Monday, October 19, 2009

It's Not Iron. It's Rust.

Smack me in the face with a brick or the bottom of a flight of stairs. I felt both, and I won't tell you which hurt worse. I broke the landing, but the brick broke my face. Blood is red, but it's not Iron. It's rust.

If you have something iron, like a heart, a will, the truth, or a toilet seat or something, don't think that just because it was strong in the past, that it will always be that strong in the future. Even if it's near water, like the toilet seat, don't soak it with water, especially something salty like tears, urine, or sweat. Those droplets might feel good or appropriate, but don't let them near the iron, or the iron will not stay iron for long, especially faced with tears. Tears have a way of breaking things disproportionate to their own volume.

Iron monsters stay monsters forever. Only the truly stupid come by without weapons or someone to ditch who can't run away fast enough. Just because someone is nearby doesn't mean a damn thing to a monster. Instead of trying to bend the monster's iron into a heart like a circus clown with a latex balloon, keep it strong and dry. No matter how convincing or beautiful the twisted iron heart becomes, it's still the monster's calling card, and his best weapon.

Always remember that iron monster. He can masquerade as whatever he wants, but he's still a monster. If tears and low voices feign concern, the monster can't cry. If the testimony of a friend doesn't want to mix friendship with love, the monster must remember his iron. Love is for friends. Love is for the truly stupid. Love is for the masquerade, especially if it's something cool like a fake poet that does more lines than he writes, or a counterfeit pirate with a cool costume and a rubber sword. Love is not for iron monsters, even me.

I'm not armed: I let it get wet. Hope might be my sword, and faith might be my armor, but it's not iron. It's rust.

Saturday, October 17, 2009


This is ridiculous. Carl Froch lost tonight to Andre Dirrell. I'm beside myself.


I don't wish Rush Limbaugh any harm. However, I do wish he'd notice that his experience at ESPN was a terrible idea, and that he should stay off the Sports page. He didn't know anything about football then, and he still doesn't. Sometimes, he touches on important subjects that the mainstream media does not. However, Rush Limbaugh is an entertainer that makes controversial radio. His show would be boring if he just covered news: nobody wants to know exactly what's going on in Washington. If people cared, Anderson Cooper's ratings would trail C-Span's. People inside the federal triangle, the White House, or on Capitol Hill won't change their minds about him if he buys the St. Louis Rams. All it's going to do is put him on the sports page and sports television where he can be a lightning rod for idiots and sports announcers.

Saturday, October 03, 2009

Hope Glows

A little glow this evening
Illuminates the moment
A once lost face now found
Is lovely in the light

A smile and a greeting
Once common, then made scarce
My hopes and spirits soar.
"Goodbye," she said, but briefly.

Perhaps she can't remember me;
More likely, there's no past.
Each moment leaves me lonely
My solitude seems endless

No art of me exists;
My asymmetric feelings
Dominate my thoughts.
Your grapes outweigh my body.

Florescent light recedes
As I pass through the door.
A bag of food on sale:
Dessert, milk, and cans.

Momentary hopes
Lapse back to the familiar:
"Hello our old friend
You should know our names by now"