the limitless
possibilities behind my seemingly illogical motives. You can get together later
with your cronies and discuss the multitude of ramifications my behavior forces
onto the world around me and argue the whys and wherefores until your heads
spin off your necks and bounce around like battling tops.
On the very first day of school, I was forced to sit next to Michelle.
Now you have to understand that Michelle was a girl, and at the time I still
believed that all girls had cooties, which of course we now know is true...and
she was a snotty girl at that, and I don't mean that she was pompous. I mean
that her nose ran...a lot. She kept an endless supply of tissues in her desk and
stored the used ones in a pile on top.
Now, upon discovering the unfortunate lot I had drawn through no
control of my own, I exhaled a grievous groan and announced to no one in
particular, “Anybody but Mucous Michelle!” I didn't stop to think how this
might affect her self-esteem. Come to think of it, I didn't even stop to consider
the possibility that she may actually be human rather than some abhorrent
mucous monster, but I blurted my disdain nonetheless. I never considered the
fact that her runny nose might have been a direct result of a harrowing dust
allergy from which the poor girl suffered every day, and that her nose must be
in constant pain from all of the incessant rubbing, itching and blowing.
So there she was, suffering, and to kick her while she was down, to
pour the proverbial salt in the wound, I obnoxiously and unabashedly expressed
the dismay I would incur in having to sit next to this disgusting, slimy creature.
And she, being used to it, said not word one. She just crawled even further into
her shell. Going to school must have been a nightmare for her, but at the time,
it didn't even occur to me that I should care about something as insignificant as
feelings that weren't mine.
Let me take a moment to divulge a little about myself so that you may
further comprehend my remorse. I was a lot more eloquent than most fifth
graders. I have been told that when it comes to the language arts, I was
downright precocious; a child prodigy of English as it were. I was reading and
writing by the age of three. One would think that with this extraordinary ability,
I should have been faster edumacated than most others and thusly more
mature, or at least mature enough to refrain from spouting stupidity such as
would decimate a young lady's self-image, but lo and behold, I found myself just
182 C Michael
Accidental Bully
as much an idiot as the next fifth grade boy; just as insensitive, just as self-
serving, just as pseudo-evil, archetypal male pathos chauvinistic. I think it's
innate. We can't help it. We're born with it. And even the greatest teachers fail
to prevent us from causing the damage we inflict because our nature compels
us, I guess. Oh, but that's right. I forgot I was leaving it up to you to figure out
why. I'm merely a narrator. You're the conscientious objector, and I digress.
Now where was I? Oh yes, my despicable treatment of Michelle. So of
course I sat next to her and after horrifically blurting my deplorable rhetoric, the
only thing that was changed by it was that Michelle would feel worse about
herself and I would look like a jack-ass to the entire class and even more
importantly in the eyes of karmic value, all the while being completely oblivious
myself.
So it comes to pass that despite my misgivings and reprehensible
behavior, Michelle turned out to be really nice to me. She wasn't too bad to sit
next to after all. She was smart, funny, great at math (at which I was not very
proficient) and actually able and willing to help me. Occasionally though,
during silent reading times mostly, she could be a little hard to take if I let my
mind get the best of me. That nose would just run like a faucet and I could
visualize the mucous dribbling out if I dwelt on it too long. She would then
grab a tissue and blow. I could literally hear the viscosity of her nasal ablutions
and the honking sound she made didn't help much either.
Well, as time would have it, I'm sure that Michelle would have moved
past her insecurities, found an appropriate nasal spray and eventually would
have grown up to marry and bear children of her own, all of which she would
raise to be respectful and polite to those who were different than they. But at
present, the devastation I caused within her must have seemed irreparable. It's
more than amazing, the consequences of our actions.
C Michael 183
I Hate Rain
I Hate Rain
I HATE RAIN!
HMMmmmmmmm
RAIN I HATE!
HMMMMmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
HATE I RAIN!
(snicker)
RAIN HATE I!
HA!
I RAIN HATE!
hee! hee!
HATE RAIN I!
(sigh) oh, well
I'm sitting here in my boxer shorts eating a chicken pot pie and
watching the "Hurricane Babies" report on CNN when I notice that
my fingernail is almost completely regenerated. Huzzah!
I was worried, when two months ago after feeding my left index into
the finger-smashing bar of a commercial Toro mower, that I would be
permanently deformed. I thought about a former classmate I sat next
to in kindergarten who told everyone that his fingernail malformity
occurred feeding peanuts to an elephant at the zoo. What would my
story be? I had to think of something slightly more exotic than "fixing
a mower." Maybe I was rescuing a hurricane baby?
My finger swolled and purpled. Two days later, after hours of icing
the pain and hearing from all of my curiously concerned associates
that I would most definitely lose the nail, I decided one morning to
walk over to the Centre County hospital and get it checked out by a
trained professional. I walked into the lobby and the building was
dead quiet. Somehow, I had expected a chaos of doctors running
around and patients screaming and squirting blood everywhere, since
this is what I had been accustomed to knowing of such places via
television and since I hadn't been through the ER since my mother
was, (in her words) on a fateful November morning in 1972, dragged
kicking, screaming and cursing from the pain of a child trying to
squeeze out of her uterus, ass first.
