My Summer Vacation

I went to horse camp over Summer break,

All the horses had frilly froo froo names like Henry, Xavier and Isosceles.

I slouched in my dad’s oversized Nirvana shirt,

As all the girls wore their designer equestrian wear.

Riding crops in hand and noses turned up

They all slinked up to beautiful manes and full bodied mares

And left me with Frank.

No Francis, just Frank.

He was a dirty pale brown horse compared to the others.

Instead of a beautiful solid white diamond-star on his forehead,

Frank has a vitiligo white face, like a polished skull.

I loved Skull, as I called him, immediately.

As all the other bitches slowly went round the corral

Giddy with suppressed excitement.

Skull and I rear up to the sky

And bolted for a small clearing in the surrounding forest.

At first I was scarred but the feeling in my gut rose a new excitement on the horizon.

From the dust of his hooves rose a storm of grey earth

The forest whizzed by and withered into nothingness

And we found ourselves in a clearing heading toward the peak of a nearby hill

He halted as we reached the peak,

I felt like I was about to flip over but held on for my life.

He rested at the top of the hill,

Also I had a sword.

On the other side of the hill there were three other girls with swords.

First was Becky and she rode a white horse.

She had earrings that were upside-down crosses, and she said she was a witch.

She wore a black lace and she grew her own dreadlocks.

The white horse was named Gwar, for some band she kept talking about,

And through his nostrils shot flames.

Second we had Kelly, and she was kinda a bitch.

But like super funny, had a switch-blade, and would fight anyone to protect you.

She rode a red-brown mare, cleverly named Night-Mare

And Kelly smoked cigarettes. They were both, equally, badass.

Third was Jamie, and her pitch black steed,

She had a shaved head, was stick thin and hugged her horse closely.

The black horse, named Wish, stood on a patch of dead grass

And as the horse fed, the dead patch would grow.

Jamie liked Red Hot Chili Peppers, so she was cool.

Together we rode through the clearing and talked about all the boys we had kissed.

The landscape behind us was left scorched, burnt and singed

We laid waste to the land, and revealed our secret desires and dreams.

If we started a band, it’d be coolest one ever seen.

As long as I had my best friends, and me ‘n Skull were together.

I just knew.

It would be the best Summer ever.

Uncle Jimmy’s Country Fables

I sold my cow for a bag of beans

To an angry giant, as tall as trees.

He swallowed Bessy whole, sayin she’s so sweet

And used her bones to clean his teeth.

So I sold them for a magic sheep

Whose wool I’d sell as Golden Fleece.

I held him down as he did bleet

But that old Shepherd was full of sheet.

Then I found a missy who couldn’t see

And I said, oh darling will you marry me?

But that blind old witch put a spell on me

Divorced before I could squeeze a teet.

So I’m making eggs from a golden geese

And gander at the things I’ve seen

Cause for an old Jimmy, with a bag o’ beans

I’ve done pretty good, and It’ll be what it be

Yeah, I’ve done pretty good, and it’ll be what it be.

The Adventures of Almond Crumbopolis

In the shining phosphorescent light of Crystal City, our residual hero Almond Crumbopolis spends his days in the office of Mega DynaCorp. Hacking his ways through the valley of the Underground Online, fixing code glitches with his FlexSolve DynaCorp Power Glove TM.

The residents of Crystal Diamond SouthNorth District know that whatever festering evils that have tumorized the bright routes of their neighborhood, have followed onto the Instant Transmission Datawaves. Almond Crumbopolis also knows this… That’s why after every extended occupational session, he arrives to his twinshare rental residence and doesn’t sleep. No.

Almond Crumbopolis ingests a rare compound and watches as the world grows around him. He’s a fighter against the microversal injustices. Battlizes harmful carbons and atoms, one at a time. Under his sweat-stained latex battle harness, he’s cured the cancers of over 2 and a half people.

Unfortunately, watchful Eye-nodes watch him. Rouge-hued Psycho-Cams, equipped with human-heat track and fear-inducted Sodomy Arms. Their Compt-Troller, none other than Latka Trambambalam; CFO and Founding Brain designer of CommuNest, a TerrorFyzer of unlimited Resource Coins.

