"The Last Test" proves worthy of its name

SPOILERS!!! SPOILERS!!! SPOILERS!!! (Not that there's much to spoil in this story)

Written in 1928, "The Last Test" is a revision by HPL of a story originally written by Adolphe de Castro, and it is a slog. I really had a hell of a time getting through this story. It brought my literary quest to a screeching halt for several weeks. Eventually I had to resort to using the audio Cliffs Notes of the Lovecraft library as my friends at the H.P. Lovecraft Literary Podcast came to my rescue. Chad and Chris got me through by summarizing the section I was stuck on (in the usual entertaining fashion), and then I was able to pick up from that point and continue reading through to the end.

Even so, I found this story quite boring and generally stupid. Even Lovecraft himself called it "the story that ruined my winter," and a "beastly mess." It revolves around mostly three people--our hero, James Dalton, his spurned love interest, Georgina Clarendon, and her brother, Dr. Alfred Clarendon. It takes place over a span of many years, first setting up that the characters knew one another in New York when they were all young, then picking up much later when they have all moved and made lives for themselves in San Francisco.

Dalton and Georgina, whom he happens to still harbor a love for long after her now-deceased father disapproved of him as her suitor back in New York, run into one another in Frisco quite by accident. By this time, her brother Alfred is the staff doctor at San Quentin Penitentiary and a respected expert regarding a fatal black fever that has taken hold of the region. Similarly successful in his own field, Dalton is governor of California. Georgina helps her brother with his research.

Old feelings spring up between the old lovers, and when Dalton asks Alfred (whom he secretly refers to belittlingly as "Little Alf") for his blessing to marry Georgina, he's once again cockblocked, this time by the latest Clarendon patriarch.

Meanwhile, the fever plague has taken hold of San Quentin and the public fears it will jump the walls and spread among the populace. And here's where I'm going to skip a bunch of shit that doesn't matter...

Eventually it becomes clear that Clarendon has been actually infecting people with this fever plague in order to try to find a cure. In the end, he injects himself as a "last test," but he ends up dying too. And the two lovers marry and live happily ever after.

If you're thinking of reading this horrible story, think again. It's the literary equivalent of music torture at Guantanamo Bay. It's achingly dull, predictable, corny and emotionless. Thank goodness I can finally check it off my list. Whew. Maybe I can renew my pursuit of the goal before me now that I've faced what felt like the LAST TEST to my resolve. "Haa! I kill me!"

New header image is up

Hey, gang! I updated that header this morning by incorporating the souvenir log flume photo from this last Six Flags trip. As I mentioned the other day, it's the first souvenir photo from Six Flags that I've actually ever purchased. Now, instead of me and some stranger's kid, it's me along with the wife and two young'uns. Thing is, the laptop is missing from the shot now. That was my favorite part of the previous graphic. Perhaps I'll photoshop one in later. It would make more sense, I think.

2013 Six Flags visit #2

The hand stamper guy was being a bit judgmental Saturday.

We just got back home tonight around dinner time after spending two days in Eureka, Missouri visiting with family and having a blast at our favorite place on earth, Six Flags St. Louis. My wife's sister-in-law gave birth to her second daughter just four weeks ago and we had yet to meet her, so we went to see the new niece and get in some baby time. Since they live only ten minutes from Six Flags, we deemed it a waste to travel all that way and not take the opportunity to use our season passes. As such, we made sure to use them both Saturday and Sunday.

We had a handful of milestones on this Six Flags visit:

1. My daughter, Calliope (age 8), rode her fourth wooden coaster ever, and the first ever at that particular park--American Thunder (formerly Evel Knievel)... TWICE. She's starting to come around. My goal is to get her on Screaming Eagle before the season comes to an end. She's chickened out on the platform twice now. It's hard to get her on the old Philly Toboggan coasters. She's not a fan of vintage rides.
2. The whole family rode something together, which we haven't done in probably five years. We rode the log flume twice in a row on Saturday afternoon. I miss riding stuff with my wife. She usually holds all our shit while two or three of us do the riding. Oh, and that brings up the next milestone:
3. We purchased our first Six Flags souvenir photo ever--just for you readers! We posed on the log flume drop specifically with the purpose of upgrading the graphic in my blog banner. Look for that to happen very soon.
4. Ash and I rode the Boss in the front seat for the first time ever. I have ridden this coaster at least a dozen times since its construction, but never in the first seat. Man, that's the way to ride it, let me tell you.
5. Ash and I also rode Mr. Freeze Reverse Blast in the front- er, back... Crap, it's confusing with a backward-facing coaster. We were the last to leave the tunnel (facing backward) and the first ones back in (facing forward), for the first time. That was pretty cool.
6. We've been to this park so many times that now we have to make our own entertainment while we're there to mix things up a bit. We began telling employees on Saturday to "Have a Six Farts day!" to see how many "You too"s we could get in response. That was puerile but fun. Sunday we changed it up to "Have a Six Frogs day!" It's a bit less off-color but still quite successfully chuckle-inducing.
7. We also began nosing people (mostly Six Flags employees) like Joe on the TruTV hidden-camera program Impractical Jokers. Ash is quite good at it, as it turns out.

