Michael Kindt's Blog, page 122
June 9, 2015
His tongue swirled the edges of her lust cave rapidly, like a slimy, jittery worm on its second espresso. Involuntarily, she squealed. She was a newly born piglet, glistening with the damp afterbirth of love.
“This is wrong,” she cooed breathlessly. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”
“Shut up,” he said petulantly and slapped her right tit, leaving a pink handprint. She watched as her nipple became erect from the sting, rising above the pastoral landscape of her areola.
It reminded her of Isengard.
At the strip mall
It was fun. I was on a quest for jeans, maybe a shirt. It’s a relatively new strip mall and is killing the old, indoor type mall across the interstate. Target moved to it, leaving a vast empty space in its wake. A few others did as well.
So I’m at the strip mall, driving, looking at all the stores. Many things popped into my head, things like “What are Classic Nails?” Momentarily, I imagined old, rusty nails, nails Mozart might have hammered on. Fucking classic, man. I was told by the woman in the passenger seat that the sign refered to FINGER nails and TOE nails, not THOSE kinds of nails.
As per usual, I stood corrected.
There was a place called EyeMart, which I assumed was just like WalMart, only with eyes. I nudged the gas a little harder. Creepy.
There was a Men’s Warehouse, likely stacked to the rafters with testicles, testosterone, golf clubs, bourbon, tits, and the crumpled sports sections of newspapers. Also, there was the Man Salon with many gorgeous metrosexuals milling about in the front. They were all gazing into mirrors and complimenting each other on how fantastic they smelled. I waved at them but they ignored me, snickering at my caveman beard and uncouth mountain man ways.
Finally, I came to the object of my desire: Gordman’s. I parked and went inside, where I found weirdness galore. It was a young person’s store and young persons wandered about it, dazed like zombies as they dicked around with their mobile devices. I found a pair of Levi’s and tried them on. They fit, so I decided to buy them. I looked for shirts, but they were all stupid.
Having nothing better to do, I wandered the aisles as undazed and alert as a sniper on a rooftop. There were many oddities. Too many, in fact, to mention them all. There was a $25 container to put your butter in. Crazy. Butter should not have a nicer apartment than its owner.
I came to a display of fake rocks and knew I had hit the jackpot. I cursed myself for leaving my cellphone at home, for I wanted to preserve the moment in pictures to show my grandkids.
“Yep,” I’d tell them, “before the riots and the coups, when all people, not just Democrats, had electricity, there were fake rocks.”
“Fake rocks, Grampa Mike?” they’d say in wonderment, and I would proceed to tell them how one Tuesday I came upon a pile of them for sale in a store. Of course, I would have to explain to them what a store was, but I’m sure they’d appreciate my effort.
I spent nearly 20 minutes at the fake rock display, rubbing my eyes and pinching myself. So long, in fact, the woman who rode to the strip mall with me in the passenger seat grew restless, sighed loudly, and announced “I’m going to look at the bras.”
“I’ll be right here,” I told her.
June 8, 2015
A man and his friend are playing golf one day.
One of the guys is about to chip onto the green when he sees a long funeral procession on the road next to the course. He stops in mid-swing, takes off his golf cap, closes his eyes, and bows his head.
His friend says: “Wow, that’s the most thoughtful and touching thing I’ve seen in a while. You truly are a kind man.”
"Well,” the man says, “we were married 35 years.”
June 7, 2015
No one asked me ...
No one asked my opinion, so here it is:
Let a person be happy with the way they are. You don’t want someone telling you how to live your life, right? We bump our chests and spit out cave man speak all the time about “freedom”.
So let a person be happy with who they are, even if you don’t agree … or even better, understand it.
I get that a lot of people are just frustrated because that’s what’s on TV right now. And TV is our god right now. And we base our happiness on TV right now. But here’s an idea … you don’t like what’s on the TV right now … turn the TV off, right now.
Read a book or listen to some music.
I get tired of the shit that’s on TV too.
I get tired of the infomercials, the church worship hours, the “reality” shows and the Tigers losing to the fucking A’s. Guess what I do?
I turn it off. I read a book. I listen to the radio. I don’t bother myself with it.
Everyone seems to wake up in the morning looking for a new reason to be pissed off and angry. It stems, I think, from our ancestors, who were hunters and gatherers.
We now hunt and gather social media and then bitch and complain about it, as if we really don’t want it.
It’s like a drug, I suppose. That drug we can’t seem to kick.
You know, Caitlyn Jenner wouldn’t be on your TV if a piece of society hadn’t created the interest. Duck Dynasty wouldn’t be on TV if a piece of society hadn’t created interest in it. There wouldn’t be 100 hours of church services on TV if there wasn’t a piece of society that created the interest.
It goes on and on.
We create the madness that we end up hating.
Now, I know, someone will say “Well i don’t watch that shit,” and I’ll say … “maybe you don’t, old chap, but someone did. In fact, a lot of people did. We love disease and we get off on others pain, and so … here we are, old chap, sucking down the venom”.
And you’ll call me an idiot, you’ll call me crazy …
When all you have to do … is … well … you know.
vagabondkingpoet:
Miss me, tumblr?
I did.Goddamn it, Dennis....
Miss me, tumblr?
I did.
Goddamn it, Dennis. This is Tumblr. Be yourself. Stay here. Don’t think too much about it. I’ve been here for 5 years. I’ve angered and alienated my followers numerous times. Write your poems. Say some shit. That article on Caitlyn Bruce I thought was on the money. I would argue endurance rather than brilliance.
But anyway, it’s good to see you back. And I recommend everyone who loves poetry to give him a follow….until he pisses you off ;)
Why'd you block huffpost?
Political news…I mean, rather, biased news. I blocked Drudge Report, it’s sister site, too. Besides, I already know what both those sites have to say. In the case of Huffpost: “Republicans are all evil! Ahhhhh!”. In the case of Drudge Report: “Democrats are all evil! Ahhhhhh! (with a side of “robots! eeek!”).
In 2015, people don’t “read the news”. They search out and find the news they agree with, and then share it on sm.
It’s all fucking bullshit. The real question is why haven’t you blocked Huffpost?
"The burden of originality is one that most people don’t want to accept. They’d rather sit in front..."
- Marilyn Manson
I guess Andy never heard of education, healthcare, legal...
I guess Andy never heard of education, healthcare, legal representation, or a million other things. “Essentially” the guys says. What a maroon. What an ignoranimus (to quote Bugs Bunny).
Eh, he was tremendously overrated anyway. Um, if you remove purpose from advertising, the remaining stand-alone graphics don’t magically become “art”. They’re just advertising graphics without purpose. But that’s my opinion.
Andy Warhol, I believe, elucidates perhaps better than anyone the difference between art and creativity, between art and design. And as a philosopher, come on. Clearly he watched too much tv and read too few books.
"Science is always discovering odd scraps of magical wisdom and making a tremendous fuss about its..."
- Aleister Crowley
I just saw a dude with really tan legs and really white feet.
He was wearing sandals, clearly for the first time this season. Either that or he was German and couldn’t find his socks.
Anyway, it was horrifying.
