Dream a Little Dream

I once had a dream that I was Killing a dog.
The dream started out that I was with my friends at a party. Coincidentally I was at a party earlier that night. Then in my dream, not real life, this dog comes into the party. In real life I never saw a dog that day.

The adorable dog prances over to us with this goofy look on his face, his tongue hanging out and his tail wagging. It was weird because he was almost glowing. It was weird because the dog was almost glowing. And then somebody, I can't remember who the face is fuzzy in my memory. Somebody came and dropped a knife on the floor. The stupid dog was bumbling around and stepped on the knife. It's paw was now bloody and everybody was saying "The poor dear." All I could think, all I could hear, all I could experience was the sound that this hurt dog was making.

In real life the party was fine, nobody got hurt. It was just a normal party. In real life I never saw a dog that day.

The dog was moaning. But it was the Most Beautiful sound that I had ever heard in my life. I couldn't believe how Beautiful it was. I was stunned, I couldn't even say anything. Nobody else seemed to notice though. I was the only one that could hear it.
Well you know how dreams are. Skippy. So next thing you know, the dog is patched up and perfectly fine. No more moaning. No more Beautiful sound. It was like something had been ripped from me. I just couldn't help myself. I needed more.
So I grabbed that knife and went into the back yard with the dog. I can't believe I did this. At first I just opened the sutures on the paw of this dog. Oh that Beautiful moaning. That eloquent sound that sent my heart racing. Then I pushed the knife in a little bit more. Could the sound be more Beautiful? It was like a warm honey covering my soul. It painted Beautiful pictures in my thoughts and just made me feel good. Then I slit the poor dear on the chest. The Beautiful sound was brightening the scene, it was sending me up. I was lost in a sea of translucent opiates all because of this Beautiful sound. With each hack I went a step higher. Over everyone, everything. I was in ecstasy, I was dancing on clouds. Is it possible for a sound to become you? All I had to do was keep hacking. It was so easy. This sublime, provocative, dazzling, marvelous, exciting, lovely, Beautiful sound was the best thing that had ever happened to me.

And then it stopped. I looked down at the terrible, dark, broken scene. I had Killed this poor dear. He was no longer glowing. I Killed the dog. It's blood was all over me and I Killed it. Everybody saw, everybody cried. I was shunned. I was such a bad person. I felt so guilty. I had Killed that adorable dog. I had Killed that stupid, bumbling, adorable dog.

I woke up crying. In real life I never saw a dog that day.

Anxiety Attack

Sitting down with all of these

SOUNDS. SOUNDS. SOUNDS.

I hear them echo and reverberate, causing chaos in my brain.

Most people don't know that chaos is a liquid poison.

But I do.

I can feel it drip from my Grey matter down my gears and pulleys.

I can watch it tense and pull on my muscles and now it's gotten to the heart of the matter.

Exploding this situation out of control, out of time, and out of proportion.

My lungs are each having a seizure while my arms feel much too restless and my hair feels too loose on my head.

Terror. Terror. Terror.

I need to sit down. I can't breath right. I need water. I need a blow to the ribs. I need air. I can't focus. My throat feels tight. Who is touching me? STOP! I need to unclench my fists. I don't know what's going on.

Somebody turn the lights down. I still can't breathe. Should I die?

Allofthesethingscomecascadingdownonthepavement.

Need. To. Breathe.

I still feel my heart but at least by now my limbs are calming down.

Your comforting words are helping clear the clutter in my brain compartments.

I feel like I'm floating back down into my body, the body that I am familiar with.

I now fully feel the cuts and bruises. The usual sting.

But it's exactly where I need to be.

Through The Cracks

When did these cracks in my sidewalk begin? 

I do not know, but surely I should 

Never across these lines have I walked 

Never once have I noticed these marks

They must be new

I hate them already

Crooked cracks, why are you here? Why now? 

My path was smooth before you came along 

You have no business cutting through my trail 

And now what? What's this!?

Are you laughing at me? 

Or just yawning? 

Concrete mouths gaping wide in my sidewalk 

Are you threatening to swallow me whole?

