Bullshit Instruction Manual

1. First, you must learn to recognize bullshit. Bullshit can be easily disguised as many things.

2. If the bullshit is coming from a loved-one, it is best to hold your nose firmly and accept the bullshit.

3. If the bullshit is coming from a stranger, point out the bullshit and refuse the acceptance of it.

4. If the bullshit is coming from you, be sure to keep it consistent and do not let it overflow.

5. Remember that it is easy to be buried by bullshit, so always keep an eye on its level.

6. Finally, always keep fresh bullshit on hand to ensure preparedness.

What Truth Should Do

During an internet conversation with my friend, Danielle, she mentioned that she was "shivering a lot." This was due to a lack of heat in her room, "Not because truth makes me shiver," she had to clarify because we had been talking about truth and the announcement of her physical condition at that moment came as a non sequitur. To which I replied, "Truth should make you shiver...and it should keep you warm...and it should tell you stories at night to fight off the darkness...and then, it should welcome you to the darkness."

Anti-Wind

Wind blows.
I don't mean in the gusting
sense of the word.
I mean it blows in the way
that things that suck blow.
You know, the slang
use of the word.
Like how having a broken toe
blows, or not being tall enough
to ride the ride
blows, or pizza
outside of New York
blows. That is how the wind
blows.

Always pushing you around.
Knocking your hat off your head,
making you chase it down the street.
Turning your umbrellas inside out.
The wind blows.
Howling through reeds,
scaring small children at night,
and then, during the day,
slamming their kites down
into the ground, smashing them to pieces.
It blows.
Knocking down that house of cards,
you spent most of the day building,
with one gust from a carelessly opened door.
It blows.
Wafting all sorts of foul smells
straight up into your nostrils.
It blows.
Whirling up women's skirts and dresses,
and puffing out their hair,
causing all manor of embarrassing clamor.
It blows.

Snuffing out the flame
on that last match
before you can get the fire lit.
Blasting your piss back at you
when you try to pee into it.
Oh, how the wind blows.
Swirling your father's ashes,
whisking them off into far away places
that your father never wanted to go,
like Guam or Iowa.
The wind blows.
It blows, big time.

Adversary Rhymes: Peter Piper

Peter Piper porked a pair of puckered pussies.
A pair of puckered pussies Peter Piper porked.
If Peter Piper porked a pair of puckered pussies,
where's the pair of puckered pussies Peter Piper porked?

Peter puffed a pipe of pungent pot smoke.
A pipe of pungent pot smoke Peter puffed.
Then, Peter passed the pungent pot pipe to his pal Paul.
Paul, too, puffed the pipe of pungent pot smoke.
The pipe of pungent pot smoke Paul puffed too.
Then, Paul passed back the pipe of pungent pot to Peter.
Peter puffed the pipe of pungent pot smoke again.
Again, the pipe of pungent pot smoke Peter puffed.
Then, Peter and Paul stared at the wall because the pot was pungent in the pipe they had puffed, and they began to postulate that the predicament of the populace was propagated by the privileged, and that progress could only be procured by perseverance, which was proceeded by the proclamation, "This pot is particularly piquant."

Adversary Rhymes: Little Mary

Mary was a little lamb with snow as white as skin. And every time she went on the lam, she'd flee the place she'd been. She followed a school of fish one day, but realized she couldn't swim. She began to drown and sunk straight down, and was never seen again.

Mary had a little scam: to fleece a dealer out of blow. And everywhere the dealer dealt, Mary was close in tow. She followed him to a school one day, and watched him sell to teens. She studied him for many weeks and learned all his routines. Then, it came time to do the deed, and Mary began her con. It seemed as though she would succeed, but the dealer soon caught on. He let her think that all the pieces were falling into place; so when she finally dropped her guard, he shot her in the face.

Mary liked a little lamb minced in her Shepherd's Pie. She was Irish, and that's how they make it.

I am being followed...

and not in the digital sense. Someone is following me. Physically. A person, male, with dark glasses and darker clothes, a hood encompassing his face, casting it in shadow, hiding any distinguishable features. Nondescript. Unidentifiable. Except for being a man of considerable height and build. He is not far from me right at this moment. I can see him in my periphery, hear a rustling, smell a conglomeration of strong cologne and sweat. He is holding a paper cup of coffee from one of those vending machines, which dispense those cups with the playing cards on them. He is holding almost a straight, seven through Jack, with the eight missing, and he hasn't taken a sip. And though I cannot see his eyes through his glasses, I know they are fixed on me, and he is making note of everything I do. I must lose him. What does he want? Who is he? Maybe if i turn my head, pretend he isn't there. Maybe if I look directly at him...