The Full Moon, refracted into Crystal City, boots MalwareWolves. Sent by Trambambalam to Randumbize the original ForceGode into mega-mini bits. But Almond Crumbopolis is ready with his Silver Punch extension on PowerLock. The MalwareWolves are no match for our NouveauNomad. They retreat to their XD-den. Trambambalam evil data plan is Ctrl-Alt-Defeated…for now.

New Skin, New Skin

New skin, new skin
I pledge allegiance to my new skin, new skin
I wanna feel the wind in my hair again
Never feel what it’s like to be scared again

Smallpox on my bed again
Throwing out the sheets and my old friends
Old sores, run the bath again
You can barely feel where the new skin begins

I wanna live in a tailing pond
Soak it in ’till my bones rot off
Shave my nose and bleed out the heritage
Bathe in the sludge of plastic needle sedative

Inject the drug, blue eyes burn through
I’ve got tumors in my veins, allergic to the used

Breathe in the carbon, eat hydrothermal vents
Five-eyed fish, Fukushima accidents

I wanna live in a tailing pond
Soak in the heat ’till old skin boils off
Test the model, see if silicon floats
Blink the lenses of my brand-new eye note

Originality, they’ll never let you in
Pledge Allegiance to the new skin, new skin.

To Write Love on Your Arms

To pre-empt this, I read a Facebook meme/post based off the popular Tumblr stories of “The Soulmate Countdown“. Which served as an inspiration for this story, which ironically was inspired by an indy rom-com called “Timer“. So, although I can’t take credit for the concept, it shook me enough to form my own version. Think of it as a singular story in a greater shared universe. And enjoy.


To Write Love on Your Arms

It wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, not really. It didn’t change much, society, didn’t turn upside down like you’d think. I mean, unless you’re a teenage girl. Those teens nowadays, adding glitter, jewelry… “blinging” out their “Love Watches”. They view it as an Altar, social hierarchy in schools now comes down to who has the least amount of time on their hands… ironic.

Online Dating became a thing of the past. Like, if random stranger is halfway across the world… does the watch consider time change? The young ones rush around with their time bombs, clinging on to the one they see when the clock runs down. But even then, when’s the last time you took note of the exact second on your timepiece? There’s a lot of “half-hour” leeways going on. Seriously, say you’re sitting with your friend and the cutest chick sits down. Are you gonna sit and wait until the clock runs out? What if some dumpy chick walks in with two seconds to spare? Hey, don’t get mad at ME, there’s still a whole bunch of judgmental people out there. And true love is open to interpretation…apparently.

That’s why I’m glad mine was blank, has been since I was born. There’s a lot of us out there too, you’d be surprised. We usually gravitate to each other, the broken souls sticking together. Or we get jobs with lots of people around. Delivery driver, arena staff, door-to-door salesman… that kind of stuff. Hey, it’s Math, right? Just wait around until someone’s time runs out and

“HEY, would you look at that? Mine just ran out too!”

No-one checks the watch AFTER the time runs out…

So, we got married. Me and another broken soul. It happens. You know what you’re getting into. It’s a different love, I think. Not… a “true love”. Every girl wants to be a princess, no matter what they say. So, imagine the realization when the world tells you that your knight in shining armour is never coming. The divorce rate is high.

We had a decent time, two kids. Twenty years. I should’ve figured something out when she started wear long sleeves, when the “headaches” wouldn’t go away. Left me for her fucking Personal Trainer. What a goddamn cliché.

If you think dating is hard in your Twenties, by god, give dating in your Forties a try. These lonely, aging beauties. I call them Clock Watchers. It’s heart-breaking, it really is. You barely chat, barely eat. No movies, no making out. Walk in, they check their watch. Sit down to eat a fancy restaurant, check watch. The newest Rom-com with Hugh whoever? Popcorn and light up that watch. One girl even slammed a door on me, told me to come back in 23 days… yeah, I think I’ll pass on that, ever so inviting prospect.

So, I’ve settled into old age, I think. As far as I know. A nice affordable apartment, the kids are off the college so old the tap to the “unlimited flow of cash” is being cut off. My son found a nice girl in the campus library when his time ran out. And my daughter went off on a “soulmate-finder” vacation. Last I heard she’s dating some soccer player in Peru, with “plenty of time to spare” as she put it, the last time we Skyped. My timepiece looks like old and worn, like a leather belt that’s seen better days. I’ve started a great tan-line though. I think I’ll work for a couple more years, settle into retirement and play some golf.