Well, I decline the request

I refuse to fall through your lips 

You can't have me 

No, not yet 

So if you don't mind, I'll be going now

I have things to do so get out of my way 

Shut your mouth, your attempts are futile

I have to keep walking down this road  

And don't even think about nipping at my heels 

I won't fall through the cracks. 

Friendly Fire

Dear Ambidextrous Man, 

I hear you write words with both of your hands 

How does it feel? How does it feel to fight with your hands?

One scrawls your joy, while the other your pain

Together they paint a dull world of gray 

Luxurious, lovely, lustful letters 

Flirting together on fragile lines

Thick contradictions dancing around

Weaving in... and weaving out...

Potent words piercing the pages

Eloquent chains that tactfully twist

Clashing together in colloquial cacophony 

A civil war complete with friendly fire

Black... White... Black... White.... Gray

Dear Ambidextrous Man,

How does it feel to fight with your hands?

Awfully good...

Awfully good...

Awfully good?

Everything I'm Cracked Up to Be

“I can’t help but wonder if there’s some moon inside me, spinning and shifting without my consent, making here over there and over there here,and I’m afraid I’ll end up rolling out, beyond the lifeguard stand, up and over the dunes and into the parking lot, sprawling into the roads, unearthing houses and lampposts, drowning children I've knocked from their bikes. I stare at the farthest reaches of the tallest trees, jutting up like the tips of an explosion, and I imagine touching them but it feels all wrong, like fingering the corners of my heart–somewhere that shouldn't be touchable, a place that shouldn’t be reached. And wherever that is, I know that’s where I am.”

~Everything I’m Cracked Up To Be (lifted from Goodmorning&Goodnight.com)

The Roadrunners Dance

I see the words stumble, slide out of your mouth. Watch them jaunt down the kilter of your body. Dream like I see their distinct little faces look up at me. I blink. Your words have developed into something bigger. Were they so burly the time before? Something clicks in my brain and your words start digging into my chest, searching for my heart. My deep inhalation is painful as I desperately try to fight them off. But they won't stop. And you're not calling them back.

I try to take a step but you flutter to where I am and take hold of my arm. 

"How could you do something like this?" I scream with my eyes. 

And your words are still carving away at the cavity that was my chest. 

Their weapons burn with each hack.

Breath in. Breath out. This will bring you potency.

What are your words doing now? Have they stopped? 

No. But something disparate is happening. 

They have taken on their former, softer cast. 

The blows aren't hurting anymore but I can still hear them.

Thump. Thump.

I watch your words glide over the folds on my countenance and blot out my tears. 

They are neatly ironing out the scowl from my brow. 

I feel their dainty feet and hands push me up into a better posture.

Thump. Thump.

Is this the same room we were in to begin with? 

Who is that stranger, that girl at the window? 

I don't recognize her.

Thump. Thump.

Still wary, I look down at my chest to find sutures and stitches. Or is it a sweater?

Where have your words gone now?

Thump. Thump.

What is that thumping if not your words?

Thump. Thump.

Realization. I can finally feel my heart beating. 

Who knew that it would be you to bring my heart back to life?

Thank you.

Bear In There by Shel Silverstein

There's a Polar Bear

In our Frigidaire--

He likes it 'cause it's cold in there.

With his seat in the meat

And his face in the fish

And his big hairy paws

In the buttery dish,

He's nibbling the noodles,

He's munching the rice,

He's slurping the soda,

He's licking the ice.

And he lets out a roar

If you open the door.

And it gives me a scare

To know he's in there--

That Polary Bear

In our Fridgitydaire.

Forget the Dog

Some might say that I'm overly protective of my shadow. My response to these people is a polite, "SCREW YOU!" They obviously do not understand the unique connection we share. Some say that imitation is the highest form of flattery. If that's the case, then my dear shadow is extremely flattering. We've been through quite a lot. For instance, this morning my shadow was guiding my feet to history and someone down right stomped on top of him!! Poor thing. If he wasn't already flat, I imagine it would have hurt him quite a lot. But he's resilient like that. Never shows any sign of weakness (or emotion for that matter). He just kept sliding along the concrete, silently leading the way.


