friday poem fanclub #41: Sometimes, when you're made of thin air

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I don't, ever, get to say fucktard - to call someone a fucktard. "Hey fucktard." Sheesh what a word...
So a friend invited me to a birthday party, and in spite of swearing off alcohol the last time I drank vodka and ginger beer, I was looking forward to getting a load off, to driving my scooter into my friend's swimming pool if that's where things got to, to slapping down my fish at Neptune's poker table and declaring "all in motherfuckerzzzz" or something equally high-end... because I'd been under some stress. Instead of getting a new giraffe for Christmas, I got some stress. I had some stress. And so I didn't go to the birthday party: I got sick instead. I got sick like Thor had smacked me in the face with his mighty hammer so he could point out to me where my sinuses are. Jeez - I hate that guy. He's such a fucktard...

friday poem fanclub #40: Hunting the Great Lesbians of Sadness at the Fokofpolisiekar gig

(written 5 January 2012)

My sadness is an ocean rising
Searching, like a boat unmoored
My sadness is unhinged, it ravels out and tangles in
It wanders boundless from its hold behind my chest
It feels for me like fingers from the mist - I can see it on the wind
My sadness is a prodigal, coming home to me

friday poem fanclub #39: The one where I wander through the universe and encounter many wonders driving in the rain

(written 9 December 2011)

with the lamp light falling down around my ears
falling away like a submarine
thank god today’s such miserable day
I couldn’t stand the demands
of a sunny day
with the people and the smiling and the phone conversation ‘bout the problems and the plans and the working it out
just coffee and the pigeons going coo-coo-ca-choo
and the keyboard and the words about today

friday poem fanclub #38: The one where we invent a remote control in case we get eaten by a T-Rex

(written 26 October 2011)

Last night I didn’t sleep – I bored myself to death
I dreamt of things I do all day, nothing new, nothing lost
Just the stacking blocks of a pleasantless day, broken chalk and unfresh hands,
and slowly fudging minutes and a jazz band on repeat.
Nothing new, nothing unmistakably sublime.
Not the deep soft flesh of a dream,
not the pale, unspeakably summer-warm body
flowing right into my eyes,
not the mute and mighty weight of bones
dragging me into the earth,
not the strange and blind-eyed horses
breathing in the dark,
not the endless sonar of inevitable horror rising from the deep
- just the sheets, and the walls going grey

friday poem fanclub #37: The one where I sleep in, buy a spare bubble-gun and dream of electric croissants

(written 24 June 2011)

After staying up late at the vodka again
I retired upon this gruesome morn
to my bed for another half hour
the wife so strong sent the children to school
and the congress of noise - of clattering heels and shouted appeals
and left behind meals,
emptied and drifted away
the last I heard was the bitter complaints of the failure of legs and the growing of knees
and then finally quiet,
so persian and pleasant
a desert of silence was mine

fpf?+31: Rules and Regulations of International Competitive Zombie King Zombie King

(written August 27, 2010)

So I considered it lucky this week that starting kung fu and starting ballroom dancing at the same time didn't get confused in my mind and I landed up defending against an body attack from my wife during the cha-cha, and added to that, I took in a haircut this morning and, well, good cut, but the salon's water was off because of the demolition of the adjacent petrol station so I landed up with a utterly unfindable itchiness for the rest of the day, plus my efforts to convince our sales lady that arm-wrestling is the ultimate in dispute management was met with a delicate mixture of  bemusement and (word for smiling and waving in agreement with crazy people), and plus then also I'm only realising now that in my profile picture I'm squint!

fpf?+30: Including details of the last few weeks; adventures with the boy child; 85 taiwanese; and an alien abduction, naturally

(written 30 July 2010)

At the little weird cafe downstairs from work they will sell you coffee with out milk

So from what I can tell, either inadvertently, while putting on his pants or bathing or whatever, or on purpose, by turning around and pulling down his pants and going MNNNAAARRRGGGPTTTHHHHT!!, William shows me his butt-hole once in each day. The method cap classique for putting on pants is to roll back onto the bed with the legs in the air and then thread the underpants on from the top, so he's "showing the money" for that manouevre. At least he doesn't have a crazy butthole - like the ragged bottom of a dark unfriendly loch, or an Indonesian werewolf salesman.

fpf?+29: I look up, but all I see is the ceiling

(written 18 June 2010)

Gross:
Early one morning the other week at the squash courts at the varsity at 7 in the morning - a chilly, frosty morning. Nose-numbingly cold, the type of morning where your breath condenses. I needed the loo so I went to the urinal and started my slash and looked down, and my glasses misted up, and I realised to my horror...

fpf?+28 = Should I take joy in KO-ing my children with a round-house kick (forward-forward-O/X combo)?

(written 9 April 2010)

Do you also see the "1 Trick Fight Cravings" advert on the right on fb? Does it also look to you, as you catch it out of the corner of your eye, like porn? I wonder if they did it on purpose?
Anyhow, it is time once again for a poem - today is not the day for prattle or news, although Sam & Gareth did see Hiro Nakamura at uShaka last weekend, and wow there's the whole bit about the Hindu wedding which I have in - my - um... pocket - somewhere...

