Whenever I go to a local show

I write down dozens of notes

Because, hey, comedy

And they're almost all garbage

Because they're specific things that happen there

And they can't be generalized to a point

Where an audience will get them

The things that have been said about the local scene 

Have all been said to death

Things were better before

It's all [redacted] music now

Everyone's jerks and phonies

I don't write those things down

I write down things that I hear people say

And it's really funny at the time

"But I guess you had to be there" jokes

Are just the worst jokes

But at least it gives me something to do!  

I'm entertaining myself!

There are absolutely enough hours in the day

What would you do with extra hours?

Sleep?  Hold your babies tight?  Work more?

I would take those hours and wedge them into those times

Those times when you only have half an hour

Before you have to be somewhere, do something

And so you can't get anything done

I mean, if I could do that, I would be drawing on of the dozen

Things I have to do

Instead of writing poetry that is basically

Status updates

Split into seperate

lines

In what can be kindly referred to as a mockery of free verse

Hmm?  That's not how extra hours would work?

They aren't just free-floating?

Oh well never mind, then

I guess

Life can be pretty hard
When you're caught in the crossfire of a mob war
And science has to rebuild you
But now your body is entirely comprised of guns

Who will kiss your gun lips
Rest a hand on your gun hip
Brush a few stray strands of gun behind your other gun
(the latter gun in that last line being what is now your left ear)

No one will
And I think that says something about society

I'm so old that when the singer in the bound band shouted "I'm Generation X" I questioned if that was a thing that should be shouted out loud
Truth bomb, it was Econoline Crush
I met the fifth Baldwin
And a guy who owns a boat
Oh, and some people who hate other people, I guess?
But everybody loves me, I'm great


"It's like you crawled into my soul and rolled its ultimate truth into a slip of lined paper, smoked it, and then shrugged at me."

"Is 'Wacom my airplane' already a joke?"
"You just combined a Sublime song and a Marley song.  Powder thinks you're too white."
"Napalm Death being anti-violence is like Chumbawamba being anti-getting knocked down."
"Also, I was hanging out in my own soul at the time."

I had a run in with some wasps, so I spoken-worded the event.  Click here to enjoy everything except the very ending, where I tried to go big, and it didn't really work out.

there isn't an acoustic version of the word "zap"

and that's something that needs to be fixed

but the closest to that would be something like "vuuuup"

it's probably against my better judgment to put this in writing

but i really, really want to own a casual sports coat or blazer

i have spent a lot of time reading about this

if i could share a piece of advice with you

it's to forget about the idea that some people are the cool people

the cool people that i've become friends with aren't that cool

and now i'll never mispell the words "acoustic," "judgment," or "piece"

though apparently, i will still misspell the word "misspell"

I spent a week sleeping on the floor

On the beach

In a hallway

I took long, dumb walks

Long past the point where my feet ached

To places too big to properly see with my eyes

I saw old friends

And they're all doing great

And they took me in

I met a friend who I've talked to for years

And she showed me an island

Made of straight-up gumption

I got lost constantly

Which was frustrating

But, y'know, it's the journey, right?

I'm going home

But I think you took my heart

You big, ugly, smelly, wonderful city

And all of my money, too

my right hand is yellowed 

with smoke and my 

feet are blistered and 

my tummy is starchy 

and my knees are 

pretty okay and my 

stomach may be allergic 

to my belt buckle 

and my left hand 

is itchy and my 

hair is going red 

from the sun and 

my fingernails need clipping 

and my beard could 

use a trim and 

my opinion is that 

it was a pretty 

okay trip

no one ever gets drunk at pizza hut

but, you know, they do have a liquor license

you don't see businessmen drowning their troubles 

along with a plate of delicious wing street all meat chicken wings

or vegetarian hipsters, ironically ordering meat lovers 'za

which, really, is just wasteful, more than anything

i'm not saying "let's get fucked up at pizza hut"

you may have missed my point

it's something a little more thoughtful than that

pizza hut is a metaphor

i'm saying "let's get fucked up in the alley behind pizza hut"

the nine most recent updates on my facebook feed, truncated to one line, 

compiled in non-haiku form (five-seven-six), 

with handy links for the ones that do internet things:

michelle obama

brother died in montreal

"i fucking love dateline"

my brother will die

mmm, jesus christ superstar

kris straub man crush dot com

hotson draws forearm

puns puns puns puns impact font

too much drinking, wednesday

you, anti bangs

is there anything more pointedly

pointlessly

anti-establishment?

you could have bangs

you could have societal acceptance

and you could be cute

you take your bangs

and you make a wall

let it reach up out of the sewers

and snap it back

snap its back

break its will

bend it to yours

bangs don't suit you?

being great doesn't suit you

clearly, it must not be for you

you'd rather be you

society be damned, everyone be damned

you as a gotdang sexpot be damned

you won't break down your wall

it's on your head, it's around your heart

but mostly on your head

like a tiara made of dead skin cells

get a haircut; get a real bob