Living by the Moon

Coffee in hand, I descended the subway stairs, sat on a bench and started to read an old book of poetry. Actually, as far as poetry goes, I suppose it’s quite new. The man that sat next to me I haven’t seen in forever. I don’t know his name, or where he comes from, but I saw him every morning during my commute fall through summer, even if I was running late, he was there. I watched his son grow up some too, new haircuts, new shoes, lost teeth. They spoke Hebrew together (or what I assume is Hebrew) and even though the son, near five I guessed, was old enough to walk himself, the father always carried him on his hip and held him on the train. Today, the son sat in a stroller, a purple one, and strapped to the man’s chest was a new face, a baby girl, in a fleece hat with ears, cheeks red, and surprised at everything.

“I haven’t seen you in a while. How have you been?”

This was the first time he’s ever said anything to me- so articulate and slow and calm. I was expecting accents, I was expecting him to always exist as a sort of home movie projected in front of me, because that’s how I felt watching him with his children. A handsome man with gray streaks in his hair, dressed plainly.

I romanced the idea of who he was, his wife (though he wore no band), his home, the earthy way he smelled, the toy boxes his son kept in his room, the color of their carpet and kitchen walls. He spoke and he was no longer a moving picture, and there was no accent. But he was still quite handsome, and the romance continued.

“I’ve been well. A new addition?”

“This is Ayelet Ann”

I was thinking ‘oh, what a lovely name’ when he said “Ayelet means ‘deer’ and Ann means ‘moon.’ Six months old now.” Deer. Moon. Sometimes I feel like I’m on the Truman Show.

I wondered if that baby would grow up to be long and lean, skittish and proud. Would she keep her doe eyes and wispy lashes? Would she be quick to flee or would she hold her ground? Would she always look this surprised?

The train came. I pretended to be lost in my book, but Ezra Pound wasn’t doing a thing for me this morning. I thought about deer. And moons, plural: the red ones, the halved one, the slivers and the wholes.

I fell asleep last night watching the moon moving through its phases at hyper speed; yet to my anxious eyes, its waxing and waning moved like mornings- slow and sluggish.

I stood at the station and watched the man walk away, his son charioted, his daughter backpacked. His feet turned outward when he walked, and the soles of his shoes were yellow, flashing like a traffic light droning yield.


Monday Blues-n-Haikus

Advertising job
Passing the day with haikus
Billable hours

“Chevy Chase”
A stranger’s basement
Sleeping on a pull out couch
Loud plastic crinkle

Friday night dinners
Amanda says ‘fuck my life’
Ish will fall asleep.

I choose to ignore
syllables and country lines,
for the love of words and sighs
and passenger rides,
though it forms rhythm
with lunar cycle beats kept
so it can’t be bad.

I’m a poet, son
Japanese mix master
Straight up gangsta shit.

Childhood calling
Grass stained jeans and bicycles
Skinned elbows heal quick.

My Forevergreen
Hold my head, we’ll trampoline.
My Velouria

Hey, babe, you’re like a
Exothermic reaction
Spreading your hotness

"Ode Upon a Grecian MP3 Player"
Switch to Verizon
The better way to prepay
Unlimited texts

Five, seven, five, what?
This haiku doesn’t make sense.



“In Greek, ‘nostalgia’ literally means ‘the pain from an old wound.’ It's a twinge in your heart far more powerful than memory alone. This device isn't a spaceship, it's a time machine. It goes backwards, and forwards... it takes us to a place where we ache to go again. It's not called the wheel, it's called the carousel. It lets us travel the way a child travels - around and around, and back home again, to a place where we know are loved.”


Under Cover Mix


1. Jose Gonzalez - Heartbeats (The Knife)

2. Nouvelle Vague – The Killing Moon (Echo and the Bunnymen)

3. Cat Power - Wonderwall (Oasis)

4. Death Cab For Cutie - This Charming Man (Smiths)

5. The Vines – Ms. Jackson (Outcast)

6. The Cardigans – Iron Man (Black Sabbath)

7. Iron & Wine –Such Great Heights (Postal Service)


1. Jimmy Eat World – Firestarter (Prodigy)

2. Marc Collin – Love Will Tear Us Apart (Joy Division)

3. Elliott Smith – Blackbird (Beatles)

4. Decemberists - Bridges & Balloons (Joanna Newsome)

5. Kind of Like Spitting – Title Track (Death Cab for Cutie)

6. Dinosaur Jr. - Just Like Heaven (The Cure)

7. Badly Drawn Boy – Come On Eileen (Dexy’s Midnight Runners)

8. Weezer - Velouria (Pixies)


Rain Dance

The reason why the Indian rain dance worked is because they danced until it rained.



I start actually working only after I check my ten email accounts.

Ten, you ask? Couldn’t you just funnel everything into your Gmail? Yes, I suppose I could, but then the penis enlargement emails would mix with the Lebow Weekly Digest and the coupons to Borders and then I’d get all confused.

I ripped the foil/paper hybrid packet open and dumped its powdery goodness into the cup where my tea had just been. How the fuck do they even make those packets?

Just add water.