 

Thanks for reading! Keep an eye out for my updated header graphic soon.







Mother's Day at Kickapoo Creek Winery

For Mother's Day I took the family to fancy brunch at the local winery. Just wanted to share this because it's another example of photo manipulation to create memories that didn't really happen. Rather than hand my phone to a stranger and trust him to take a decent photo, Heather and I traded off and here's the result of the merge:

This was a bit of a tough one, because merging the layers caused quite a bad fisheye distortion that I had to go back and correct. Now that I take another look, it sure did make me seem taller than I actually am... Nevertheless, I think we ended up with a fine fabricated memory to look back on with joy. Don't we all look nice? :)

Happy Mother's Day.

Laundry list classics

My Grammar Geeks group on LinkedIn has lately been busy contributing to a discussion called "Laundry list classics." The idea is to imagine what the first draft of a famous story might have been like were it penned on the back of a laundry or shopping list, cocktail napkin or something equally mundane. Some folks have posted alternate versions of famous first lines from classic novels, while others have composed sonnets or limericks. No matter the format, one could easily imagine the work scrawled haphazardly across a dry cleaning receipt or junk mail envelope.

I know that National Poetry Month is over, but I couldn't resist once this discussion started picking up steam. I've submitted three of my own limericks so far, and here they are:

I travelled one day on a whim
To shadowy Innsmouth so grim.
The fish-frogs came out
And chased me about--
I think I'll go back for a swim.


A young Kansan named Dorothy Gale
To Oz in a cyclone did sail.
On the road, she eased down
To old Emerald Town
And melted a witch with a pail.


On a night when I mourned my Lenore
With a sorrow like never before,
In swooped a black bird
That spoke only one word;
My wits shall return nevermore.

Time to learn some new words

If reading Lovecraft isn't enough of a vocabulary builder-upper for you, check this thing out! The title alone is enough to make you feel like an elite member of the bohemian intelligentsia. Here's how I found it:

I'm currently reading through the story "The Last Test," and--as is bound to happen now and then during a Lovecraft reading session--I came upon a word I did not recognize. My Nook informed me that there was no definition for this particular word, so I went online and tried again: "Testudinous..." Google thought I'd made a typo and suggested instead "testudineous," which means "tortoise-like" or "resembling a tortoise shell."

I reversed Google's unwanted correction and searched again. Very few hits. Hm. I moved on to the trusty ol' Ngram viewer (oh how I love that thing!) and searched for it there. Got a few hits, so on a whim I pulled open one of the earliest mentions. It was a reference book entry:

TESTUDINOUS, adj. [L. testudineus, from testudo, a tortoise.]
Resembling the shell of a tortoise.

Again, hm. The Latin spelling is a homophone for the suggested spelling Google gave me. Looks like we have two legitimate alternate spellings of a word, neither of which anyone uses anymore. I Ngram'ed them against one another and found that the -eous spelling was slightly more frequently used in print than Lovecraft's version, reaching an undisputed peak of usage in the early 1890s.

 



So, satisfied with the definition and its bearing on the story (the ascetic doctor's unique and quirky assistant, Surama, "indulged in many a deep, testudinous chuckle," or deep, slow-paced and deliberate chuckles), I turned back to this reference book I found through the Ngram viewer. Wow. What a title! Here's the title page, direct from the scan of the original 1832 printing:

 

 

The best news is that you can read the whole thing through Google Books by following this link. I guarantee you'll find some intriguing words in this book. It's easy to get hooked once you start digging. I swear to you, Lovecraft must have had access to a copy of this book because just about every page yields something I know I've read in his many stories.

 

I'm happy I found this valuable compendium of lexicographical knowledge. Have a look yourself. Expanding your vocabulary is a great way to learn more about the world around you and about yourself. It also allows you to more accurately express yourself. If that's not enough of a bonus, building your vocabulary can only have positive effects on your professional life. Ever heard of anyone getting canned because they have stellar communication skills?