The Somethingness of Being and Doing Nothing

It's been almost a month since last I blogged. I could lie and say that I have been keeping busy with things of importance, but the truth is I have been doing a plethora of nothing. However, I've come to realize that the last bit of the previous sentence is sort of impossible. You cannot have a plethora, or any other amount, of nothing. Nothing is an immeasurable thing. It is not even a thing; it is no thing, the absence of thing, thinglessness. My friend's daughter posted on her facebook that she too was doing nothing. To which I commented:

It is impossible to do nothing. Nothing is the absence of doing. Nothing is the absence of everything. Doing is related to being because you must be in order to do. You are being, in that you are, therefore you must be, thus you are a being. And if you are a being, then you are not nothing, and since you must be to do, then you are not doing nothing, which is a double negative proving the positive that you are doing something. Only one who is nothing can truly do nothing.

And that, in someway, makes sense to me, and sounds like truth, but it is not. For even though there are words here for you to read on this page, this screen, they mean nothing, and are nothing, except bullshit, which is something that would negate the nothing that I have attributed to what you are seeing, which would make sense since it is unlikely that you would be able to see nothing because nothing is not there and you cannot see something that is not there, or nothing, but it is all subjective, or objective, whichever applies or doesn't apply, all are welcome to apply, but none will be accepted. Nothingness, thinglessness, wordlessness. I will cease to write about this any further.

Because I haven't Blogged in a While

It's not that I've been too busy. It's not that I haven't had anything to write. Blogging is an evacuation of words from the mind, like shitting is an evacuation of feces from the body. So, in keeping with that analogy (Don't you like how the word "anal" is in the word "analogy"?), the reason I haven't been blogging is because I've been constipated, word wise. There are so many things inside me, so many words that I'm blocked. So this blog post, you might say, is sort of an enema, an attempt to clear out the blockage. To this end (end is another word associated with ass), here are a few words of which I really like the sound: gurney, meander, cretin, llama, beard, brewery (that word always makes me sound drunk when I say it, which is why I like it), phalanges, malcontent, curmudgeon, putrid, and discombobulate. That was fun. More word musings: I always thought the word infinity should be longer. It would make sense. I mean, I know it can't go on forever, which would be cool, making its spelling the literal meaning of it. Or maybe making it a palindrome would be a more practical way of giving it that literal effect, spelling it infinifni. For that matter, why isn't palindrome a palindrome? Are there any words that are the literal meaning of themselves? Like the word noun is a noun, but verb is a noun too, and that's just annoying. A gerund is a verb acting as a noun, and there are many nouns that lead dual lives as verbs, such as run or go, but I don't think there is a word for those words. I think that might be a paradox, but I'm not sure. So, instead of pondering further, I will just end this blog...if I had said that with an "ing" after it, I think it might have been a gerund.

The Doctors is a tv show, which is supposedly geared toward educating people in the area of personal health. It seems to be more like domestic terrorism aimed at the weak-minded, keeping them in line by scaring them with medical nightmares. Keep the people placated with junk science and medicated with junk treatments. There's no money in cures, and no market if everyone thinks they're healthy. This show spreads the idea that no one is healthy, and everyone could use a little bit of medicine of one kind or another. Disgusting.

Bring Me the Head of Kermit the Frog

Last night I dreamed that muppets were hunted to near-extinction for their fur. Frogs, pigs, bears, dogs, chickens, and whatevers were chased down in fields and shot. Their human operators lost their arms as well. It was revealed that Jim Henson and Frank Oz were actually puppets themselves, or more accurately, Humuppets, which are biological puppets operated by muppets. So, while we all thought Henson was making Kermit talk, wanting to believe that the frog was real, it turns out that Kermit was real, and was, in fact, controlling Henson. It also came to light that Kermit was not the amiable amphibian he made himself out to be. On the contrary, he was proved to be quite the tyrannical toad, ruling the other muppets with an iron webbed foot. With Piggy as his diabolical porcine concubine, this fascist frog was able to take over the minds of generations of children. And now, with this knowledge released to the world, I fear my life is in danger. The muppets that were hunted in my dream will come for me, empty me of my insides, and make me sing songs about the letter E.

