You know something? When
Journey wanted to rock, they
really kicked ass, man!
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- A Government That Can Force You to Buy Health Insurance Can Make You Do Anything (3)
- a protein wisdom philosophy primer (3)
- academics (25)
- armadillo (8)
- Friday Fiction 100 Word Challenge (51)
- from the protein wisdom conceptual series (136)
- identity politics (33)
- If Republicans Win the Senate in 2014 (1)
- in which celebraties comment on current events (67)
- language / intentionalism (88)
- legal (6)
- My brief conversations with inanimate objects (130)
- NSA / FISA (46)
- One Term to Serve, the 2012 Revival (6)
- Overheard in a Fallujah bunker (27)
- Poems from 196x, Revised by the Ghost of Richard Brauti (27)
- protein wisdom's DNC coverage (30)
- protein wisdom's RNC coverage (29)
- protein wisdom: the movie Lists (20)
- Provocateurism (16)
- real-time empirical observations (51)
- red pills found behind the sofa cushions (42)
- Scenes from my driveway (61)
- Talking back to 80s music (41)
- The Martha Stewart Chronicles (58)
- The protein wisdom interviews (10)
- The protein wisdom original poems (142)
- Uncategorized (20,046)
- Zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance, abridged (34)
Recent Comments
- In The Mailbox: 02.28.23 (Afternoon Edition) : The Other McCain on Hey, longtime pw readers…
- In The Mailbox: 12.23.22 : The Other McCain on Patrick J. Carroll truly IS a sad, embittered psychopath
- Danger on Patrick J. Carroll might be a psychopath
- Danger on Patrick J. Carroll might be a psychopath
- In The Mailbox: 07.18.22 : The Other McCain on Patrick J. Carroll might be a psychopath
An old border territory homily: “The tequila is never really gone. Instead, it’s probably only wandered over to another table for a spell, fixing to bring back two or three cute UC-Boulder undergrads and the confidence to lead the entire bar in a spirited, off-key version of ‘Paradise By the Dashboard Lights.’”
An aging burro wrangler told me that when I was buying pot off of him this one time. True story.
Did the bottle those pills came in have a warning label?
Why am I lonely?
Because Roger Simon wants
It that way. Bastard.
Asia? So much more
Than just a King Crimson spin-
off. Bank on that shit.
No one reads my blog.
Ergo, Jeff Goldstein is the
New Stepin Fetchit.
You want man food, pal?
Try larding up a whole pig
and eating it raw.
Glenn doesn’t link me.
I mention it constantly
Only ‘cause I don’t care.
Drunk with the oldies
The spring-fresh faces of girls
Laugh and laugh and laugh
Billy Joel just took
me Closer to the Borderline.
Bless that drunken lout.
Pajamas cannot
Withstand our heat, unless they
Use their saving throw.
If the demise of
Journey was the cost of “Oh
Sherrie”, then I’ll pay.
Might I also note
How freakin’ cool it is that
We’re writing haikus.
But then again, it
Is Saturday night, so “cool”
Is, well, relative.
Perhaps next Friday
the fucking armadillo
will finally dance.
Speaking of Oh Sherrie, I met a bartender at an Irish pub while I was living in Bologna, Italy who used to play that song for me.
He thought it very American. Or else, he was mesmerized by my mullet.
Stereo cranked up
All the neighbors complaining
Where has the time gone?
I always had a hard time telling an English singer from an American one when they were singing. Something about how you have to change the shape of your mouth and your intonation when you’re singing.
Although I could always tell with Depeche Mode and that Morrissey dude, who I was never into, but unmistakable English accent, right? I think the harder you rock, the harder it is to tell you aren’t American.
Kevin Federline:
Brazilian ass is his thing.
He’s a nice young man.
Molly Ringwald or
Ally Sheedy. It’s a toss
off toss up, frankly.
Haikus from Lauren?
I thought she quit the ‘Net, joined
Me in Web limbo.
I emerge for beer
and haiku, and sometimes for
shameful prank phone calls.
Old fems never die.
They just fade away—or else
become awesome pole dancers!
Nice sexist remark,
Jeff. Here’s your punishment: I’m
Telling Ilyka.
Cue Playah Grrrrrrrrl to tell me how I can’t dance.
In 3….2….1….
Ilyka Damen:
Light of my life, fire of my —
Hey, are those Skittles?
I thought this was a Jewish Humor blog. But this is all very Japish.
jg has made
torturing English
his game
but in his sour
sentences
modals are
slain
among other sacred
structures
others are better
but his followers
are nether
and that is the end of the
game
It’s not “torture” when English dresses in short skirts and heels and lets you buy it drinks all night, honey.