 

If you think this book is surely antiquated and no longer relevant since it was published in the 19th Century, then I have news for you. It's been reprinted several times over the last 180 years. The 2010 paperback version, at 238 pages, is currently available on Amazon for the low, low price of $19.99! What are you waiting for? Grab some new words today!

National Poetry Month comes to an end

I hope you've enjoyed reading some of my favorite poems this month. Hopefully I've exposed you to some new writers during this process. I know I discovered a couple poets this month that I was previously unaware of.

How does one end National Poetry Month with a grand finale, considering all the written beauty we've absorbed this month? How can I top that? Well, I wondered the same thing myself. Here's what I came up with:

What's more beautiful and moving than the words of a poem washing over a page and filling your mind with emotion? When those flowing, emotional words are set to music the emotion can sometimes swell to flood stage. With that in mind I present to you, in no particular order, three of what I consider the most poetic songs ever written.

Chris Rea's "The Road to Hell"

 

 

Nick Cave's "Where the Wild Roses Grow"

 

 

 ...and (best for last)... 

Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah"

 

 

 

National Poetry Month #29

First, on an unrelated note, happy birthday to my loving wife, Heather. She is a super mother and wife who sacrifices daily for her family. I just want to let everyone know how much I appreciate what she does for this family. She's very sweet, and she would never approve of the poems I'm going to feature today.

This morning I was introduced, through my Grammar Geeks group on LinkedIn, to the wickedly funny poetry of a British man named Harry Graham. I've never heard of this guy before today, but I love his mischievous sense of humor. It reminds me of Edward Gorey's Gashlycrumb Tinies. Proceed with caution in reading the following short poems by Harry Graham.

UNCLEJOE
An angel bore dear Uncle Joe
To rest beyond the stars.
I miss him, oh! I miss him so,--
He had such good cigars.

AUNT ELIZA
In the drinking-well
(Which the plumber built her)
Aunt Eliza fell, --
We must buy a filter.

TRAGEDY
That morning, when my wife eloped
With James, our chauffer, how I moped!
What tragedies in life there are!
I'm dashed if I can start the car.

ACCIDENT
"There's been an accident!" they said,
"Your servant's cut in half; he's dead."
"Indeed!" said Mr. Jones , "and please
Give me the half that's got my keys."

COMPENSATION
Weep not for little Leonie,
 Abducted by a French Marquis!
Though loss of honour was a wrench,
Just think how it's improved her French.

TENDER HEARTEDNESS
Billy, in one of his nice new sashes,
Fell in the fire and was burnt to ashes;
Now, although the room grows chilly,
I haven't the heart to poke poor Billy.

THE STERN PARENT
Father heard his children scream,
So he threw them in the stream,
Saying, as he drowned the third,
"Children should be seen, not heard!"

CALCULATING CLARA
O'er the rugged mountain's brow
Clara threw the twins she nursed,
And remarked, "I wonder now
Which will reach the bottom first?"

 

 

Delta Machine hits a raw nerve

I've been listening to Depeche Mode's newest album this evening. I was curious what kind of feedback this thing is getting because it's a distinctly new sort of sound for the trio, so I dug in to some online reviews. Man, the critics can be so harsh sometimes. It seems from my reading that most reviewers are panning this disc pretty well across the board. A few good reviews are to be found, but for the most part they're writing that Delta Machine is the band's worst album in their 33-year, 13-album career.

Without even having heard every one of the band's albums, I'd have to disagree.

Let me preface this, in the interest of full disclosure, by stating up front that Violator is one of my all-time favorite albums, and it's the one that I hold all newer ('90s and later) Depeche Mode albums up against for scrutiny. I haven't liked a whole lot of their offerings since then. The immediate followup, Songs of Faith and Devotion was pretty solid, but they kind of lost me with Ultra. In my opinion, the opening track, "Barrel of a Gun," was hard to beat on that record. After that, I just kinda lost interest, preferring the back catalog to any new offerings. Between the compilation Catching Up..., Some Great Reward, Violator and Songs of Faith..., I was pretty happy with my collection and had no need to update it.

When I heard about this newest effort, I had to check it out. The iTunes previews interested me, so I went ahead and sprung for the two-disc special edition. I am not disappointed... for the most part. It doesn't have the overall danceability of Violator, but it somehow feels musically more relevant to today than I thought it would. It's raw, unfiltered and subtly visceral, with an electronic and synth edge I was not expecting.