A receptionist sitting at a large circular desk and talking on the phone
seemed unaware of my presence. Maybe the proper ER etiquette is to
enter crawling and convulsing, drooling and/or peeing oneself on the
floor in order to precipitate a rush of orderlies who would instantly
scoop one up onto a gurney to get the process going, stat! Instead, I
entered calmly (although, if the receptionist had bothered to notice, I
was wincing) as if I was delivering a pizza. She hung up the phone
on Centre County Single Receptionists Chatline (or whoever she was
really talking to) and asked if she could help me. Was this a trick
question? Was I supposed to unwrap the Taco Bell napkins covering
the ice cube-filled Ziploc around my finger and show the goods for
her to make an assessment to whether my status was to be considered
dire enough for admissibility? If not, then would she give me
MapQuest directions to the "Sort-of-Hurt, But Not Dying" station that
The hot sun blazed clean across the sky as he remained silent, left
hand on his ancient, but trustworthy .44 Auto Mag, Betsy. As the near-
ending sunny day eased, Wolf-Rider gazed aimlessly at the blood-filled,
off-center horizon.
In the distance (mostly toward the left-hand corner of his right
eye), he caught a profound vision of dramatic proportions. It was not a
vision that one might understand fully, but Wolf-Rider grasped every last
detail of it—the worldly symbol of ill-fortune, the very first moth out of
hibernation. Cantankerously he stared, contemplating his very thoughts,
awed by the ostentatious sight which had made him very quiescent. For
this, he was blank.
Known as a man who makes a dramatic first impression upon all
he lay eyes, he gallantly moshed toward the ever-so-confused Death-Hed
Moth. Also known as an artist, a poet, albeit not the very best poet, he
recited:
“O strange moth who flies in the night,
Moth that flutters straight toward the light,
But when the sun riseth, so big and bright,
The moth e’er so diligently ends his flight.
Why, moth, not flit o’er to the sun;
Instead of asunder’n my luck of the deed to be done?”
But, dumbfoundedly, the Death-Hed Moth did not fly to the descending
sun, but instead toward Wolf-Rider’s lantern, and he and the moth felt a
sudden, callous, frigid chill.
My Mind Spoken
#
;^): (text message emoticon) “a wink and a smile”, wysiwyg, 81
;p: (text message emoticon) “tongue out”, “happy”, or “joking”,
Truth and Soul, 52
.44 Auto Mag: a pistol designed to bring .44 magnum power to a semi-
automatic pistol, The Legend of Wolf-Rider, 190
3M: (formerly Minnesota Mining and Manufacturing Company) a company
that produces thousands of products, most notably adhesives, abrasives
and laminates, Banana Meltdown, 113
“3-5-0-0”: a song from the musical Hair (1968) which takes its lyrics from Alan
Ginsberg's poem Witchita Sutra Vortex, the number referring to the
estimated monthly casualty rate during the Viet Nam War,
INVINCIBLe, 126
7-Eleven: a convenience store very prevalent in Levittown,
ABOUT GEORGE, 36
911: a dual reference to the emergency telephone number and the terrorist
attacks in the United States on September 11, 2001, 911, 178
1000 Blank White Cards: an improvisational card game where the deck is
created as the game is being played, 1000 Blank White Cards, 44-46
a
AAA: (initialism) “American Automobile Association”, a non-profit
automobile service organization and insurance company, Rumble
Strips, 15; Predictions in the Year 06, 152
Academy Award: an award presented annually by the Academy of Motion
Picture Arts and Sciences, popularly known as an “Oscar”,
Banana Meltdown, 112
Achilles' heel: a fatal weakness named for the Greek warrior, Achilles' who
met his demise with an arrow to his heel, his only weak spot,
The Legend of Wolf-Rider, 198
adjectivize: Kylean word for “making an adjective out of” (see Kylean
interlude), Fruity Toot Days and the Lazy Haze, 149
agita: agitation or anxiety, Restless, 71
205
“albatross around one's neck”: a phrase meaning “an annoying burden”
originating from Samuel Taylor Coleridge's poem, The Rime of the
Ancient Mariner, wherein after a sailor kills an albatross, he is forced to
wear the carcass around his neck as punishment,
School for Geniuses, 162
Allstate: an insurance company, INVINCIBLe, 127
alpha and omega: the beginning and end, Swiffertail, 95; So Why Bother?, 173
American Idol: a reality television show that features young vocal talent
competing for a record contract, Predictions in the Year 06, 152
Amtrak: a government-owned intercity passenger train service,
Amtrak from Harrisburg, 143
Anglo-Saxon: general term for the invading tribes in the south and east of
Great Britain circa 6 AD to the Norman conquest of 1066,
Banana Meltdown, 112
anti-gingham: against all forms of striped or checked yarn-dyed, plain-weave
cotton fabrics, Banana Meltdown, 112
AOL: (initialism) internet company formerly known as America On-Line,
Koch, 33
Apache: a collective name for a group of culturally related Native Americans,
Someone Got Married on August 21 and I Was There, 87
appetence: intense desire, Route Down, 117
alchemic: of archaic chemical science, part of occult tradition best known for
attempts to transmutate common metal into gold, Beloved Dream, 109;
Katie's Torchlight, 50 (alchemized)
anthropomorphic: ascribing living characteristics to inanimate objects,
cOME oN pILGRIM, 90
Arnoldness: having a physique equivalent to that of body-builder Arnold