That’s how manufacturers make things Jai-proof. Biscuits, just add water, stir. Pancakes, just add water, stir. Hot chocolate, just add water, stir. Plants, just add water, *do not* stir. Hypothermia on New Years, just add water, shake it baby.


Needs more… sugar. (hey, it’s Friday of a long week. Let me enjoy a double choco-sugar-seizure.)

So I ripped open another packet and dumped it in. Take that, Atkins! (side note: Dr. Atkins, inventor of the Atkin’s no-carb diet, died of a heart attack. I would say that’s ironic being that he’s a doctor, but it’s not at all. Heart attacks are exactly what happen to people who make entire meals of mayonnaise-y bacon while they risk scurvy with their lack of fruit intake).

My eyes darted to the tub of marshmallows. What’s hot chocolate without marshmallows? There was a spoon in there for sanitary scooping, but then I would have to fork over one small ‘mallow at a time. I reached to the bottom with my grubby hand figuring that by the time someone gets to the bottom of the jar with their sanitary spoon, the germs would have died. Right? Right?

I return to my desk. Five new emails. Ballz.

Is this what adults do? -sit at their desk with their coffee cups, reading email after email, pondering what to make for dinner. (Think that cheese is still good?) Well, you will find no sensible heels under my desk. No. Instead you will find dirty sneakers. I give it another year or two before these literally fall off my feet. Feet sheathed in striped tube socks from the hippy store. Maybe a gum wrapper. Stupid kids with their hip pop; I’m listening to Polysics.

I don’t think I’m going to grow up yet.

Not me, I put marshmallows in my coffee cup.


1. Women are inherently fragile, illogical, and hyper-emotional creatures who suck at math.

2. Women are cold, manipulative bitches who, in a nanosecond, figure out how to seduce and destroy a man… and then take his job.

3. Women want sex all. the. time in 47 acrobatic positions.

4. Women hate sex because they’re embarrassed of wide hips, thunder thighs and saggy boobs.

5. Women speak their own version of English where they mean the opposite of everything they say… except when they don’t.did I miss any, ladies?


Cuba Shakedown

USS Basilone, 1955, Cuba

“A good crew can get out 20 rounds a minute.”

He was telling me about when he was stationed in Cuba, on our way to the pro shop to check out a new set of clubs. Part of a special forces fleet, the USS Basilone Destroyer, “Tough and Tenacious,” was armed to shoot down just about anything- planes, ships, subs- but in particular, Russian submarines, should they step out of line. For a week in Cuba, they blew every gun and whistle on deck- rockets launched and pierced the air, hedgehogs and mines sunk and shot water clear up 200 feet, rumbled the machines guns, turrets, shoulder launchers, torpedoes.

This was a shakedown.

As a powderman, his job was to follow the shellman who hoisted a 50 pound shell into the barrel of a gun. Once shot, the powder can would blow out the back onto the deck where a man in fireman-esque gloves retrieved the white-hot can. It took ten men and an officer to operate the one gun mount, which was enough to obliterate just about anything. The fact that there were half a dozen on one side seemed redundant. (At this point of the story, I noticed how his accent had changed. Reminiscent of a boyhood in the Bronx.)

Once everything was loaded, a man in central command would pull the trigger. One of these ten men, on this particular mount, John, had the esteemed job of steadying the barrel, which on this day he was not doing such a good job of. The trigger was pulled, but the shell and powder can jammed midway up the barrel.

“If you asked me what I did in a crisis… what I did was to put my fingers in my ears.”

They immediately called a ceasefire and the rolling thunder of ammunition yielded to silence.

He waited for the barrel to explode, to backfire, to bust open, ready with his fingers in his ears. The commanding officer stormed over to the other side of the ship like all of hell's fury, took my grandfather by the throat and lifted his 6’3’’ frame off the ground:

“Blomquist, you stupid son of a bitch, if this ship blows up, you’re going to look mighty stupid going through space with your fingers in your ears!”

The ship didn’t blow up. The can simply slipped back down into the back end of the barrel, unjamming itself.

This was a shakedown.


Disco Fries

grab your dancing shoes, baby. it's friday.

“four kicks”- kings of leon

“sister jack”- spoon

“steady, as she goes”- the raconteurs

“young folks”- peter, bjorn and john

“pink champagne”- venus hum

“biomusicology”- ted leo + the pharmacists

“take it easy (love nothing)”- bright eyes

“phenomenon”- yeah yeah yeahs

“I my me mine”- polysics

“heartbeats”- the knife

“true affection”- the blow

“bathwater”- no doubt

fotographia: razorfishes

If you're going to drop an entire paycheck on a new camera, you should use some I reckon.

round and about work

all that glitters...

grandfather clock.

the (mis)adventures of a puffy purple chair

always remember to look up.

My Body is a Temple

… or maybe it’s more like a motel.

There's a chance there'll be a vacancy,

Maybe not.

The concierge might turn you away-

back towards wherever it is that you came from,

Because you were too drunk,

or not drunk enough.

Either way,

Bring your baggage,

Stay the night,

Be gone by morning.

P.S. if there's coffee in the morning,

it'll probably be cold

with someone else's lips on the mug.