I've read reviews that say this album has no ties to DM's back catalog, but I disagree. I'm not that familiar with their very early stuff, but I can clearly hear echoes of that early comp Catching Up with Depeche Mode in this album--not in every track, mind you, and not even as the sole influence on the tracks which do exhibit that sound. But it's there nonetheless; you'll really hear it in "Broken" and "Soft Touch/Raw Nerve."

The thing that immediately appealed to me about this record is that it has an overall simplicity to it that is purely electronic and grungy. Like a wine with notes of oak or cherry, I am getting a taste of Trent Reznor's most recent efforts, an aroma of Daft Punk's Tron: Legacy soundtrack, and a hint of the sonic soundscapes of Atticus Ross. Many of the tracks early in the record have a very minimalist electronic approach that really appeals to me--a stark contrast to what we've heard from the band up to now. This is especially apparent in the two opening tracks, "Welcome to My World" and "Angel."

Standouts are the danceable "Soothe My Soul" and the introspective "Slow," which reminds me of Violator's "Clean."

Overall, I think Delta Machine is a solid album from a band that is back on the cutting edge where they should be. Sure, there are a few duds on the disc, and the whole album is admittedly not for everyone, but it worked for me.

National Poetry Month #28

My man Poe deserves one more look. I can't help myself. I really think reading this guy helped shape who I am today. Through Poe I got my first taste a lot of dark ideas that would become the foundation of what entertains me even today. That gothic sense of dread and longing, themes of man facing his mortality, shades of the supernatural... It truly is a wonder that it took me more than 30 years to really appreciate Lovecraft, considering the huge influence Poe was on his works.

Take this work, for example:

SPIRITS OF THE DEAD
by Edgar Allan Poe

Thy soul shall find itself alone
'Mid dark thoughts of the grey tomb-stone;
Not one, of all the crowd, to pry
Into thine hour of secrecy.

Be silent in that solitude,
Which is not loneliness — for then
The spirits of the dead, who stood
In life before thee, are again
In death around thee, and their will
Shall overshadow thee; be still.

The night, though clear, shall frown,
And the stars shall not look down
From their high thrones in the Heaven
With light like hope to mortals given,
But their red orbs, without beam,
To thy weariness shall seem
As a burning and a fever
Which would cling to thee for ever.

Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish,
Now are visions ne'er to vanish;
From thy spirit shall they pass
No more, like dew-drop from the grass.

The breeze, the breath of God, is still,
And the mist upon the hill
Shadowy, shadowy, yet unbroken,
Is a symbol and a token.
How it hangs upon the trees,
A mystery of mysteries!

National Poetry Month #27

Here we are on day 27 of National Poetry Month, and I think it's high time we revisit the first poet I ever really considered myself a fan of: Poe. This one, along with "The Raven," was a favorite of mine right out of the gate, even reading it as a junior high kid. I remember being probably 13 or so and reading this one into a tape recorder so I could listen to it again and again. Seems kind of narcissistic in retrospect...

A DREAM WITHIN A DREAM

by Edgar Allan Poe

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
This much let me avow-
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream within a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

Follow follow follow

Hey you! Like what you are reading? Subscribe! Make my day! You can now follow via RSS or email. Why not check out my other pages ("Find Me Elsewhere" links in the sidebar) and follow me on some of those sites as well? Come on, what have you got to lose? If you're gonna be screwing around on that fancy tablet or phone all day anyway, why not have fun doing it? Go for a daily ride on the Blog Flume! :)

National Poetry Month #26

Today a fantastic item came through on my Facebook news feed from I Fucking Love Science. It's part poem, part riddle; part religion, part science. I thought it was pretty sweet, so I will share it with you:

He is everywhere, in the heavens and the earth.
He makes the stars shine, yet He cannot be seen.
He is noble, abundant, and fills the universe.
He can lift you into the sky and bring you gently back down.
He can take many forms.
He can help heal; He can help kill.
He can help create, and He can help destroy.

Praise be unto He,
Helium.

National Poetry Month #25

Once again I venture back into that fascinating world of H.P. Lovecraft and feature one of his best (and longest) poetic pieces, "Fungi from Yuggoth." This piece is presented in 36 parts. Here is my favorite of the bunch:

XX. Night-Gaunts

Out of what crypt they crawl, I cannot tell,
But every night I see the rubbery things,
Black, horned, and slender, with membraneous wings,
And tails that bear the bifid barb of hell.
They come in legions on the north wind’s swell,
With obscene clutch that titillates and stings,
Snatching me off on monstrous voyagings
To grey worlds hidden deep in nightmare’s well.