Schwarzenegger, The Legend of Wolf-Rider, 193
ATM: (text message initialism) “at this moment”, wysiwyg, 80
Audubon Society: (National Audubon Society) a non-profit environmental
organization dedicated to conservancy, Fruity Toot Days and the Lazy
Haze, 150
axiomatic: of or pertaining to self-evidence, A Mental Trip, 1
206
b
Beethoven: (Ludwig van Beethoven, December 16, 1770 – March 26, 1827)
composer and pianist known to have composed and performed even
after becoming deaf, Letter to Beethoven, 85
Bic Erasable: a brand of pen equipped with an eraser and erasable ink,
Between Lust and a Hard Place, 159
blacktors: a combination of the words “black” and “actors” to denote actors
of African American heritage, Banana Meltdown, 112
Blue and White: the team colors of Penn State University, in this case
referencing its student body, Koch, 35
Blue Nun: a German wine brand most popular between the 1950's and 1980's,
The Legend of Wolf-Rider, 192
b-movie-esque: having the quality of a low budget film, For Those Who Have
Defied the Odds, 189
Bombardment: a dodgeball variant often played in high school gym class,
Quarter-Life Crisis, 160
Bristol Township: a township in Bucks County, Pennsylvania many parts of
which consist of sections of Levittown, Banana Meltdown, 113
Brooks Brothers: the oldest men's clothier in the United States (1818),
Fruity Toot Days and the Lazy Haze, 149
BTW: (text message initialism) “by the way”, wysiwyg, 80
Buchanan: (James Buchanan Elementary School) a school located in
Levittown, PA, Quarter-Life Crisis, 160
Bucks County: one of the five Pennsylvania counties that makes up the
Delaware Valley; Levittown is located here, Swiffertail, 95;
Banana Meltdown, 112
Bugs Bunny: an animated rabbit who appears in the Looney Tunes and Merrie
Melodies series of animated short films, touted as the greatest and most
recognizable cartoon character of all time, Dear John, 62
c
Cain: in Genesis and the Qur'an, son of Adam and Eve who committed the
first murder, in this case used for the jealousy, rivalry and aggression he
represents, The Old Scottish Lane, 180
Captain Peanut-a-delic & the Shim-sham Catamaran: a fictitious zydeco
jam band, Fruity Toot Days and the Lazy Haze, 149
207
carbos: (abbreviation) “carbohydrates”, So Far, 140
Carrot Top: (Scott Thompson, born February 25, 1965) a prop comic known
for his bright red hair, Picture of Me, 73
Centre County: a county in Pennsylvania where State College is located,
For Those Who Have Defied the Odds, 186
Chairman Mao: (Mao Zedong) leader of the People's Republic of China from
1949-1976, The Following Night in Tiananmen Square, 9
Charles Darwin: a naturalist noted for his theories on evolution,
So Why Bother?, 172
Chekhovian: of Anton Chekhov, a Russian writer known for penning
tragedies but referring to them as comedies, George's Uncle, 69
Cheshire cat: a character from Lewis Carroll's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland,
known for its enormous smile, Between Lust and a Hard Place, 159
chili-chongas: (variant of chimichangas) deep fried burritos, most likely
stuffed with chili, Fruity Toot Days and the Lazy Haze, 148
Christopher Columbus: an explorer whose voyages led to the European
awareness of the later named “American” continents, Raffles, 138
Chuck Taylor: (Charles Hollis Taylor, June 24, 1901 – June 23, 1969) a
basketball player and shoe salesman, best known for his Converse
brand Chuck Taylor All-Stars sneakers, Banana Meltdown, 112
Civic: Honda model car in production from 1973-present, Front Porch, 27
CNN: (initialism) “Cable News Network”, the first television station to
provide 24-hour news coverage, For Those Who Have Defied the
Odds, 186
Coca-Cola: a popular carbonated soft drink, Amtrak from Harrisburg, 143
codex authorities: a cynical reference to moral guidelines,
In Just a Few Hours, 28
Cosmo: nickname for Cosmopolitan, the best-selling women's magazine,
The Legend of Wolf-Rider, 192
Craftmatic: a brand of adjustable bed, The Legend of Wolf-Rider, 199
creationing: the act of creating creation as regarded by believers of
creationism, So Why Bother?, 173
croutoneous: having the properties of a crouton, The Magnanimous Salad, 77
cyberspace: a synonym for the internet, I Need a Better Agent, 153
cyberspacious glands: pertaining to the release of hormones triggered by the
pituitary gland as a result of salacious communication (mostly
unreciprocated) within an on-line social networking website,
MySpace Girl, 104
208
Cyclopes: in Greek mythology, a primordial race of giants with a single eye in
the center of their forehead, in this case the cyclopes referred to are
referenced from Hesiod's Theogony, wherein Arges, Brontes and
Steropes were sons of Gaea and Uranus, Not Just a Package, 134
d
Dewey Decimal System: method created by Melvil Dewey in 1876 for
organizing books in a library so that they may be easily located and
replaced, Filing System, 177
diapendion: medicinal sugar, cOME oN pILGRIM, 91
Dirk Doom: cartoon created by Kyle Phipps Bernhardy in 1990, which
originally appeared in the “Illegal Pad”, a series of conglomerate
writings authored by the student body at Harry S Truman High School,
Levittown, PA, 33, 89, 118, 136, 164, 185
DNA: (initialism) “deoxyribonucleic acid” is a nucleic acid that contains the
genetic blueprints of all living organisms and some viruses,
DNA Mother, 58
