this taste brought to mind

taking the plunge here with The Tenth Daughter of Memory, and way over my head...but hey, i'm a fairly strong swimmer, so keep the lifelife handy but don't throw it in yet.

Bok Aiy, I pigged out on the
Frosted frog butter, remembering
now how much I liked it.
It was that, that and how
Phinial recalled reckless childhood
bombardments from high on clouds,
in the tree house that circled the
neighborhood backyards while nailed
nestled into the old oak. He
remembered, and I was there; I
flew, I opened the bomb bay doors.
We drink beer and he'll tell stories
I've forgotten, like he was talking
about someone else, but I haven't
denied him his memories; I have
new ones—random memories
about tastes and textures,
all foreign, but honest. They feel
true and every fantastic new
recollection replaces one
I'll never miss. Phinial will
think I'm crazy, so for now I'll keep it
to myself, that and this
Frosted frog butter; it's a
poor excuse for the real thing,
but I don't think anyone
really makes it here, here on earth.

a Theme Thursday Tipitiwitchet

Outside, a cardinal was flapping at the window,
excited by its own reflection and stupidly attacking.
Inside, a hooded man bent over the drawer and pulled out a
crimson velvet bag and dumped the contents onto the dresser.
A scratch on the door, and the rattle of keys.
He scooped the valuables back into the pouch,
noticing a large ruby.
Flushed, the burglar rushed to the window,
threw open the sash and climbed onto the balcony,
frightening the cardinal off.
Quickly, the burglar pulled down the window
and peeled the hood off, tossing it to the red dusk sky.
Night was falling fast, and it was falling hard—as was attested
to the fact that the burglar lost his footing on the fire escape
and plunged over the rail onto Cabernet street.
He landed in a pile of rubbish from the burger joint,
a conglomeration of glass and old ketchup bottles.
Glass shards stuck out from his leg, and he couldn't
tell blood from catsup. An orange tabby purred and licked him, preferring the blood.
It grinned sardonically and dug ungroomed nails into his pant leg.
The cat thief howled bloody murder, heard from above, and the upstairs
victim was out on the balcony with a pistol firing rounds.
“Gadzooks!” the thief turned tail and sped down the alleyway.
Out on the darkening street he plunged into a large women named
Sacajawea wearing a Cincinnati baseball jersey who grabbed
and kissed him smearing scarlet lipstick over his face.
“Be my Valentine!” she sang to him.
He blushed and made his excuses, turning to the street and rushing off.
A block down, ruddy from exertion, the burglar ducked into
another secluded alley and fell wheezing to the brick wall.
With blood still dripping down his leg, and the local kitties
stirring, he pulled the pouch from his pocket and peered inside,
plucking out the ruby jewel; its sparkles threw pretend
pyrotechnics into the alley's shadows.
“Hello, Red.”
The deep voice sent shudders down the burglar's spine, and he dropped
the goods into a puddle, the ruby perched at the edge of his fingertips,
which paled visibly as blood ran from his skin.
The speaker, a tall man in a carmine cape, hovered around the corner into
view and swiftly wisped the jewel from Red's weak clutch.
Then the tall, bloodless corpse bent and drove his wine stained fangs into
the burglar's neck draining the last drop, and letting the
man formerly known as Red drop to the gutter ironically white.
“Crime never pays,” laughed the
crimson caped ruby raking Red eradicator,
then he swirled into the fogs and disappeared saying,
“This will put me back in the black.”

There is some rejoicing as to the end of January...

A work accomplice asked me my sign,
and I told her.
Aquarius.
'That explains everything,'
she said.

...what!?

..so, my February/Aquarius/birthday poem:

Aquarius, Last Quarter Moon.

In apogee, astrological signs
are as impact craters
are to Jupiter in conjunction with the sun.
The Moon elders never rely
on retreating galaxies
for telling
destinies,
but
for bearing
the strands of lost opportunity.
Innocence
we are unlikely to borrow
a neighbor's happy
circumstance
while perusing the stars—
points of
interest—
but the fortunate make their own,
while the thrifty await
a futile perigee
and often a pebble
off Quadrantid
lands within reach,
or bores a hole instead
into the head.

Toby's Birthday Party is Here!

Hello, and I welcome you, and Toby welcomes you!