Over the jagged peaks of Thok they sweep,
Heedless of all the cries I try to make,
And down the nether pits to that foul lake
Where the puffed shoggoths splash in doubtful sleep.
But oh! If only they would make some sound,
Or wear a face where faces should be found!

 

Coaster compendium detail #1

Going back to those descriptions I promised you a while back, I'd like to talk about the roller coasters I've got under my belt--or that have had me under their belt as it were. It's all adding up to this summer, when I plan on adding a few more to the list on my quest for 100 coasters. This is exciting.

To begin with, it's fortunate that the first coaster I ever remember riding happens to be the first one alphabetically as well.

The American Eagle is located at Six Flags Great America in Gurnee, Illinois. It's a racing coaster by Intamin, running two trains--a red and a blue--simultaneously, though most of the times I've been to the park there seems to be only one side open. I've ridden this coaster countless times. It was the first serious coaster I ever rode--probably at about age 6 or 7--and I remember my first time on that initial drop like it was yesterday. To this day it's still a great initial climb and drop. As a matter of fact it's still a solid overall coaster. That huge helix is unlike any other I've experienced. I've also ridden this coaster backwards, as they sometimes run it with the cars reversed toward the end of the year or for Fright Fest.

When American Eagle was built in 1981, it set world records for:

• Fastest roller coaster (66 mph)
• Largest drop on a roller coaster (147 ft)
• Tallest wooden roller coaster (127 ft)

It still holds world records for:

• Fastest wooden racing roller coaster (66 mph)
• Longest wooden racing coaster (4,650 ft)
• Tallest wooden racing coaster (127 ft)
• Largest drop on a wooden racing coaster (147 ft)

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

American Thunder is a GCI wooden coaster at Six Flags St. Louis that opened in 2008 as Evel Knievel. It maintained its motorcycle daredevil theme throughout the rebranding that took place three years later. For the past five years, this has traditionally been the first coaster we hit once we first come in to the park. It may only go 48 mph and be a mere 82 ft in height, but it has got some really fantastic banked curves and hills, and a lot of them, too--checking in at a respectable length of 2,713 ft. On top of all that, it's not only incredibly smooth, but the first time I rode it I reported to my wife that the seats were soft & comfy like an easy chair. American Thunder never set any records, but it still endures as a really fun and thrilling ride, and a great starting point for the little guys just starting out on their coaster adventures.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Avatar Airbender is a rocking back-and-forth sort of coaster that spins as it goes. It was built by Intamin at the Mall of America in 2008. I thought it was OK, but Ash really got a kick out of it. I found it to be a gimmicky but not nearly as exciting version of Vertical Velocity and that style of coaster. It doesn't go nearly as fast as those other ones, it's only 70 ft tall at each spike, and it has cars that spin, perhaps just to make older people ill? Not sure. Anyway, I was left a little flat by this one, and I kind of feel like I'm cheating even calling it a roller coaster. It fits my chosen definition though, so it's on the list.

National Poetry Month #24

For this 24th day of National Poetry Month, I will dig into my past and pull out another original piece. I don't know if anyone remembers this news story from 2002, about the dude that ran a crematorium in Noble, Georgia. Ray Brent Marsh had stashed away literally hundreds of bodies over all the 16 acres of crematorium-owned land. He hadn't actually cremated anyone in years & had been giving families concrete dust instead of the ashes of their loved ones.

This guy was a real grade-A lowlife weirdo piece of shit nutjob. Apparently there's an independent movie from 2011 based on this story, called Sahkanaga. I haven't seen it, but I'm going to check Netflix tonight. Anyway, I wrote this poem about the tragedy when it was originally in the news 13 years ago.

MARSH LAND
by Shane McGraw

Ashes you promised,
Concrete you gave.
Furnaces dormant,
Wanting the flames of freedom.
Flesh and bones
Dumped,
Humiliated, forgotten.
Delivered from their dignity.
"You can't walk for the bodies"
The dead do not rest in Noble
At Tri-State they remain--
Defiled,
Dishonored, disrespected.
Sixteen acres of hell.
Over it all you stood,
You walked and you laughed--
Ray Brent, the Angel of Undeath,
Master of a new Georgian Holocaust.
 