dog-day: singular form of dog-days referencing a period marked by lethargy;
also a sultry summer day reckoned to be between July 3 and August 11
when Sirius, the Dog Star rises with the sun,
Murphy's Dog-Day Principle, Chpts. I-IV, 22, 23
doo-dopping: Kylean word for singing and moving along to a song (see
Kylean interlude), For the Love of Valencio, 17
doughtiness: courage, Alliterature, 165
Drano: a chemical product used for dissolving clogs in a drain, The Legend of
Wolf-Rider, 198
Dr. Ha: (Dr. Samuel J. Ha) a biology professor at Millersville University, PA,
from 1971 - 1998, Two From Biology Class, 129, 130
Dr. Henkeisms: a term coined for the peculiar statements often spoken by
Dr. Jim Henke, a professor of communications at Millersville
University, Millersville, PA, from 1976 - present, Dr. Henkeisms, 13
e
eBay: an internet company that provides on-line auctioning and shopping,
Not Just a Package, 134
ebullient: overflowing with excitement, cOME oN pILGRIM, 91;
Alliterature, 165 (ebullience)
209
Eden: in the Book of Genesis, the garden where Adam and Eve lived after
having been created by God, Greyhound to Savannah, 147
edumacation: a cynical play on the word “education”, The Expense of the
Y2K Bug, 99; Accidental Bully, 182 (edumacated)
Einstein: (Albert Einstein, March 14, 1879 – April 18, 1955) theoretical
physicist most noted for his theory of relativity, God's Deluxe Condo
Has a Fish Tank, 85
“endorphin rush”: feeling of exhilaration brought on by pain, danger and
other forms of stress, also known as “runner's high”, So Far, 142
ER: (initialism) “Emergency Room”For Those Who Have Defied the Odds, 186
Evian: a brand of mineral and spring water, H2O > $GAS, 153
f
FBI: (initialism) “Federal Bureau of Investigation”, For Those Who Have
Defied the Odds, 188
Ferarri: an Italian sports car, The Legend of Wolf-Rider, 199
Frankensteins: referencing the popular cinematic portrayal of Frankenstein's
monster wherein his gait is distinguished by unbending knees,
The Mud Slide, 145
funkified: (from “funk” once defined in dictionaries as body odor or the smell
of sexual intercourse, commonly regarded as coarse or indecent), the
state of having had this odor, used in this case to express apathetic
ennui, Restless, 70
FYI: (initialism) “for your information”, wysiwyg, 80
g
Gaia: (var. of Gaea) ancient Greek goddess of Earth, Not Just a Package, 134
gastrovascular cavity: functions in digestion and gas exchange in jellyfish, sea
anemones, et alum, The Magnanimous Salad, 77; The Legend of Wolf-
Rider, 195
Geico: a popular automobile insurance company known for its commercials
featuring a gecko and disgruntled cavemen, For Those Who Have
Defied the Odds, 188
210
Gene Kelly: (Eugene Curran Kelly, August 23, 1912 – February 2, 1996)
dancer, actor and singer best known for his performance in Singing in
the Rain, 1952, T.S. Eliot, 7
Gillespie: (William Gillespie) a character on the television show, In the Heat of
the Night, portrayed by Carroll O'Connor, The Laundromat, 86
Gimp's Envy: a fictitious German Oi! band, Fruity Toot Days and the Lazy
Haze, 149; Quarter-Life Crisis, 161
“Girls Gone Wild”: a low-budget pornographic DVD series, Restless, 70
Gobble-Up: a variant of hide-n-seek where the “gobbler” would not only find
the hiders, but also physically brutalize them in a vaguely playful
manner, The Mud Slide, 144
goldenseal: an herb with properties as a laxative and emmenagogue, et alum,
Insensed, 67
“greenhouse effect”: an atmospheric heating phenomenon, Restless, 70
Greyhound: (Greyhound Lines) a bus service that includes thousands of stops
within the United States, Amtrak from Harrisburg, 143; Greyhound to
Savannah, 146
Guillaume Apollinaire: (August 26, 1880 – November 9, 1918) French poet,
writer and art critic, Koch, 33
Guinness: an Irish stout beer brewed in St. James' Gate, Dublin, Three Yanks
Drink a Pint of Guinness, 38
Gummy Wurm: (variant of Gummi Worm) a chewy fruit-flavored candy in
the shape of a worm, Fruity Toot Days and the Lazy Haze, 149
h
haiku: a Japanese poem divided into three lines of five, seven, and five
syllables expressing a single thought, idea or allusion, Haiku, 82; This
Time It's Personal, 154
hair-to-God: a 1980's female hairstyle wherein the bangs are held vertically by
an excessive amount of hairspray, Why Go to Live Theater?, 101
Harleys: Harley Davidson motorcycles, Restless, 70
Hechinger's: (Hechinger) a chain of home improvement retail stores that
went bankrupt and now operates as an on-line hardware store, Dear
John, 61
Helmet: alternative metal band from New York City, Quarter-Life Crisis, 160
Hitler: (Adolf Hitler, April 20, 1889 – April 30, 1945) former Nazi dictator of
Germany, Someone Got Married on August 21 and I Was There, 87
211
holophrastic: (hollow phrase) expressing an entire sentence or phrase in one
word. i.e. “amen”, cOME oN pILGRIM, 90
Hot Wheels: a popular brand of scale miniature toy cars, The Mud Slide, 144
i
idgit: a phonetic spelling of the elision of the word “idiot”, Beat Street, 181
IMO: (text message initialism), “in my opinion”, wysiwyg, 80
indigests: failing to digest, The Magnanimous Salad, 77
insensed: state of having been without sense, Insensed, 66;
Greyhound to Savannah, 146
intercess: in religious jargon, the act of praying to God on another's behalf,
usually by a priest or some other religious figurehead, cOME oN
pILGRIM, 90
In the Heat of the Night: a television series based on a motion picture of the