After history, I was excited to greet my shadow outside (don't be fooled by indoor incandescent shadows... they're just cheap imitations). Stepping out onto slender blades of grass I glanced down, but to my disrepair my shadow was gone! I looked up, then glared at the culprit. Nasty, wispy clouds of gray smothered the sky with smug satisfaction. Greedily flowing in all directions, I nearly expected to be spat on, and consider myself down right lucky that I wasn't. The way the clouds smoldered the sun gave me chills. I realized that these glutton thieves were relentless in their indulgence-- not a single shadow had been left behind. Dejected, I walked home with sulking shoulders and lonely feet.


If that story didn't shake you to the core, then you're actually a robot and not a human being. It's a widely accepted fact (so  you might as well embrace it now if you didn't know). The good news is that shadows have more lives then cats and my shadow was there to greet me the next morning on my way to work. Sure, some may say that shadows are pointless, but those people are way stupid. At a recent book signing (for my new book "The Shadow and I"), a critic approached me wanting to argue the importance of having a shadow. She smugly stated, "This book is a load of garbage! Shadows are useless byproducts of the sun and nothing more. Can my shadow hold my Italian Caffè latte when I'm petting a parrot in the park after dark? No. Can my shadow deep sea dive for buried treasure when I'm sick in bed? No. Can my shadow be my designated driver when I go clubbing with my ladies in West Philadelphia and we get in one little fight and our mom's get scared and tell us that we're moving to our Aunties and Uncle's houses in Blaire? No. Instead we have to whistle for some cabs and when they come near the license plates always say 'Fresh' and have dice in their mirrors. If anything we'd say that these cabs are rare, but no... just forget it, because who really cares?" And then, I just looked at her and said, "You're way stupid." 


I urge you to take better care of your shadows and show them a little TLC from time to time. If you'd like to learn how to nurture your shadow, pick up a copy of my book "5 Secrets to Love: A Baker's Guide to Gold-digging" for 7 easy payments of $52.31. You can purchase this book, file for bankruptcy, or learn guitar by clicking here: www.yourwaystupid.com. Thanks!

Love Making

Are you thirsty? Are you begging for a break?
Come take a sip of my water, I was always taught to share.
Some are leery with their nourishment, but I'm here for you.
Let's play doctor, I've got plenty to go around.
You can take as many sips as you want of my serum, but you cannot bathe in it.
Submerging the whole self is not permitted, but I suppose a limb would be fine.

One more? One more? Just a little bit more?


I gave you an inch, you took my soul.
My salvation is contaminated.
Nobody told me it would get poisoned.
It's killing me. And you move on to other prey.
I can't ever get it back. It was so pleasant having a full vessel of the opiate.
The pain comes too sharply now. But I see the solution.
I see you with your vessel that's brimming with medicine.

And I need a sip... Just a sip.

Dear

Why am I only just realizing this? Usually so quick to catch on to puzzles and rhymes and butterflies. This has eluded me for years. Naive, Unaware, Ignorant, and Stupid were filling up the negative space on my name cards. I thought I was so smart. I can talk about chloroplasts, democracy, different species of flowers, religion, phobias and how your eyes work. But I couldn't see this.

Melancholy hands burn tracks into your hide and lips glistening with venom steal your howls. We are only animals in the arena. I felt the spotlight on me and put on this show. This terrible, grotesque, fragile, beautiful, broken, indecent figure shines like a star for a few fuzzy minutes. But my minute is over and the demons have come for their due.

Serious mistakes are what ground me these days. These things I can't take back are calling me home. And I'm so sorry. I gave something to you that was not mine and replaced it with the mask of indifference. But Time has played his trick and the mask has faded into something resembling morose.

No more roses for this one hit wonder.
They won't bloom.

Hang Me from the Curtains

The spotlight's on you darlin' and it's making you blind. 

Isn't this what you wanted? 

An actress on the stage 

(No wonder you can't see)

Swirl those hips around,  

Bare it all for the show

(Ignore my advice; don't listen to me) 

Display all those bruises- all those bones 

Take pride in the scars examined like stars

Drip your silver tears dry without sound

Scream and howl like a beast on the prowl 

(I hate what you've done to yourself) 

Hold that head high and show your strong side 

(Then crawl away like you have no friends)

Double sided twisted figure turn around... turn around!