National Poetry Month #23

The dogs had their day(s) a couple days ago, so in the interest of equal time I will present one of my favorite cat poems. Here's one I really like, from Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats (a really great book, by the way, for anyone who loves cats or poetry, or both):

THE RUM TUM TUGGER
by T.S. Eliot

The Rum Tum Tugger is a Curious Cat:
If you offer him pheasant he would rather have grouse.
If you put him in a house he would much prefer a flat,
If you put him in a flat then he'd rather have a house.
If you set him on a mouse then he only wants a rat,
If you set him on a rat then he'd rather chase a mouse.
Yes the Rum Tum Tugger is a Curious Cat--
And there isn't any call for me to shout it:
For he will do
As he do do
And there's no doing anything about it!

The Rum Tum Tugger is a terrible bore:
When you let him in, then he wants to be out;
He's always on the wrong side of every door,
And as soon as he's at home, then he'd like to get about.
He likes to lie in the bureau drawer,
But he makes such a fuss if he can't get out.

Yes the Rum Tum Tugger is a Curious Cat--
And there isn't any use for you to doubt it:
For he will do
As he do do
And there's no doing anything about it!

The Rum Tum Tugger is a curious beast:
His disobliging ways are a matter of habit.
If you offer him fish then he always wants a feast;
When there isn't any fish then he won't eat rabbit.
If you offer him cream then he sniffs and sneers,
For he only likes what he finds for himself;

So you'll catch him in it right up to the ears,
If you put it away on the larder shelf.
The Rum Tum Tugger is artful and knowing,
The Rum Tum Tugger doesn't care for a cuddle;
But he'll leap on your lap in the middle of your sewing,
For there's nothing he enjoys like a horrible muddle.
Yes the Rum Tum Tugger is a Curious Cat--
And there isn't any need for me to spout it:
For he will do
As he do do
And there's no doing anything about it!

National Poetry Month #22

ME via INSTAGRAM: Downtown Peoria is due for record flooding by Tuesday.

The Peoria, Illinois riverfront is one day away from seeing a record flood crest of around 30 feet tomorrow. It is drawing a lot of gawkers down to the water's edge. I hope dearly that everyone behaves responsibly and remembers to keep themselves and their children a safe distance away from the flood waters.

With that thought in mind. I present a quirky, thought-provoking, sad yet serene poem by a true American master.


HOW THE WATERS CLOSED ABOVE HIM
by Emily Dickinson

How the Waters closed above Him
We shall never know -
How He stretched His Anguish to us
That - is covered too -

Spreads the Pond Her Base of Lilies
Bold above the Boy
Whose unclaimed Hat and Jacket
Sum the History -

National Poetry Month #21

The other day I featured a poem about a dog which, though humorous, was honestly a bit depressing. Here's something about man's best friend with more of a feel-good, lazy summer day vibe.

SUNNING
by James S. Tippett

Old Dog lay in the summer sun
Much too lazy to rise and run.
He flapped an ear
At a buzzing fly.
He winked a half open
Sleepy eye.
He scratched himself
On an itching spot,
As he dozed on the porch
Where the sun was hot.
He whimpered a bit
From force of habit
While he lazily dreamed
Of chasing a rabbit.
But Old Dog happily lay in the sun
Much too lazy to rise and run.

National Poetry Month #20

Today is 4/20, or kind of a national marijuana appreciation day within the ganja subculture--like they needed a specific day for it. Isn't every day 4/20 for the marijuana subculture?

But I'm sure there are still plenty of potheads out there. In your honor, today I present a short collection of even shorter poems--the kind that your average teenage-to-early-20s boy might think was kinda awesome when he wrote them under the influence of the devil's weed some 15 to 20 years ago.

Have a happy day, you stoners. Enjoy your youth, but do it responsibly. Those of you over the age of 30--grow up already. Those of you with children--shame on you. You're responsible for more lives than just your own. Act like it. Well, maybe except for today. Have fun today, but then join the real world tomorrow, will ya?

Club ded
Naked bodies floating
Inward poolside,
outward leaving.

-----------------------

The first words
he ever heard,
while digging around
his anus with a spoon,
were
Please, mama
Please, mama
Please don't let me burn.

-----------------------

THE VERGE OF SLEEP
35:09 forgot why I am writing--
Dead people
63 of them are not the murdered
And the rest of them be serviced out for bed
with my hand of steel.
Shit.
The Lincoln-bug shyness and filth--
The longest I try...
Think I fall asleep soon


-----------------------

Darkness permeates the cell
The criminal finds his hell
The innocent cry as well


-----------------------

Flip fuckin' flop.