My back. My goddamn back. Slipped a disc at work, and here I am laying in a hospital bed with some old nurse taking care of me. It wouldn’t have happened to a younger man… and I’m not a young man. God, this is stupid but would you believe sitting there all I thought about was this watch? This stupid shitty watch. This stupid shitty life and all these goddamn maybes.

Maybe I should’ve lied about love like my friends in our twenty’s.

Maybe I should’ve spent more time looking for love, than shunning it, ignoring it.

Maybe she wouldn’t have left me, if I knew how to love her back.

If this ticking watch would’ve…

Ticking. Holy SH–

“Gimme some freakin’ space will ya!” I shout, immediately regretting it. This damn nurse.

She gives me a look, a ‘listen asshole, I’ve been doing this too long to put up with your shit’ look.

“Sir,” she says, “I know this is a difficult time for you. You were in a pretty serious accident so your bodies going to need time to repair.”

No stethoscope, she checks my pulse at the wrist. Her hand is warm, it’s… it’s the first time in a while that some-ones been this close. Actually, up close she looks about my age. She stumbles. She gives me a look…I can’t figure it out.

She sighs. I can smell this fragrance. I can’t figure out the brand. I used to be so good at figuring people out, but now… I’m blanking. There’s this weird glow about her and the only thing I can do to keep focused is maintain eye-contact, must be the drugs they’re giving me… I’m trying to capture what’s she’s saying but it drips in and out.

“Alright,” she’s looking at me, she’s studying me… I think. God, I wish I could figure out what’s going on in her head. “It looks like you’re going to be spending a lot of time with me. The hernia is going to leave you bed-ridden and hospitalized quite a while.”

“How much time?” I splurt out, God what is going on with me. I’m sweating. “Am I going to be spending with you… I mean, in the bed”

She speaks in soft tones now, her eyes are this unexplainable shade of greenish blue. Like a whirlpool, and shit, I’m sinking.

“About a month for the hernia…” she says, holding up my hand. Her hand. Our hands, side by side. The show’s over, credits are rolling.

We take the jobs with lots of people around. A clumsy aging delivery driver…arena staff, door-to-door salesman… or a Nurse. No more blank, would you look at that? No more empty space waiting to be filled.

There’s a heart on mine.

A matching one on yours.

You said something after that, something cute I’m sure. Something beautiful and perfect and something so uniquely you. But I wasn’t listening. I was too busy staring into your eyes.

…And we’ll see how it goes from there.


Dear You

Are you ready for how I thought I loved you?
How I placed your face and my face in my dreams,
But they never came true.

Enchanted by the day I met you.
It was so warm that my cold self,
Drifted toward you.
How time slowed down,
When you were around,
And you never knew.

Could you feel my long, sweaty palms
just trying to hold you?

I was shy, you were bold.
I never felt so old.
Than the times I stared,
At your ruby red hair,
Like a fire in my brain;
I’ve never felt the same,
I never could cling to.

Dear You.

Remember that time you handed me the letter you wrote?
I joked and I hoped,
Saying, “Is that for me?”
Well my heart broke just a little bit that day.
I gave to my friend, he read.
Did she say anything about me?

I just went home and,
I cried my fucking eyes out.
Then you moved away.

Oh how could I stray?
But it wasn’t the same.

When you left you gave me that old picture.
Because I’d glad you’d gone,
You could be the girl who’d run,
And I’d be the hero of my own story.

But time passed and anger fades,
So I tore up your picture.
Now here I am, it’s 2 am,
Just trying to forget you.
I want to forget you.

I was shy, you were bold.
I’ve never been so old.
I want to open my heart again.
I want to open my heart again,
Let somebody else in.

Writing my poems again,
Writing my poems again.

America, 2001

Prologue: This was inspired by Neutral Milk Hotel’s “Holland, 1945”, so a) please nobody sue me & b) maybe give that a listen to understand the rhyme scheme and tempo I was going for?