Pound those heels on the stage like a knife to my heart 

(Don't be gentle, make it count) 

Hang me from the curtains then take your bow 

(There are better ways to kill a man)

The spotlight's on you darlin' and it's making you blind 

(At least you can't see what you're doing)

Breaking News

This is Samantha McDougle coming to you live from the Channel 5 Newsroom.
I've been doing some digging about local concerns and have unearthed some shocking material.
Back with more after this break.

Car commercial, cell phone commercial, laundry detergent commercial, food commercial.

Welcome back to Channel 5 News this is Samantha McDougle. Before the break I mentioned that this reporter has been doing some snooping about concerns that local residents have emailed in to our Channel 5 News website. This tape we are about to show you has been previously recorded. I must now mention that Channel 5 News does not neccisarily agree or disagree with opinions stated in this film.

Intro Music
Back in an era known as "The Dark Times" humans believed the earth to be flat. Because many adventurous men braved the seas, the world came to know that the earth is in fact, round. There were many ideas and theories about what the universe was, but Albert Einstien, in his brilliany, realized that it too, is round.
The 3rd Grade Class of the Orange River Elementary helped me come up with a list of other things that are spherical.
Oranges, bouncy balls, pearls, eyeballs, pomegranets, soccer balls, stones, jingle bells, marbles, walnuts, the moon, grapes, drops of water, candy, basket balls, the other planets, peas, pokemon balls, bubbles, baseballs, the moon, and cheese.
Take note that many of these things are found in nature. They are naturally made in a spherical shape.
Now there have been many concerns and comments coming in to the Channel 5 News website about how Americans are becoming more plump, more round. But judging by how many things in nature are round, can't we just assume that that is the natural order of things? Are all things meant to be round in the end?
Perhaps this is where evolution is taking us. It's possible that someday in the future humans will not be the shape as we know them, but will be cirucular. Perhaps in the year 4011 they will look back and laugh that we used to think that humans are supposed to be shaped the way we are today.
I'm not advocating an unhealthy lifestyle, but I am asking the Americans watching this program to take this new information and incorporate it into a daily life change. Step by step, we can make it to a round nation.
This has been Samantha McDougle with Channel 5 News. Thanks for your time. Now back to Gary Clearwater for the weather.

I am in control

Focus on the movement. Forcing my body to move. Back into happy, dismal the cell.
My back screams at every move I even think about making. You did a proper job in breaking it. My heart shatters at every relationship I even think about starting. You did a proper job in breaking it.
Something is ringing in the background. Time to build myself back up again. Running low on supplies. Mortar around my heart. Tape up my eyes. Tie up my posture into something permissable. Still the pain. Canned laughter and painted on humor. Fumble through the day.
Your stupid comment. I'm screaming in the brain. But I pass it off with a laugh. And I'll pay for that later.
Kiss up. Wipe off.
The sun and the westernly mountains are lying together. This means one thing to me.
Back to the whipping post.

And the whip master is a bitch. I would know.

Powdered Almonds

He was tripping, stumbling on clouds. Big goofy grin on his face. Every third step took him a step higher. With eyes half closed he smelled the roses. With arms wide open he took in the view. Light seeping and cascading off of every corner, light that seemed to dance, to breath. Light that warmed the lungs when you inhaled the sweet aroma. Light that sparkled and cast a golden fuzz on everything it touched. He danced, skipped, swam and ran on the thankful meadow. Others scorned and laughed and pointed. Sometimes he too saw the blood, but he knew this was better than surrender.

It had to be. Had to be.

She was gliding, flowing on the broken glass. With eyes wide open she tiptoed around, avoiding the thorns. With arms folded tightly she considered the sight. Too brightly the light shone on the broken scene. All you could taste was pollution if you inhaled. Eyes stinging, she looked for the man with the bruises on his skin. There he was, trampling on the grass, getting spit on by the people he called friends. Noone called her friend. But she wouldn't get hurt this way so it was better.

It had to be. Had to be.