But for today it's back to basics: Yup, you guessed it: Poems about hangovers written in 10 minutes as I drove my coffee-craving of a body down to work.

fpf?+27: I think what's missing in my life is a leather jacket with a flame insignia on the back

(written 18 February 2010)

Well ah Wednesday – yea I was arrested HO HO HO!
Thursday – all locked up in jail HO HO HO!
Neck click – neck click – OK: Now I’m warmed up.

This morning we saw David Spurrett at the Varsity pool – we’d just come off the squash court after 12 straight 10-8 games of blood sweat and tears, and David had just finished 50 lengths of butterfly with a lead belt handicap - and we took a load off and shot the breeze while the babes by the pool toweled themselves off and there’s a guy using a leaf-blower to make shipping-container-fulls of noise and consequently to blow the leaves at the poolside to a different part of the poolside and a stray bit of micht gets blown into David’s mouth as he’s breathing in which is well you can’t really fault him for it and he spends the next 5 minutes hagghing trying to get a ragged, leaf-blower-blow piece of shit out of his oesophagus and I ask myself: Have we really fallen this far?

fpf?+26: The meaning of my life is like the lid of the superglue that is stuck to the superglue so I can't open it

(written 28 January 2010)

And the prize for Best Kiddy-ism 2010 goes to William Schwarer!
So the kook has 2 cookbooks checked out from the local library. Nut-crunch muffins and peach cheesecake. Many biscuits with chocolate and oats and nuts and cupcakes with a variety of bears, raccoons and dogs in icing which we weren’t able to identify without looking at the labels. “Light Meals” like tossed greens and quartered cherry tomatoes in vinaigrette – how uncool is that in a kid’s cookbook? So she sits on the couch and reads each recipe and exclaims each picture. “Dad! Wow – this looks great” “Dad wow – we’ve GOT to make this one”. She finds “Dad! Chocolate Declares!” which seem like a very good idea and is fast-tracked through the parental approval process. And then, as we slip suddenly into the universe by Dr Suess:

fpf?=25: Looking for meaning in the bottom of a GnR lyric

(written 21 January 2010)

My 2 crowning achievements this week:
1: I exploded a car while I was in it. I drove so badly that my car exploded with me and my crapola cousin Roman in it. We died.
2: I was chasing some punk-ass motherfucker to put some heat on him so he would cough up the money he owed my local crime lord – as you do – and I drove off the road and into the ocean. My car went under. I died.
Other than that I beat my girlfriend at darts – and smacked a homeless dude with a baseball bat that someone gave me. He didn’t have any money. I’m trying to get to meet the chick who licks the lollipop (she’s in all the publicity shots) but I suspect she’s on the other island that I can’t get to yet because I don’t know where to steal a helicopter from, and she might only talk to me if I can figure out how to shave and take a bath.

…oh right – this is all in Grand Theft Auto. I also did loads of noteworthy stuff this week but helping to set up an improved work-management system isn’t quite as scintillating as the GTA stuff.

fpf?+24: A simpler word for "ball of string making machine" is...

(written 14 January 2010)

Personal Growth
I’m all about personal growth, and Christmas and New Year is prime time for personal growth.
We took the Roadtrip of Domination over All the Lands between Here and Cape Town. We dominated the switchbacks and soaring cliffs of the Outeniqua Mountains. We dominated the flat and desolate ostrich lands of Camdeboo. We dominated countless confused little hamlets and petrol stations. We dominated friends and unsuspecting family. We didn’t dominate East London because it was way too fucking scary the day after New Years – we locked the doors and kept driving, but in our minds… Anyhow so the road-trip and accompanying holiday-making times spent with friends was awesome for personal growth moments for me. Plus I got Christmas presents which is like personal growth city. So here are some of the personal growth highlights for me from the last few weeks:

fpf?+23: I hold your hand and we go happily, down to the edge of the sea

(written December 10, 2009)

Imagine if you had OCD that made you have to reply to every single email that you received:

Dear Crysta,

Yes – I would like a larger penis please.

Yours,

Tom

fpf?+22: Tell your waitress today: Jesus doesn't want you to offer hot milk to anyone ever again.

(written 27 November, 2009)

Nothing beats an overcooked egg for fucking up an already fragile morning. Maybe the coffee will be perfect and then I’ll more disposed to not returning the universe into its .00000000000002ms state which consisted of a really small (like 50billion of them could fit on the head of a pin) ball of everything with absolutely no spaces in between, and if personal space is an issue for you then this is reeeeeeally not going to work for you so if I were you I’d take a moment and hold thumbs for my coffee turning out just right.

fpf?+21: Pass me the bottle when I get dry and brush away the blue tail fly

(written 20 November 2009)

I cheated at pool last night. I was playing a shot where I had to cup my hand over one of our balls in order to rest the cue, and I played my shot and then just kind of closed my hand around the ball and handed the cue to Caron, and then when it was Gareth’s turn and we were strategising I placed my hand over the corner pocket and dropped the ball in. Will the universe place the banana peel of karma in my path?