I Hate Some Things

There are some things I hate in the world. Like I hate scratched lenses in my glasses. And I hate the guy who didn’t clean up the dog puke in my hallway. I hate when I have to buy something I already own but don’t have it close. I hate that there is no place to find books like the books I like with a simple search. I hate litterers. I hate most dogs. I hate crawling through 3 football fields of sewage to freedom. I hate people who diss Harry Potter. I hate that I can’t cut my own hair well. I hate that everybody’s afraid to cut my hair. I hate feeling immobile. I hate bleeding all over my drum set. I hate drinking Nyquil. I hate chicken dip that I can’t stop eating. I hate crafting blog posts and nobody reading them. I hate papaya. I hate the name “Beatrice.” I hate smelling bad smells. I hate sticking wild boars with spears. I hate the names of rappers. I hate that I can’t fix my car. I hate how people compare books and movies as if they’re similar. I hate my jean short cut-offs. I also hate cranberry sauce. I hate dens of thieves.

Sad, Soulful Music

I want to make sad, soulful music with my acoustic guitar. No major chords. No sing-song melodies. I want to make it to express my failures as a man and the miseries of the world. Thumb plucks and rattling strings. My gravel voice and coal raking fingernails. Just to release some of the heavy, burdensome emotion that threatens to burst inside. Climb the heights of craggy cliffs of feeling to be dumped over the edge in low, strained harmony. Thrash the waiting steel and basswood until it changes into a steady streamline of sound. Scream and moan for the pain of existence.

And as my fingers stretch and contract, flying like live things over the neck and body of my guitar, I will feel satisfied and revealed like a mighty river released from a dam or a secret shared. Alone, I will be finished.

Archenemies

I feel lucky to not have an archenemy constantly spoiling my good times and spurring on my death. I’m happy I can sit quietly and think on the great void rather than hatred and malice. Some are not so lucky. Take my friend Phillip of Kingsbury: He has two archenemies, William Hamleigh and Waleran Bigod. They’re constantly plotting to ruin his priory and steal from his pence box. They don’t seem content except when they’re trampling Tom Builder on horseback and hurting women. It’s a wonder Phillip gets anything accomplished on his cathedral at all!

1,000 Tongues

At church, the images can be frightening: like 1,000 tongues. Can you imagine 1,000 tongues singing? Disembodied tongues, flopping around or traveling industriously ala Thing from the Addams Family? And then singing too?! It’s enough to scare a fellow. And what if they weren’t organized? Just a bunch of tongues falling wetly on top of one another and clawing for space like a big bucket of slugs. Terrible, frightening images.

Letter to mewithoutYou Concert Venue

Dear mewithoutYou Concert Venue,

Thank you for offering your space for an interesting band to play last night. You should know, however, that flashing lights in my eyes does not add to my concert going experience. I’m not talking about a little flash, flash, blink, blink. I’m talking about how every time the band builds to a climax, I’ve got popcorn eyeballs having to stare at the floor or squint the crap out of themselves because of random sweeping can-lights or whatever. I wished I had a hat on. Yeah, looking around you have stoned out hipsters staring through the sun-like laser show but little me after one beer turns into a crinkle-faced anger pot wishing I had some un-dilating drops.

I go to concerts to see and hear so maybe quit it with your crazy spinning ceiling light sabers. They look like they’re alive, sortof. You shouldn’t light up the crowd for the band’s sake. You should light up the band for the audience’s. What if I spilled hot coffee on you while you were trying to mow the lawn? Think about it.

Sincerely,

Eric

Alien Abduction Poem

When aliens come to take us away, my toes will worry what happens that day. Will they pull at us? Will they poke us with forks? Will they boil us with potatoes and a side of pork?

When aliens come to boil up my toes, my shoulder blade will worry more stronger than those. Will they move me in circles? Will they split me in two? Will they cover me in caramel and call me Da-doo?

When aliens come to caramel Da-doo, my finacee won’t worry what happens to you. Will they conk her small noggin? Will they tickle her pits? Will they stick her in the freezer and serve her to kids?

When aliens come to freeze my fiancée, I hope they are quicker than prayer time on Thursday.

But I like her well warmer and eager to play, but frozen and eaten, I’ll take her that way.

Subway Dogs

I, personally, would be terrified if all the rats in the New York City Subway system were replaced with wild dogs. If that happened, I’d move away. Just imagine being surprised by a dirt-black crazy-eyed dog staring up at you, head slightly tilted as if asking for permission to jump up onto the platform next to you. Then a train comes rolling through and he disappears into a dog-sized hole in the wall. That would be something I could not get used to.

Every so often you’d be taking the train home late at night and you feel a thump, thump, thump and then howls and cries trailing off behind the train car. Oh yeah, that happens sometimes, I’d tell the horrified tourists. Just a pack of wild subway dogs we surprised. I guess a few made it under the wheels. We can expect they’ll be leaping maniacally at the windows and snapping ferociously at the your children when we stop soon. Yep, there they go.

All of it wouldn’t be bad though: no more gross rat tails trailing behind subway animals; a lot more random old people being dragged screaming into the depths of the subway; system; greater emphasis placed on carrying raw meat with you at all times, perhaps.