Linguistic Analysis

Arizonaland

Arizona is a dangerous place:

Some people don't prepare for contingencies. I saw an entire unfortunate but ultimately stupid family of snowmen melted straight to death while standing in line at an ATM outside a Circle K.

Should I fear the heat?. No. As I have told many of you I fear nothing but sharks and tornadoes and/or the combination of the two.

Seeing the Mummy Returns and the Scorpion King on cable yesterday, however, reminded me that although I am not afraid of mummies I am almost completely averted to Chuck Russell movies.

Did any of you see the newest episode of Psych? There were a bunch of really terrible 80's covers that were meant to sound like the real thing, but I know the real Patty B when I hear her. Love is a Battlefield.

Dave and Jordan should be pleased to know that within three days of arriving I was taken to the Arizona version of Beto's. I expect the Arizona version diarrhea shortly.

My Blog isn't flashy

I need Tod or John to show me how to do stuff.












I have trouble sleeping almost every night.

I work so often at Target and usually it's the only thing of substance I do in a day that I am still working at Target when I get home.









I rolled over last night and my hands started folding my pillow case like a t-shirt. When I shook what sleep I had accomplished out of my eyes I saw that I had pulled all my clothes out of their drawers and folded them on the floor.






My bedding was also folded and I was sleeping inside a cardboard box full of sandwiches and Christmas lights. So of course I felt a little thirsty, which is why I walked downstairs to get a glass of water from that big hairy guy who was moving all our appliances out onto the lawn. He seems nice, but I wouldn't lend him money.

I don't mean he would skip out on a check if you had lunch together, but he's got shifty eyes, like a parrot. I've always thought of feathered things as the dumbest part of the animal kingdom.







But wolves, ah. They're the ninjas of the great big circle of life.

Imagine you and your wife walking through the grocery store--BAM! Oh man, a wolf just killed you guys.

Then there's Mike; he's some kind of football player. All he ever wanted was to play in the big ga--GORT! Those damn wolves just ruined Junior Prom! What'll they think of next?

Of course the woodsman keeps his eye out for any funny business. All alone there in his shack/cabin he whittles and writes letter to a long lost love named Bar--JEFF! Remember little Goldilocks woodsman? The wolves do.



I work at 1 pm so I don't really do anything in the morning, unless you count evacuating my house at 10:3o due to a broken gas line. I work until 9:30 pm.

What's up with the all-day shift? I'll tell you what's up.

Everything is closed; except clubs which I don't know the location of, and wouldn't have the faintest idea of what to do once I was inside them; and since I hate dancing and meeting new people who wear cheap fragrances and speak cheap English while listening to cheap music I don't see any reason why I would be happy going there, being there or leaving there five minutes later. Not my scene I suppose.

Even if there were restaurants open at that time (I understand most stay open until 10 at least) who would want to grab a bite at near-to-ten o'clock? None of my friends. I'm not even sure I want to eat at 10, although my stomach says otherwise.

So I wander home, check e-mail only to find Facebook notifications and junk mail from Amazon.com, and eventually watch a boring movie with my brother until my head hurts and then attempt to go to sleep.

It was at this point in the post writing process that my mind broke and I went back and changed everything I had written.

And who can begrudge them their hard earned early sleep times?

Sergei Color

His study has a memory. In the bookshelf the is kept all his yawning;

his breath on every page of every book. The chair holds all his sadness;

the arms his tears, the back his heaving sighs. The mirror holds his smiles,

his brow lifted by its wooden frame. The desk is keeping secrets;

held down by the paperweight, kept bright by the lamp. His pen sits quiet,

feeling heavy with the weight of knowing who he loves,

who he needs to feel safe.

The coat rack is carrying the largest load of all.

On his arm hangs the coat that leaves the study.

The coat is a traveler. He knows what nothing in the study knows.

He alone stood watching and waiting for the sled.

In his pocket the blossoms lie dying.

On his lapel only a faint memory of lily and rose.

He alone has touched her.

He alone to hold her.

There he hangs with solemn knowledge.

The others wait to hear, but live to tell.

They will tell L---- who he is,

but the coat alone knows who he is to be.

Arcade Fire

Sergei

The Worst Taste in Music

There stands the mirror, clouded with anticipation. You sense the supple lily note laced in the mist; cool glass bottle in hand. It's soft like your pillow, yet stark like the passion of the one eye you can see reflecting off the surface.
So you inhale and remind yourself that he loves it. You see the rise and fall of your chest as breath escapes you. Lean forward and capture the condensation in the cup of your hand; let it run from your fingers to your wrist. There you feel it, there you see it. Smiling back at you is the reassurance of fidelity
He wouldn't dare.
So you race down the stairs at the sound of his keyring. He looks honest, he smells clean. With hands scrubbed white you seize him and bestow your ritual pleasure. Let it be known dearest.

A kiss is half promise, half warning.