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Motown, arsenal of democracy [Jan. 31st, 2012|08:21 pm]
[Tags|, , ]
[Current Location |SPL]
[mood |mellowmellow]
[music |lights buzzing ]

Fog used to bloom off the distant river
turning our streets strange, elongating
sounds and muffling others. The crack
of a gunshot softened.

The sky at night was a dull red:
a bonfire built of old creosote soaked
logs by the railroad tracks. A red
almost pink painted by factories—

that never stopped their roar
like traffic in canyons of New York.
But stop they did and fell down
ending dangerous jobs that paid.

We believed in our unions like some
trust in their priests. We believed
in Friday paychecks sure as
winter's ice curb-to-curb

where older boys could play
hockey dodging—wooden
pucks, sticks cracking wood
on wood. A man came home

with a new car and other men
would collect around it like ants
in sugar. Women clumped for showers—
wedding and baby—wakes, funerals

care for the man brought home
with a hole ripped in him, children
coughing. We all coughed in Detroit.
We woke at dawn to my father's hack.

That world is gone as a tableau
of wagon trains. Expressways carved
neighborhoods to shreds. Rich men
moved jobs south, then overseas.

Only the old anger lives there
bubbling up like chemicals dumped
seething now into the water
building now into the bones.

Marge Piercy
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from: "Stone, Paper, Knife" (m.piercy) [Mar. 29th, 2009|03:41 pm]
[Current Location |complimentary mind numb]
[mood |frustratedfrustrated]
[music |clothes tumbling, loose change, teasing threads.]

Stubbing my toe on habit,
a grave in the tall grass,
a stone hidden by weeds,
a metallic place in the mind,
a callus on the nerves.

How easily we turn off the fingertips
like lightbulbs to save energy,
pull in from the nerve endings
capped like gleaming teeth
then starve out impulse.

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i love wicked wisdom [Dec. 16th, 2008|09:36 pm]
[Tags|, , , ]
[Current Location |where else]
[mood |stressedstressed]
[music |of montreal]

December 16th 7:23pm:
Made bacon and eggs this morning, to much of my surprise, I thought I would burn the bacon. Surprise came later when I accidentally broke the yoke while frying the egg. Wanted to start over; instead thought about the possibility of Andrew eating eggs. What does he think about when he chews, swallows? When we get together/it's always hot magic.
Reunited with hula hoop, the circle of life, pain in my side.
Tried to find my journal, ended up at the bakery; chatted with a really nice farmer from Minnesota, soy beans. 
Read bullshit homework on workplace grievances, attempted to finish paper. Got lost on the web, addicted to email. And they don't even know/what's on my channel
ooooh, you've got such super wicked style
show it to me baby
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Radiohead lyric -or- T.Morrison novel? [Feb. 3rd, 2008|06:29 pm]
[Tags|, , ]
[Current Location |WSU library]
[mood |quixoticquixotic]
[music |Clinic]

Diet Coke

I bemoan
Bring me back my freedom. 
Bring me back my baby. My baby girl. 
Her only pleasure
tube fed 
Heart burn. 
Next month will not be different. 
Wasted faces. 

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Who is that young girl up there, anyway? [Sep. 8th, 2007|02:39 am]
[Current Location |strange stinky apartment room]
[mood |sleepysleepy]
[music |Arcade Fire- Funeral]

I am trying to remember, did I ever imagine myself back at my mother's house? Did I ever imagine myself at 23? I can only recall myself as a universal concept: an invincible, yet placid, free and ageless being. But right now, I feel the lethargy of time passed. My body and brain swollen and immobile. I'm not usually into self-pity parties, but a surmountable itch wants me out of here, the same travel bug I had in Kalamazoo. Detroit should calm my nerves, for a little while anyway. 

Currently, this nasty thing in my blood has manifested itself, "mono", the doctor called it. I really have been kissing all the wrong people. Nothing I didn't already know. Once I can crawl out of this sleepy cocoon I'm wrapped up in, once I regain my strength, I'll be back on the ball. I'll be back on my bike. I'll feel alive. I'll be living in the present tense again. And, right away- I will eat some yummy Indian food. 

That said, I am an alumni and not working at CVS photo, where I was three years ago when last living here in the ace deuce. Things ain't so bad. My mom has been feeling real sorry for me too. So bad, today when I doddered to the living room couch, she announced her proud purchase of Bob Dylan and Elvis Costello tickets (for me!). Right on, Momma Souris! 

I have been listening to a lot of new music lately, reading stacks of books collected from visiting the friends of the library book store and the like around Kalamazoo for five years, watching movies with ma. Only a whiskey drink might complete this. I've stayed sober to aid the healing process. So far, I've only become increasingly mentally unhinged; is this healthier? 

I used to think this room had a tick to it, modern appliances. The ticking breeds in something thicker. It keeps getting caught in my ear and I want to grab it, step on it and shout, "That'll show ya!". It's energy always flows down, t-implosion. Before it goes off, I'll be running North not paying attention to the fireworks behind me.  
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As if collection agencies weren't enough... [Jun. 25th, 2004|03:52 am]
[mood |aggravatedaggravated]
[music |Sleater-Kinney: One Beat]

Where have I been, huh!?

it's better that you don't know.