same name, The Laundromat, 86
IQ: (initialism) “Intelligence Quotient”, School for Geniuses, 162
irony¹: words conveying a meaning opposite of their literal meaning,
A Mental Trip, 1
● “These are not explanatory writings...”, A Mental Trip, 1
irony²: an outcome of events contrary to what might have been expected,
The Sixth Year, 137; Hocus Pocus, 157
● “an empty gift awarded for an unfortunate anniversary...”, The Sixth Year, 137
j
Jack Kerouac: (March 12, 1922 – October 21, 1969) a prominent writer, poet
and artist from the “beat generation”,
Three Yanks Drink a Pint of Guinness, 38
Jaguar: a luxury automobile manufactured in England,
For Those Who Have Defied the Odds, 189; Restless, 70 (Jags)
JD: (initialism) “Jack Daniels”, The Legend of Wolf-Rider, 192
Jimi Hendrix: (November 27, 1942 – September 18, 1970) rock guitarist,
singer and songwriter, The Legend of Wolf-Rider, 194
Jeopardy: a popular quiz show where contestants earn money by supplying the
appropriate questions to given answers, School for Geniuses, 162
212
John Fitch Elementary School: a school in Levittown, PA named for Bucks
County inventor, John Fitch (January 21, 1743 – July 2, 1798), who
built the first steam-powered ship in the US,
For Those Who Have Defied the Odds, 187
JuJuBes: in this case, a brand of candy originally made by the Heide Company
which were fruit flavored and so hard to chew they often became stuck
in one's teeth, The Legend of Wolf-Rider, 191
k
karma: action seen as bringing upon oneself inevitable results, good or bad,
In Just a Few Hours, 28; Truth and Soul, 52
Katherine Whalen: (April 24, 1968 – present), vocalist and banjo player for
the swing band, Squirrel Nut Zippers, Low Down Man, 64
Keats: (John Keats, October 31, 1795 – February 23, 1821) poet of the English
Romantic movement who penned the quote “Beauty is truth, truth
beauty” in Ode on a Grecian Urn, Beauty Is Truth..., 12
Kendo stick: (Japanese) from Kendo, “way of the sword”, plus a bamboo
stick used to practice swordfighting, The Legend of Wolf-Rider, 198
Kenneth Koch: (February 27, 1925 – July 6, 2002) American poet, playwright
and professor who wrote in a non-structured, exuberant style, Koch, 32
King Lear: a tragedy written by William Shakespeare,
Failure to Suspend Disbelief with King Lear, 100
King Solomon: a street performer in Savannah, GA who makes elaborate-
looking flowers from palm fronds, Greyhound to Savannah, 147
KJV: (initialism) “King James Version”, Swiffertail, 94
Krishna: a deity worshiped in many traditions of Hinduism, considered the
“avatari” or “Supreme Godhead” by devotees of the International
Society for Krishna Consciousness Amtrak from Harrisburg, 143
Kylean interlude: term coined for an excessive string of consonants which
represent thought or speech, often used by Kyle Phipps Bernhardy:
1. “Grrrrr”, This Word, 8
2. “Hmmmm”, For the Love of Valencio, 17
3. “Hole Uhmmm...” and “Hmmm...”, Dirk Doom #1, 33
4. “'MMMMmmmwwwrrrrr'”, Fruity Toot Days and the Lazy Haze,
150
5. “HMMmmmmmmm”; “HMMMMmmmmmmmmmmmm”,
I Hate Rain, 184
213
l
Lancaster County: a county in southeastern Pennsylvania known as “the
Garden Spot of America”, The Expense of the Y2K Bug, 99
Lederhosen: (German) “leather trousers”, knee-length britches made of
leather, Fruity Toot Days and the Lazy Haze, 148
Lentzschian: in reference to Craig Lentzch, Greyhound Lines, Inc., president
1994-2003, Greyhound to Savannah, 146
Levittown: Philadelphia suburban birthplace of all four authors of this
compendium, Front Porch, 26; Restless, 70; Banana Meltdown, 112;
The Mud Slide, 144
Lifecall: a company specializing in medical alarm systems, The Legend of
Wolf-Rider, 199
Lilliputian: very small, from Jonathan Swift's Gulliver's Travels, wherein
Gulliver meets the tiny people of Lilliput, The Legend of Wolf-Rider,
199
liquescence: the state of becoming liquid or melting, cOME oN pILGRIM, 90
LOL: (text message initialism) “laugh out loud”, Koch, 33; Truth and Soul, 52;
wysiwyg, 80
Louis Armstrong: jazz trumpeter and band leader known as “Satchmo”,
I Dreamt of You Last Night, 92
Louvre: the world's most renowned art museum located in Paris, France,
The Louvre, 40
lupus: (systemic lupus erythematosus) chronic autoimmune disease which
attacks and damages cells and tissue which can be fatal, Restless, 70;
For Those Who Have Defied the Odds, 188
luthern: a dormer window, Alliterature, 165
m
magnanimous: free of resentment or vindictiveness, in this case suggesting
ease of digestion both literally and figuratively, The Magnanimous
Salad, 77
MapQuest: an internet site that provides maps and driving directions,
For Those Who Have Defied the Odds, 186
Matchbox: a popular brand of scale miniature toy cars, The Mud Slide, 144
Mattingly-like: (Don Mattingly) in the style of a popular, former New York
Yankee baseball player, The Legend of Wolf-Rider, 194
214
Maybelline: a popular company specializing in make-up, Expectations, 59
Medicare: a social insurance program, The Legend of Wolf-Rider, 199
megalomaniacal: pertaining to one with a mental illness marked with
delusions of grandeur, Raffles, 139
Menudo: a Latino boy band (1977 – present), So Why Bother?, 173
Mercury: ancient Roman messenger god of trade, profit and commerce,
known to be very swift, So Far, 142
meta-cognition: beyond understanding, In Just a Few Hours, 28
metamorphasized: act of having gone through change, Katie's Torchlight, 50