So tell me, which is better?

Head Underwater.

I wanna yell REAL loud. Right now. Release. Thrashing voices of contentment and uneasiness dueling for residency inside my mind. The silence assaults my ears with subconscious noise. 

Time is ticking ever forward. Going, going, gone! Going, going, gone!

SCREAM!YELL!SHRILL!SHOUT!CRY!SCREECH!WAIL!SHREK!HOWL!ROAR!

whisper.

Dear Mr Nobody

I am perched comfortably on this heavy chair, sprawled out on the concrete bench, esconced in the marble recliner. A pang of panic and then my ever soothing mind quickly tucks me in, pulling the fog up to my chin as to keep me warm. With my eyes closed the flashing lights just paint pictures in my thoughts. Pictures of Summer Girls in their Rich Dresses with Glossy Thoughts that bounce like their Stupid Curls.
One more pang. Back to reality. Sit up. Take a sharp breath. I see Mother Apathetic around the corner with that dose that will desensitize.
Not ready for the day. And then all too soon I'm not ready for the night. What is on Time's mind? He is rather sporadic as of late. I really must send him a basket of something that shows how grateful I am. Am I thankful? What's going on? Who was I talking to again?
I'm drifting...

Implicit Artichokes

We, the Polar Bellz, have tirelessly fought to warn you about the tragic dangers of everyday life. But today we are going to rock your universe by taking the opposite approach by advising you to do something dangerous. Go ahead and read that sentence again, it won't be different the second time around. We are advising you to do something dangerous.

STOP!!

Now we aren't saying go make a bomb out of an orange and some contaminated Diet Coke to take over the Minimart, or to jump from exceptionally tall buildings with only a garbage bag to save you, or eat before swimming or anything stupidly crazy like that.

We here at the Polar Bellz workshop have realized that life is getting a tad on the safe side. a.k.a. the boring side. No bueno compadre. Why live your life by just going through the motions? We believe in creating a world where crazy is the possible norm and your imagination really can be your best friend.

So take yourself out of your comfort zone. Even if it's just for a small fraction of time, chances are you won't regret it. Think about it. The fear, anxiety. What's going to happen? Here it comes, what if it goes wrong? Am I doing this wrong? This isn't so terrible. The moment is now in the past. You did it! Nobody laughed, and even if they did, at least you did it!! Adrenaline. Rush. Accomplishment. Success.

So go do something dangerous. Go do something unexpected. Go take on your inhibitions. Just go do SOMETHING. Don't let your life pass you while you sit watching it go by on the tv or the computer screen. Not cool.


And here at Polar Bellz, we are icebox cool. So chill out.

Pushing Buttons

There is a serious epidemic plaguing our nation today:
Button Pushing

It's real, and it's out there. We humans have been conditioned to push buttons. We derive some sort of sick pleasure whenever we do so. Companies, like Staples, knows this and they exploit it. Can you say "Easy Button"? There is something about button pushing that we just can't get over. As a society we have stitched buttons everywhere. Doorbells. Crosswalks. Elevators. Hadicap Doors. (I know you push it them) Keyboards. Car Horns. Remote Controls. Calculators. Microwaves. The list goes on and on. Think about it. How many buttons do you push daily? We are clearly out of control! First rolling, and now this! I challenge you to go a day without pushing a single button. 

Think you can do it? I doubt it.

*writers note: "pushing" is an odd word.

Killer

I've been feeling that killer instinct. You know exactly what I am talking about. That overpowering urge to cut down and demolish. That longing need to bury it in the mud. Look at that face. What a face, what a face? Well I'm facing myself now. And holy cow. They said 'Like, wow.' Don't you agree?
ha ha he he ha ha ha
That one's gone and here comes another.
Another form of me. Another what I want to be. So kill this old personality. And pour yourself a cup of tea. Come take a sit upon my knee and bask in my tranquility. Until I see another me. And feel that killer instict.
Take a deep breath. Doesn't that feel better?
Well it better. Because you don't have the guts to stop me.
So please excuse me. I really must get going.

A Bowl of Surreal

Salvidor Dali Eating a Bowl of Surreal.