i wish i had been born in borneo

alternate titles for this blog post: "the borneo of oreos" and "there is never anything on the tv ever"

the second title would be followed by a television saying "yeah? well, watch this," followed by the television pissing into its own mouth.

this week i judged an essay contest for middle schoolers in which they wrote about martin luther king jr. none of them mentioned anything about assassination or the fear of obama being tebowed up to heaven by someone who tea partied too hard. one of them talked about being bullied and seemed afraid to give any specific examples. i doubt that the assigning teacher took the time to talk to the kid about bullying.

this week i wrote a few poems for a book of poetry that i'm working on. i'm about 80% done, i'd say. that will be my third book of poetry. the second book should be out (hopefully) in the next few months. i don't want to say anything official about it. i'll let that be officially announced by the official publishers (not me).

i need to walk my dog, i'll be back.

i'm back.

this is the alley behind my apartment.


this my foot walking.


this is my dog walking.


this is my dog's shadow.


this is a bush that doesn't know how to properly wear a sweater.


this is my dog peeing.



in the future, uploading photos to the internet will take less than a split second, which is not an actual measure of time.
in the future, images will be uploaded to the internet directly from the user's blood.

here is an awesome picture i found on wikipedia's page about the aorta.



i want to blog without remorse. i want to blog so hard that my aorta bursts and floods the rest of my body with it's gravy. i want this blog to quote unquote itself until it makes the noise of a freshly turned off television. i want this blog to be devoured by the creative writing at colorado state university facebook page and for everyone who's ever read a word to become all the words that they've read and then we will all just be shitty people trying very hard to not be shitty people. i want to mummify the earth's atmosphere. "ugh. give it to me," i say as i end this paragraph filled with soul.

every time i tell someone that i'm in school for poetry they start blathering about how that's so cool and how that's a really great skill to have and that it will pay off, like it will help me get a job and help me be useful, but i think the reason i write poetry is to become as useless as i can possibly become, to become a spec of dirt coated in motor oil spilled from the dirt bike of someone so rich that they have never even heard of this space, the internet.

tomorrow, i fly to michigan to be home with my family over christmas. i'm excited to spend time there, to not be in denver for once, to watch christmas day nba games with my brother, to watch whatever weird movies are available on demand, to eat food that isn't mine, to drink beer that isn't mine, to sleep in a bed that isn't mine in a house that isn't mine. elizabeth will be with her own family in rochester, ny, so there will be no nim chimpsky style hyjinx this holiday season. tonight is my last night at work until february. tomorrow a plane and then another plane. each day thousands of planes fly above us, unnoticed. each day, the worms below us, the bacteria inside us. everyone in the world, give me a high five. now let's get lunch and think of only lunch. let us dream of the next space lunch, shooting upward until space is fed and full.