Michael Jackson: a musician known as the “King of Pop” who is notorious
for excessive unnecessary facial surgeries, Banana Meltdown, 112
Milli Vanilli: a pop music duo in the late 1980's most famous for having a
Grammy award revoked after the discovery that the vocals on the
album were not those of the two men accredited, Truth and Soul, 52
Ming vase: pottery made during the Ming dynasty in Japan, 1368-1644,
Eva's Gone Away, 13
Mjollnir: in ancient Norse mythology, the mighty hammer of Thor,
Class Dreams, 129
Mighty Mighty Bosstones: a ska-core band from Boston, MA,
Quarter-Life Crisis, 160
modus operandi: (Latin) “mode of operation”, Front Porch, 27
Morrisville: a borough in Bucks County, Pennsylvania that is located across
the Delaware River from Trenton, New Jersey, Banana Meltdown, 112
Moses: a Biblical Hebrew religious leader attributed with having authored the
Torah, fabled to have had God part the Red Sea, Quarter-Life Crisis, 160
moshed: danced aggressively, The Legend of Wolf-Rider, 190
Mr. Tibbs: (Virgil Tibbs) a character on the television show In the Heat of the
Night, portrayed by Howard Rollins, The Laundromat, 86
Mtv: (initialism) “Music television”, So Why Bother?, 173
mulish: stubborn, Alliterature, 165
Murphy: reference to “Murphy's law” where anything that can go wrong, will,
Murphy's Dog-Day Principle, Chpts. I-IV, 22-23
Murphyesque: pretaining to Murphy's law (see Murphy),
Amtrak from Harrisburg, 143
myopically: in the manner of not having regarded future interests,
Introduce Yourself, 2
215
misogynistic: having the quality of hatred, anger or mistrust towards women,
Quashed Hope, 111
MySpace: an on-line social networking website, MySpace Girl, 104;
Banana Meltdown, 113
n
NASA: (initialism) “National Aeronautics and Space Administration”,
A Very Bad Day To Be Rich, 168
Nike Swoosh: the swooping emblem on a pair of Nike brand athletic shoes,
The Legend of Wolf-Rider, 191
NIV: (initialism) “New International Version”, Swiffertail, 94
No Exit: a play written by Jean-Paul Sartre wherein the main character is led
into a nondescript room with only one possible exit, which he
discovers is Hell, Low Down Man, 65
nosebroom: mustache, Hocus Pocus, 156
o
Oda daimyo: (Japanese) “Oda”, family name of a Japanese clan, and
“daimyo”, meaning “great name”, powerful feudal rulers in 19th
century Japan, Oda Daimyo, 13
Off-Broadway: referring to theater performed in New York City, NY that is
not a large-scale production within the theater district,
Amtrak from Harrisburg, 143
Ogden Nash: a poet best known for humorous verse,
Three Yanks Drink a Pint of Guinness, 38
“Ol' Mud”: a nickname for Old Milwaukee Beer, Why Go to Live Theater?, 101
OMG: (text message initialism) “Oh, my God!”, wysiwyg, 80
oriel: a bay window, Alliterature, 165
otiose: futile, Alliterature, 165
oxymoron: contradictory words used together in a phrase or sentence,
A Mental Trip, 1; God's Deluxe Condo Has a Fish Tank, 85
1. “...not explanatory writings...”, A Mental Trip, 1
2. “agnostically religious”, Introduce Yourself, 2
3. “...xerophilous plants growing in his shower.”, For the Love of Valencio,
17
216
4. “internet dating personal ads”, Koch, 33
5. “'I love you, but...'”, God's Deluxe Condo Has a Fish Tank, 85
p
padiddle: a car with one headlight, PeopeAreAfraidToMerge, 49
Parliament: a popular brand of cigarettes, Between Lust and Hard Place, 159
paronychia: bacterial infection which swells around a fingernail or toenail,
For Those Who Have Defied the Odds, 188
Paul Bunyan: in American folklore, a lumberjack who appears in many tall
tales and legends, often accompanied by his trusty blue ox, Babe,
The Paul Bunyan Trilogy, 106
Pennsbury: (Pennsbury High School) a high school located in Fairless Hills,
Pennsylvania (Bucks County), Banana Meltdown, 112
People's Party: a nickname for the Communist Party of China (CPC),
The Following Night in Tiananmen Square, 9
perorate: formal conclusion of a long speech, in this case used as a double
entendre, cOME oN pILGRIM, 91
perplexia: a state of confusion, PeopleAreAfraidToMerge, 48
pH: (power of Hydrogen) the measure of acidity or alkalinity of a solution,
Truth and Soul, 52
phantasmal: unreal, illusory, Alliterature, 165
pheromones: chemicals that trigger a natural behavioral response in members
of the same species, Truth and Soul, 52
Phillips-head: a cross-head screw design named for Henry F. Phillips,
I Have Not a Phillips Head, 155
Philly: a nickname for Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, Opening Day, 6
phoenix: in Greek mythology, a firebird that sets itself ablaze and then is
reborn from its own ashes, In Just a Few Hours, 30
pin-up Bettie: self-modeled to resemble Betty Mae Page, a pin-up and fetish
model popular in the 1950's, Three Yanks Drink a Pint of Guinness, 38
Pollock: a pejorative term for a person of Polish heritage, Hocus Pocus, 158
Positively Records: the greatest music store on the planet, located in
Levittown, PA, Truth and Soul, 52
Powerball: a shared jackpot lottery, Truth and Soul, 52
pulverulent: consisting of dust or fine powder, The Mud Slide, 144
217
punchbuggy: a Volkswagen Beetle, whose distinct body style inspired a travel
game wherein when one is spotted, the spotter may strike another
player in the arm, PeopleAreAfraidToMerge, 49
Punxsutawney: a borough in Pennsylvania made famous by its Groundhog's
Day festival, Front Porch, 26
pyrotechniques: (var. of “pyrotechnics”) methods of fire and explosives