Past the Pangs of Poison

Food poisoning is less dramatic when it occurs naturally, accidentally. I'd like to think that someone tried to poison me instead, and that now, I must be careful with my food. I must prepare my own. No fast food. No restaurants of any kind. But then, even what I buy in the market might have been tampered with. Grow my own food, yes. Raise chickens. A goat. Subsistence. It's all about survival.

Then again, I did lose five pounds on the poison diet.

The Hole I Dug

There’s a little grave inside of me.

Who’s buried there, no one can see.

The etching on the stone,

is worn to the bone.

There is no name or epitaph.

No date of birth or death.

It is an empty slate,

marking the life

of one who came and left.

But who? No one knows,

except a single rose,

laid upon the dirt.

It remembers the one

who once was loved,

and can no longer hurt.

Misanthrophile

Is it wrong to love misanthropic characters? It is true, they won't return your love, and, in fact, they will probably hate you for it. However, there is just something so appealing about someone who dislikes everyone. Maybe they are so attractive because of the possibility that you could be the one person they do like. After all, it is no great feat to be loved by a humanitarian, but to be even liked by a hater of everyone is something wondrous.

Amputation Is Not Cutting the Fat

Stony Brook University says that it must make "strategic cuts and streamline operations at its various locations." Trimming expenses to the amount of $55 million can be a harrowing task. However, it would behoove the university as a whole to spread those cutbacks out over the expanse of its holdings; rather than focus the reduction in one area. It is like an overweight man cutting off his leg to lose weight, rather than dieting to benefit the body as a whole. The man may weigh less, but he has lost a major part of his body and is now off balance. President Stanley argues that "we must be fiscally responsible and live within our means," but how can the students of Southampton, who have called this campus home for the last two years, be expected to live without any of the "means" necessary? How does shutting down a facility that houses many programs which are unavailable anywhere else, adhere to President Stanley's assertion that we must "not stray from the core elements of our missions of research and teaching;" especially when those programs are vital in the "research and teaching" of sustainable practices that may very well save our planet. This may only, as Stanley says, "impact a small number of students," only 500 or so (not to mention staff and faculty), but it seems such a large impact on such a "small number" is grotesquely disproportionate.

-quotes taken from an article by Lee Lutz at northshoreoflongisland.com

And Justice For All

I finally got my court date in the mail for that speeding ticket I got in Southampton. It only took them two months, and my "conference date" with the prosecutor to discuss a "plea bargain" isn't until the middle of May, but at least I'm not wondering anymore. I find it interesting that there is "prose" in the word prosecutor. There must be something profound in that, but I'm not drunk enough to figure it out. I'm sure I will be disappointed when I actually meet this PROSEcutor person, and find that there is not a literary thing about him or her. This world saddens me with its failure to compare to those ideas of the world that we have in our heads, and sometimes let slip onto pages. I will have my day in court, but it will not be as dramatic as that sounds.

Should I stay a student so I can get student health insurance?

I haven't had health insurance since undergrad. I'm about to finish my MFA and enter the wonderful world of looking for a job that is beneath the level of my degree. Leaving the student life for the professional life is forcing me into an unbalanced state of mind, which will require me to be on several medications that I will not be able to afford. So, I must shop for health insurance, but it is so ridiculously expensive. However, if I am a student, taking at least nine credits, I will be entitled to student health insurance, which is significantly cheaper. My plan is to further my education, perhaps a PHD, and work for the school that I will be getting the degree from in exchange for tuition reimbursement and a stipend (standard PHD deal). This will not only enable me to be eligible for student health insurance, but also to be able to continue to defer my student loans. Should this plan fail, my backup plan is to buy a motorcycle, move to Canada, and teach creative writing to Mounties.

Cake for Breakfast

I'm not eating cake. All I have with me is a grapefruit, but I am listening to Cake on my Ipod...and it is breakfast time. This reminds me of Bill Cosby, when he did that bit about giving his kids chocolate cake for breakfast...and he gave them grapefruit juice too. Ha.

Blogone

This is my first blog, which I've entitled Blogone. It's not as boring as it seems. It is not just the words "blog" and "one" put together. It's actually a new word blogone, pronounced sort of like bologna if it were spelled blogona and instead of the "a," creating the "ah" sound, it ends with an "e," creating the "ay" sound. So, you say it like this, "BlahgOnay." The "O" is capitalized to show emphasis. It gives it a kind of Italian flare. Anyway, my future blogs will be more interesting...to some...blind simians....So, thanks for reading my blogone. Hmmm, maybe Bloguno would have been better. Sounds like a game. It is a game that I've just invented. I called it. So there.