This much I know.
I am as enamored
with English
as you
but torquing the
lady
as you do
has limits.
Ease your grip
and she may yet yeild.
I trust she stands
strong and true.
Chatting up the girls
They give you a pleasant smile
Before the hard slap
You write lyrical
Haiku, especially for
Such a HOUSE NEGRO!*
so *quick* is
the wit
of a bigot
just like the
will of a
dog with a bone
lose it
and then
beg for it
Message from a 40-something
I see the ads for
Ameriquest–Fuck you-uuuu
60s generation. Die!
In other words, fuck off and die you retiring fucks. We have to live with your fucking world (“nothing was the same after you”–yeah, fuck you assholes)
Surely I can’t be the only person wanting to tell all the fucks responsible for the way the shape of the world is today to fuck off. Oh wait… that is exactly the message they wanted to give 30 or 40 years ago. Well, the only person that publicly played out enjoying taking it up the ass was Jimmah Carter. Although Al Gore, John Kerry, and Hillary Clinton seem to be willing to see who can take more up the ass…
I am no bigot.
Click on the asterisk and
All will be revealed.
Haiku—dated, is
Missing difficulty points.
New form: sestina!
Thirty-nine lines
for a sestina’s structure?
Fuck that, cthulhu.
evolution rocks
i’m stealing kate’s deathdealer
suit to wear to work
feminists can’t dance
is lauren a feminist still?
the cranes fly away
manly eater:
Glenn links me often
but i don’t want his linkage
i’m irascible
Some Beauties yet, no Precepts can declare,
For there’s a Happiness as well as Care.
Music resembles Poetry, in each
Are nameless Graces which no Methods teach,
And which a Master-Hand alone can reach.
If, where the Rules not far enough extend,
(Since Rules were made but to promote their End)
Some Lucky License answers to the full
Th’ Intent propos’d, that Licence is a Rule.
Thus Pegasus, a nearer way to take,
May boldly deviate from the common Track.
Great Wits sometimes may gloriously offend,
And rise to Faults true Critics dare not mend;
From vulgar Bounds with brave Disorder part,
And snatch a Grace beyond the Reach of Art,
Which, without passing thro’ the Judgment, gains
The Heart, and all its End at once attains.
Pope – Essay on Criticism
Neal Schon plays guitar
Without using his pinky
Is that cool, or what?
They ask me what blog.
I say Jeff G’s and they come
And say “What the F**K?”
I live near The Bay
I still hate that fucking song
When the lights go down
Greg Rollie was cool
When he was in Santana
What the fuck happened?
It’s not that it’s bad.
Just not expected
For Saturday night.
New INXS rocks
Best CD in a long time
I know, but listen
You don’t like “The Lights?”
Whatever. Those Na-Na-Na’s
Will never get old.
The ‘Abraxas Pool’
CD is worth checking out
if you can find it.
Whatever happened
To Marc Singer? Beastmaster
Is on HBO.
Gin blistered brain cells
dogs in the kitchen trash can
porcelain god calls
It’s not quite the same
here on a Sunday morning
You cats wuz on fire!
feminism is
not an easy word to use
in a real haiku
in a real haiku
mostly you want a season
but ‘frigid’? Risky.
Hound Dog Taylor slide
in hand Brewer the bottle
laugh move and forget
Coffee for breakfast
Talking heads on the boob tube
Quiet Sunday morn
(HeeHee, I said boob.)
hmmm…charlie, you’re right.
mebbe this is better
feminists can’t dance
sakura petals on snow
is lauren one still?
Bad News Bears on Tee
Cee Em Goldstein beats off damn
Tatum O’Neal hot
Mike Damone don’t care
Whether she comes, stays, lays, or
prays. He’s got the attitude
After a breakfast
of strawberry pancakes and beer
my mind is a blank
Challenger blows up
Time to read another book
Love me that war porn
Weather, cold and rain
Surfing though stuff on the web
I think I’ll snooze now
For Robert:
Thirty-nine lines and
complex internal repeats?
Not to save my life…
An illustration
only of happy folly
of poetic posts.
Once again, I’m forced to note that the haiku lacks the traditional seasonal reference.
You damn iconoclast you.
Jim in Chicago
Seven Syllables line three
What an idiot
Poetry critic
I spring a violent trap
You fall to the ground
pants fall to the ground
rosy nipples shine brightly
pants pants pants pants pants
Could have been alone
as well as thirty-something.
Dang… I’m forty-three.
TW: my lack of the fundamental elements of style would drive Strunk insane.
’kay, i fixed it.
Feminists can’t dance
Is Lauren one? Sakura
Petals fall on snow.
much better.