usage, Katie's Torchlight, 50
Pyrrhic victory: a victory with overwhelming cost to the victor, named for
King Pyrrhus of Epirus who suffered tremendous casualties in his
victory over the Romans during the Pyrrhic War, 280-275 BC,
Y2K Compliant, 100; The End of My Rope, 176 (Pyrrhic sigh)
q
quadrupts: (quadrupeds) four-legged animals, So Why Bother?, 172
querulous: complaining, God's Deluxe Condo Has a Fish Tank, 84;
Alliterature, 165 (querulously)
quixotic: impulsive and rash, Alliterature, 165
quoth: said, always placed before the subject, Alliterature, 165
r
R&D: (abbrv.) “research and development”, A Very Bad Day To Be Rich, 168
Reader's Digest: America's best-selling monthly general interest magazine,
This Oughta Be in Reader's Digest, 118
Red Hot Chili Peppers: a rock funk band with elements of hard rock and
punk from Los Angeles, CA, Dear John, 62
rosacea: a condition that begins with flushing and redness across the cheeks,
nose and forehead and could lead to small bumps and pustules,
Hocus Pocus, 156
“R” Pronunciation: in this case, retroflex and alveolar approximants,
Speech Impediment, 8
rood: a large crucifix, cOME oN pILGRIM, 90
Rush Limbaugh: a big, fat idiot, Limbaugh V. Machinery, 100
218
s
S&H: (abbrv.) “shipping and handling”, Doggy Style, 153
sacrosanct: very sacred, cOME oN pILGRIM, 90
Salvation Army: a Christian charity organization that provides social services
and religious guidance to the poor and destitute, INVINCIBLe, 128
samosa: a South Asian pastry usually stuffed with potatoes, onions, spices and
green chili, folded in a triangular shape and commonly served with
chutney, In Just a Few Hours, 29
Samson: a character who was granted tremendous physical strength from God
in Tanakh (Hebrew Bible), Talmud, and the Old Testamenti, So Far, 142
Sartre: (Jean-Paul Sartre) French existentialist philosopher, writer and activist,
Low Down Man, 65
Savannah: a city in Georgia, one of the largest National Historic Landmarks
districts in the United States, Greyhound to Savannah, 146
schnozz-fuzz: a mustache, Hocus Pocus, 157
Schwarzenegger-like: (Arnold Schwarzenegger) muscular (see Arnoldness),
The Legend of Wolf-Rider, 194
scopalamine: a drug used to treat motion sickness, nausea and intestinal
cramping, commonly used as a depressant or an adjunct to other
narcotics, also known as hyoscine and “Devil's Breath”,
Banana Meltdown, 112
Scotch-taped: fastened with the Scotch brand adhesive tape made by the 3M
Corporation, For Those Who Have Defied the Odds, 187
Scottish lane: dual usage as a chosen path and the Scottish word “lane”
meaning “lone” or “lonesome”, The Old Scottish Lane, 180
sdrawkcab: “backwards” written backwards,
Fruity Toot Days and the Lazy Haze, 148
Shakespeare: (William Shakespeare) an English playwright and poet,
The Legend of Wolf-Rider, 193
Shop N Bag: a grocery store chain formerly prevalent in Levittown, PA,
Fruity Toot Days and the Lazy Haze, 150
Shroud of Turin: a linen cloth bearing the image of a man who appears to
have suffered trauma consistent with that of a crucifixion, often
believed to be Jesus Christ's, For Those Who Have Defied the Odds, 188
Sideline Football: a modified version of football which consisted of a
quarterback throwing slightly inaccurate passes to force a receiver to
dive in order to catch the ball without landing out of a fixed boundary,
The Mud Slide, 144
219
siren: in Greek mythology, a bird-woman seductress who lured sailors to their
demise with enchanting singing, Low Down Man, 64
skankified: slang term insinuating uncleanliness, Amtrak from Harrisburg, 143
Skitswabia: a fictional tropical island inhabited by moronic intellectuals,
Banana Meltdown, 112; So Why Bother?, 172, 173 (Skitswab, Skitswabian)
Slurpee: a frozen carbonated beverage sold by 7-Eleven (see 7-Eleven),
responsible for sphenopalatine ganglioneuralgia, also known as “brain
freeze”, Why Go to Live Theater?, 101
snuggly-wugglies: Kylean word for objects of desire and affection, often only
reciprocated through delusion (see Kylean interlude),
For the Love of Valencio, 17
sonaric: of or pertaining to sound, The Legend of Wolf-Rider, 197
splots: Kylean combination of “plops” and “sits” (see Kylean interlude),
Fruity Toot Days and the Lazy Haze, 149
square: as in “a square meal”, in this case referencing a cigarette as a meal,
In Just a Few Hours, 28
Squirrel Nut Zippers: a swing band popular in the 1990's, Low Down Man, 64
State College: a town in central Pennsylvania, site of Penn State University,
Front Porch, 26; Restless, 70; Swiffertail, 94, 95
Steadicam: a stabilizing mount for a motion picture camera, trademarked by
Tiffen Manufacturing Co., For Those Who Have Defied the Odds, 188
stinkeye: dirty look or suspicious glare, Hocus Pocus, 158
Strawberry Shortcake: a character toy line owned by American Greetings
which originated first on greeting cards, Quarter-Life Crisis, 161
Suburban: Chevy model truck in production from 1935-present, the longest
continuous nameplate in automobile production, Front Porch, 27
succubus: a demon in female form believed to have sexual intercourse with
sleeping men, The Expense of the Y2K Bug, 99
Suicide: a playground variant of dodgeball played at a wall with a tennis ball,
Raffles, 139
swagmo: Skitswabian (see Skitswabia) word for "totally lame, dude",
So Why Bother?, 173
swolled: suburban variation of “swollen”,
For Those Who Have Defied the Odds, 187
220
t