The only man I’ve ever loved
Died with mortar shells in chest
Not to say I’m not impressed
By folded flags and formal dress
These shots just ring and pierce my ears
Left me alone with all my fears
You can’t replace, you can’t repairs
The chopped up pieces of my heart
The world just breaks and falls apart
The world just breaks and falls apart

I had a girl, when I was young
Lost her legs, 2001
To see her dance in Summer sun
The way she smiles through blood-stained teeth
Coughs up pain or pain relief
Left me alone with all my grief
You can’t replace, you can’t receive
The chopped up pieces of my heart
The world just breaks and falls apart
The world just breaks and falls apart


I was lounging around a couple days ago when the first stanza popped into my head and I was kind of mulling over the rhyme scheme. I wrote the rest pretty quickly, as you may tell, with a half jumbled kind-of rhyme in my head but wrote it down not rhyming. So I decided to post both versions as I like the rhyming, but I also like the disorganized feel that the original invokes. …Enjoy? (Sorry if you can’t read my writing)



I stood inside the mirror
Tracing lines that were my faults
When I saw her staring lovingly
At all the scars that I had wrought

And I swear she heard me whispering
That I loved her more than words
Because she pursed her lips and
Turned her hips and I knew that I had falled

So I went to grab her arms and look into her eyes
Where she looks that look she looks at me
And I know just what she means

But I didn’t, so she didn’t, and
I’m watching and I’m waiting and
Now I’m staring back at me
To gaze inside that mirror
And see the same thing that she sees.

Like two ships that pass,
Like hips to grab,
Like boats on stormy seas,
Like waves of undulating ocean water
Passing over me.

The Hoagie Man

Winnie’s a smart girl. Smart and rambunctious. She’s shy sometimes sure, but she’s young and just started school so it’s understandable. She’s very imaginative too.

It’s funny because she has this “friend”, at least I call him a friend, even though they haven’t truly met. She calls him “The Hoagie Man”, she must see him every day.

Her school is located a bit downtown, you see. How the children learn anything over the hustle and bustle of the big city I’ll never know. I think he stops there regularly every day, there’s a big internet company across the street and the lunch rush must be quite large.

He owns a food truck, I don’t recall the name. I’ve seen him once or twice while I was dropping Winnie off when she misses the bus. The first time she was very excited to show off every detail of her new school. I met all her friends from Art class, she called it Heart class, and all her teachers. Before I left I spotted him out of the corner of my eye. She must have noticed because she hiccuped and exclaimed “That’s The Hoagie Man!” before rushing inside with the rest of her classmates. The second time I saw him was after.

Like I said my daughter is very imaginative. She kept on talking about The Hoagie Man, and how she saw him. He started coming home with her, at least that’s how she put it. She must have spotted his truck alongside the bus as they make their way home. Her imagination took off from there. Soon, The Hoagie Man was following her every time she was in a moving vehicle. It became like a game to her, where even going out to the lake for a long weekend she would would spot “The Hoagie Man”. And I’d be darned because there would be a truck selling hot dogs or tacos right on the sidewalk of the public beach!

More-so than just the truck, she started seeing the man too. She would go out and play in our half-acre backyard, collecting shiny stones or colorful flowers and come in with her sweet, shy smile and say she was out playing with Hoagie Man. He became the voice when she read her books, she called them “hooks”. He was sitting next to when she was doing homework, helping with answers. He was always there with her, had helped her make sense of the things she couldn’t comprehend.

One night, she had a nightmare. She told me that The Hoagie Man had promised her something, she wouldn’t tell me what, but it made her very anxious, I could tell. She had said he was acting different from before, less friendly. Demanding things. She cried and held me tight as she whispered in my ear that he had “floated up” and hovered there, staring at her.

Things were different after that, she stopped talking about The Hoagie Man. She had gotten sick soon thereafter, a fever that ran for almost a week. She didn’t sleep, I could hear her whining through my own bouts of insomnia. Our car games were over as we would both spot a “Hoagie Man” and she would turn away from the windows.

The next time I saw “The Hoagie Man”, the real one beside her school, it was outside my work. I came outside after a stressful board meeting to get some fresh air, and there he was. I could smell that aroma, a mix of grilled onions and propane. I was hungry so I figured, “why not”? He looked at me and smiled. We stood there for a bit, me staring and him smiling, then he excused himself and asked for my order… I don’t remember what I ordered. I don’t even really remember what he looked like, I just remember that moment of us looking at each other.. And his expression, this plain smile and behind it… nothingness.

I hope you find my Winnie, and I hope you find the son of bitch who took her, officer.

But you won’t.

She called books, “hooks”. She called books, “HOOKS

Don’t you understand?

She wasn’t saying Hoagie Man.

She was saying Bogieman.