Forgive the fuzzy little rat if he jumps up on you and runs in circles.

If you have a treat he'll sit, lay down and roll over.

Toby might come if you whistle, kind of like "there's a 50% chance of rain." What does that mean, anyway?!

I wish he could meet you and or your pets in person; he is quite the social butterfly, unlike his owner who has bought the biggest walnut in the world and is likely to be found hiding inside the shell.

I have heard people say, 'If you want to meet people, then buy a dog'....this is true. I can't tell you the number of people we have stopped to talk with while taking jaunts downtown. It is very theraputic; everyone loves a dog.

Unless it is frothing.

So far, here is the guest list: Baino Bimbimbie Kimy Mrsupole... we'll be allllll day!

Thanks for coming, and enjoy your weekend. Toby and I will spend Sunday morning enjoying the Australian Open final, and chewing up dish towels.

boring weekend blog

I've been meaning to thank Jeff at this place for the outrageous review he put up some time back.

I guess he does this from time to time, and that's cool. It's his gig, he can do what he wants after all!

He's a Chargers fan, but everyone has their quirks and I guess this one is forgivable.

His blog is terrific, as many of you can and will attest; those who don't know are sure to be converted, possibly by mind controlling methods. More on that, later....

Jeff wrote (of Half-Moose with a Twist):
Half-Moose with a Twist - think Dr. Suess and Shel Silverstein, but with an older target audience and a small dose of cocaine. Irreverently funny writing - sometimes poetry and sometimes prose - combined with at-first-glance cute, at-second-glance insane artwork makes for as enjoyable an experience as one can have perusing blogs. Why this place is one of the Internet's best-kept secrets rather than one of the Internet's most popular landing sites is beyond me. Perhaps people don't "get it," but I think that's the point. I don't get it, and I love it!

You personally might find this statement to be a bunch of bull, or just outright lies, but I agree with most of it, except the cocaine part--of which I've never partook, but I did eat some Elmer's Glue once, and of course Play-dough. Anyway, thanks Jeff, and keep up the horror, spice, intrigue...and irreverence!

a lovely love poem, for the hell of it,

Mobial

Here's to you
My battering ram of hatred
A buffetful of ire
Spiraling dervishes of red hot loathing.
Zealicious malice,
Stomping ranting piles of rancor.
You counter,
Spreading about rumors of joy.
A jest and warm intentions,
Some mushy moment retold with glad tears.
Your kisses melt my doubts
For a day.

Thursday...again

oh to be impressionable...

I've got a confession
you know that this mission
that I have been on about?
Well, not so much a mission
but more like an excursion
to any or all whereabouts.

No, no I'm not lazy
but you drive me crazy
so I'm getting out of this town.
If I let you down,
then go borrow a clown
I hear they can all be amazing.

If I don't get away
or practice feng shui
then physics will get in our way.
I'll construe a venture
that will cause a dent, sure,
and then horizontal you'll lay.

From the Empire State, dear,
a brick dropped will for sure clear
one hundred miles per hour.
And from high on that tower
as I aim for your head man
that brick will cause quite the depression.

Now that's my obsession,
to make a depression
into your thick headed skull.
Let that be a lesson
or good night you can bet
brick dents the impression you'll get!

...when you want to get away from yourself,

where do you go?

Toby's Birthday Party!

He's gonna be ONE!!!! And you are all invited.

If you have a pet, bring your pooch, or kitty, or pot bellied pig, or yodeling llama.
Toby's Birthday is the 26th, but we'll celebrate this weekend (don't want to clash with Australia Day!)--hope you can all make it...leave a comment and I'll link to you on Sat/Sunday.

We'll have cake and ice cream and a juicy can of whatever's on tap (alpo?) and chew toys and a pull rope and an empty water bottle or two, to gnaw up and hide under the couch, and chew sticks and squeeky balls and a sock, because there's nothing more fun than playing 'I got the sock, Chase Me!', and we'll leave the back door open even if it is 25 and snowing out, so everyone can come and go as they please and get all snow covered and track mud onto the carpet and the furniture, and go on walks and poop wherever--cause it's a special day!

Bring yourself, bring a friend, byob!

Toby Looooooooovvvvvvvves company!

see ya there, animals!