The government is after me, better yet, the ARMY.
They started e-mailing me, no biggie.
Then the junk mail with information I had "requested". Ha.

a few days ago, they decide to take a more direct approach,
and visit me at my home.
Around 10am, I am sipping my tea and enjoying a bowl of cereal while browsing over ebay. I hear a knock.
Knockety knock knock.
"Craig, get the DOOR! I'minmyfreakingpajaamaas!"
Ah, shit.
My mom races to it though, and I pear out the window. Two beefy-like men in uniform with briefcases. Army men. They ask specifically to see "Insert my full name here".
Yeah. My mom insists I am not interested, but they are stubborn motherfucks and continue to say I had contacted them to enlist. As they leave, the one on the right that looks just like the one on the left catches my smirk. His face says "You can't escape this, bitch".

This HAS to be some kind of joke.
If, by chance, you- friend or foe reading this right now are embracing a bellygut of a laugh because you skeemed up this twisted trick, well- i admit, got me.

Since then, they have called. left messages/voice mails. more e-mails. have contacted my Dad/Stepmom, and even my cellphone.
It's so maddening I don't know what to make of it all.

Maybe I'll give it a try.
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Just another mothafuckin' Flag Day. [Jun. 14th, 2004|11:22 am]
[mood |happyhappy]
[music |mates of state]

Good morning early twenties.
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Sounds about right... [Jun. 13th, 2004|12:19 am]
Your Homicidal Rampage! by crash_and_burn
Your name:
Weapon of Choice:Hammer
Your Favorite Target:Men
Your Kill Count:622,071,609
Your Battle Cry:"My kidneys tingle with pleasure!"
Years You Spend in Jail:2
How Much Money In Damages You Cause:$100,262,982,939,420
Your Homocidal Insanity Level:: 52%
Created with the ORIGINAL MemeGen!

Oh, uh...just kidding.
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Customer Value Service. [Jun. 11th, 2004|12:40 am]
[mood |calmcalm]

Day #3 at the new job. The crew I worked with today were much friendlier than the night before. Also, much more mentally stable. Yay for the Friday night crew.

One I worked with for a bit was a fellow named, Christopholus. I'm not sure if that's exactly how he spells it, but that's how you pronounce it. I didn't get to chat with him much because he just came up a few times when the line grew down the aisle. Every time though, as he handed the customer their receipt, he would look up and say "Have a vibrant day." You could tell he really meant it too; I couldn't help but smile. Occasionally, I would slip and say "Have a good idea!" and that made him smile.

I made a co-worker friend. Her name is Alissa. She seems alright. She came over to help me straighten up my last aisle, but really all she ended up doing was sniffing the glue. She said it made time go by faster. She's 21 though, which so far (I don't know how old Christopholus is, he seems very mature though) is the only person around my age. So, at the end of the night we exchanged numbers to hang out sometime. She has her own apartment in Saline, which is a plus.

I was having a fun time helping this little girl shop (she was about 10yrs old?) and then out of curiosity I said, "SO, ya doing some shopping for your mom, are ya!?" Her reply, "NO, my mom died." uh, heart...sinking... "Yeah, I live with my Grandma now, but she can't walk very well so she's out in the van." Oh, man. She was so alive and 10yr-old-like too. She mentioned how she had never been in a shaving cream fight (I had been stocking it), and I ached to be 10 again so we could be best friends and laugh, squirt shaving cream at each other, and then mold our hair into mohawks with it.

But I'm nearly 20, so I'll have to settle for Alissa.
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Google This. [Jun. 7th, 2004|11:56 pm]
[mood |relaxedrelaxed]

These days, my mom has all the answers to my questions. Even solutions to social problems, the best vegetarian recipes, and what the green gunk is growing between my dog's paw.

Typical scenarios:

(Approaching concerns)
Me: Mom, are drugs bad for you?
Mom: WELL hunnie, just Google it!

(Offering advice)
Uncle: You don't think something like this would need surgery, right?
Mom: Maybe. You should try Googling it!

(And answers)
Me: Hey, where's the number for that Chinese place down on S.Main?
Mom: I don't know, GOOGLE IT! HA!

This amuses my mother to no end. When she says "Just Google it!" and another person understands she can't help but laugh like a mad woman. It reminds me of when I learned how to say "You're hot shit" auf Deutsch, and it became daily german dialect. To my mom, "Just Google it!" is speaking the unfamiliar, foreign language of tech-talk. I have my fingers crossed that she won't stumble across Ask Jeeves.

While Google is mainly a search engine and red herring tactic of my mom's, the general public has also shown me its other useful features.

-Conversation starter-
Today, my first day at work, another new employee was eager to exchange words:
Co-worker: ...You know Google? Have you EVER typed in your full name to see the search results!?!?
Me: Gee, no I haven't. But it sounds like a lot of fun...

-Pure entertainment-
What is it again that you type in and then hit "I'm feeling lucky" and then Dubbya's page appears...? Something like complete failure? Anyway, I'm sure that button stimulates many funnies.

-Verification of already known facts, but you just HAVE TO MAKE SURE-
"Yeah- I know what the 14th amendment is, I'm just double checking. Geez."

-Research, DUH-
Check books out? Where? And more importantly, why? The internet knows everything!!!

Okay. My entrees are always so damn long. How do I know when to stop? I could ramble on for pages. Enough.

Adios mothafuckas.
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