Taco Bell: a restaurant franchise specializing in Mexican-inspired fast foods,
For Those Who Have Defied the Odds, 186
telekinesis: manipulation of objects through mental processes, Front Porch, 27
Telfair Square: one of twenty-one remaining squares in Savannah, Georgia,
Greyhound to Savannah, 147
Tempo: Ford model car produced from 1984-1994, Omen, 8
“the 'Nam”: a nickname for the Viet Nam War,
For Those Who Have Defied the Odds, 187
thirtysomethings: people between the ages of 30 and 39, Restless, 70
Thor: the god of thunder in German and Norse paganism, Class Dreams, 129
Threepenny Opera: (Die Dreigroschenoper) a work of musical theatre by
dramatist Bertolt Brecht and composer Kurt Weill adapted from John
Gay's The Beggar's Opera, I Dreamt of You Last Night, 92
Three Stooges: a vaudeville and comedy act best known for their short films,
Dear John, 62
Tiananmen Square: plaza near the center of Beijing, China, where an anti-
authoritarianism protest turned violent, A Night In Tiananmen Square;
The Following Night in Tiananmen Square, 9
Titans: in Greek mythology, any of the sons of Gaea and Uranus,
Not Just a Package, 134
Tom & Jerry: a series of cartoons by William Hanna and Joseph Barbera that
centered around a cat (Tom) who futilely and oft to his own sufferance
chased a sly-witted mouse (Jerry), The Mud Slide, 145
Tom Jones: (Sir Thomas John Woodward) a singer noted for his powerful
voice, Eat Your Heart Out, Tom Jones, 11
Tom Waits: a singer, composer and actor noted for his distinct gruff voice,
Three Yanks Drink a Pint of Guinness, 38
Toro: a common brand of lawn care equipment,
For Those Who Have Defied the Odds, 186
tootie-frootie: Kylean word for love interest (see Kylean interlude), For the
Love of Valencio, 17
trafficulty: having a difficult time dealing with traffic, Route Down, 117
Trocadero: a historic theater in Philadelphia, PA that is currently used as a
concert hall and dance club, Quarter-Life Crisis, 160
221
T.S. Eliot: referencing poet, dramatist and literary critic, Thomas Stearns
Eliot (September 26, 1888 – January 4, 1965) and a tropical storm
named “Eliot”, T.S. Eliot, 7
TTYL: (text message initialism) “talk to you later”, wysiwyg, 81
Tullytown: a borough in Bucks County, Pennsylvania in which part of
Levittown is located, Banana Meltdown, 112, 113
Tupperware: a brand name of plastic containers and serving utensils,
Fruity Toot Days and the Lazy Haze, 149, 150
Tussey Mountain: a stratigraphic ridge in central Pennsylvania and a popular
ski resort area, Front Porch, 26
u
ubiquitous: everywhere at once, God's Deluxe Condo Has a Fish Tank, 84
umbrage: offense or displeasure, School for Geniuses, 162
unfunkified: (see funkified), Swiffertail, 94
unpropitious: unfavorable, Raffles, 139
Uranus: ancient Greek god of Heaven and ruler of the world,
Not Just a Package, 134
v
VeriScan: verification and tracking system which utilizes bar codes and Radio
Frequency Identification (RFID) tag readers, Introduce Yourself, 2
“viola”: phonetic spelling of the anaptyxis epenthesis of the French word
“voilà”, used as an interjection for expressing success or satisfaction,
For Those Who Have Defied the Odds, 187
w
Walkman: Sony model portable cassette or CD player, Quarter-Life Crisis, 161
whilom: former, Alliterature, 165
“whobehee”: a pejorative word for a hermaphrodite or transsexual,
When I Met O, 170
WYSIWYG: (text message initialism) “what you see is what you get”, wysiwyg, 80
wonton: a Chinese dumpling stuffed with mince meat, often served in soup,
In Just a Few Hours, 29
222
x
xerophilous: living in dry, hot regions, For the Love of Valencio, 17
X-Filish: having similarities to the characters on the popular science fiction
television show, The X-Files, For Those Who Have Defied the Odds, 188
y
Y2K: (abbrv.) “year 2000” The Expense of the Y2K Bug, 99; Y2K Compliant, 100
Yank: a nickname for an American citizen, often hailing from the north
eastern part of the country, Three Yanks Drink a Pint of Guinness, 38
Yodels: chocolate-frosted, cream-filled cakes made by the Drake's Company,
distributed primarily on the east coast of the United States,
When I Met O, 170
yoga: a physical and mental discipline which is one of the orthodox schools of
Hindu philosophy, Truth and Soul, 52
z
za-zen: meditation in a cross-legged position, Alliterature, 165
Ziploc: a brand of disposable resealable storage bags, Opening Day, 5;
For Those Who Have Defied the Odds, 186, 188
223
Michael C. Flor is just your average, garden variety cage fighting,
vegetarian, English teacher, Hare Krishna, Star Wars junkie, Steelers fan who
lives in Pittsburgh by way of Levittown. He loves his wife and baby girl
more than anything.
Kyle Phipps Bernhardy is this guy who did stuff before and, by
God, he'll do it again whether you like it or not! He now likes long
walks on Costa Rican beaches where he counts his big ole wad o'
cash on his way to his off-shore bank account. Pundits often ponder
what he is always running from, but all concur he's stylin'
nonetheless.
C Michael hails from the nether regions of Levittown and made his harrowing
escape in fall of 1991. Since then he has traveled to hell and back and decided
the best place to be is right where he is. He lives within the ten mile blast radius
of the Three Mile Island Nuclear Power Facility and ruefully laments that he
will be vaporized before getting a crack at surviving a zombie apocalypse in the
event of a nuclear holocaust.