success!~

the twothousandeleven hiatus is over!



dr. sonders has been busy occupying guns, bitches and bling and how he is sore!


you either listen or you're missin all you badgers out there

swimming pool (a short play

edgar walks out into a clearing where there is a table and two seats. he sits down at the table and spits on his hand. benvolio trips on his way to edgar's table and takes a seat. they stare at each other while adjusting their crotches.

benvolio: hi.

edgar: hey.

benvolio finishes bumbling his bump first.

edgar: so, you still want to go to this today?

benvolio: i do, but i have to pee.

edgar: well go piss then.

benvolio stands up and takes two steps from the table and relieves himself on stage.

edgar: knock knock.

benvolio zips up and remains standing.

benvolio: ok.

edgar: i was never able to do that thing with your hand and your armpit where you squish them together and make fart sounds. the little fat kids in all the movies i watched as a kid could do it and they looked cool, but i can't make my armit fart for shit.

edgar spits on his hand again and sticks it in his armpit.

benvolio: you look like a bird who broke it's wing.

edgar: hold on i think i got it.

benvolio: sometimes i go into public bathrooms and make people think i jack it in public.

edgar is still trying to make fart noises.

edgar: that's gross.

benvolio: no no it's really fun. just grab the side of your cheek, where it's loosest, and pull it away from your mouth back and forth really fast.

benvolio jiggles his cheek rappidly.

benvolio: you hear that! well you walk into a bathroom stall when you know someone else is in there, preferably more than one, and you do that while groaning a little here and there. once you know that you've gotten their attention, go 'AHHH' orgasmically and spit on the ground. not like hocking spit; dribble it out and froth your saliva so it's nice and white. it's a hoot!

edgar: fuck it, i'm never gonna be able to make farting noises.

benvolio farts.

edgar: ew.

benvolio: i sat on a duck.

CURTAIN.

..positive.. a short play

a poem for the week

for the week

you are measly and grinning
but not unperfectly happy,
wishing that you had thirty dollars
to buy Tony Little's
Micropedic Body Pillow because
he says it's cool. not cool as in it's hip,
but because it's just not temperature-hot
and you want it anyways.
you gawk at the compartments and
the number sixty million
because this is your head we are talking about
for Christ's sake.
this is your spine.

i hit my head against a
rock for five hours today
with my eyes open
and my hands to my side
while maintaining a steady rate of breathing
and i swear
it was the best sleep i ever had.

we wait and we wait and
we wait and we
wait and
we
wait and we wait and we
wait and we wait
and we
wait and we
wait and
we wait.

you told me to put olive oil
on my plants to keep the bugs off
because you are hippie-esque in your green ways
and your love-thy-earth mantra
never sounds not hollow enough.
pesticides kept bugs off my plants.
olive oil not only did not keep bugs off my plants,
it fucking killed my plants.
what is less righteous? i just wish
my plants didn't die.

so this guy walks into
a store and sees his girlfriend and
screams, "DO YOU WANT ME TO BREAK UP WITH
YOU?!" the girl just smiles and hangs
up her phone and they don't talk
much after that. guy goes this way
girl goes that way. no one except
the two of them could really
actually care. both guy and girl
become depressed and guy overdoses
on ambien when girl cuts her arms.
the story isn't tragic. they
thought it was, but it's just
stupid and a waste of time and life.

we wait and wait.

we pull out lunch meat and cheese at
seven in the morning and leave it out at
room temp until two in the afternoon.
then we put everything back in the fridge
and we do it all over again tomorrow.
come eat our breakfast sandwiches.

a blind man said to me the other day:
"last night a beautiful woman
came up to me and said, 'i can give you
super sex.'"
i stared at him blankly like
his glazed eyes looked out the
window.
"i turned to her," he said still
looking out the window,
"and i said, 'thank you, but
i'll just take the soup."

shalvayshon-we-theenk

poo poo

i am so avant garde

da d ance

when you dance i dance when he dances we dance when you dance when i dance when you dance when we dance then he dances when you dance when i dance in the first coast

eyebooger

what,happens,when,you,getnaked,online

tytytytytytytytytytytytytytytytytytytytytytytytytytytytytytytytytytytytytytytytytytytytytytytytytytytytytytytytytytytyty

dark ojera

(troothache)

rememberthiswagerquestionmark;;swayt boi! oice r-ad

beckevolute

it is hard for a man to work steadfastly when his work can mean no more than the digestive noises, wind-breakings, and cries of dinosaurs - noises now silenced forever

2-ju

valentin~geist~loodeedoo

finityman

stingray@thetemple

monolith*with.new.friend-~juizz

jimbers.takes.the.day...again

easyorganasm

smilesarepriceless

jimbers.takes.the.day

gofunhappytime

1+eighch====u4ia

blamtron

nomorenovember

parkeronacoolday

portraitof.monsieur`phillip,o.augustine

+;alexanderbergstrom:=

veinvainvane

mookyspoon

pierreiscarefree

whenwasitnow

unoriginalidea;butideanonetheless

thecanterburytails

humdrumconundrum

absurdpaintbucketing  by  absurdpaintbucket

welcomephillip!fromrosencrantzandthepuckeringants

apres-donne

aftergivingmeyourbag,thesmile (apres-donne)

socrates makes a hipster say he's a hipster

Socrates approaches a local merchant in city center.

Socrates: Good day dear boy! What a wonderful day it is, to see you out in the town square and in your finest attire.

Merchant: Well I could hardly call this my finest, but good day to you as well for it is a fine day indeed.

Socrates: My mistake, I was merely making a compliment about your attire, for it surely cannot be your worst.

Merchant: I suppose it is not my worst.

Socrates: Forgive me for rambling further, but I am curious and confounded in your presence. I myself have but one outfit to wear. I dress myself in the morning in the same white robe that I remove in the evening, yet here you stand with such a wonderful diversity in your self presentation and it is not even your finest! I delight in knowing more about this practice of dress you exhibit, I believe the town calls you a hipster, am I wrong?

Merchant: I am not a hipster. I hate labels. Labels are meant only for the products which men like me buy and sell. I am merely a man who wishes to avoid the monotonous attire of thinkers like you.

Socrates: I meant not to offend you dear boy, and if I have, I humbly apologize. But I must inquire as to why you consider me a thinker?

Merchant: Don't try to play your silly mind tricks with me. I see men attempting these foolish antics; they double by the day. They hunt for merchants and politicians in the city streets, wearing their white robes and smug expressions, and they try to prove to every street walker that he knows not what he had thought to have known prior to their encounter.

Socrates: Dear boy, you have gravely mistaken my motives. I meant only to discuss with you about your fine clothes, and I still do hold to my claim that you look wonderful today. But what I cannot understand is how you take such offense for me having generalized upon your appearance. We all inevitably tend to act in this manner when presented with like-looking strangers, and, in your response, you too cast a generalization upon me as a thinker. I would not think you to have done me any injustice by that claim were it not that I simply wish to discuss your fashion, which could hardly be considered the talk of a thinker.

Merchant: Forgive me; I know not why I am bothered so deeply by these generalizations. I apologize for having thought that you were speaking with malicious intentions; I have grown accustomed to the street walking sophists.

Socrates: Oh dear boy, there is no need for apology! I apologize for my careless use of words and my ignorance to your feelings! But you must admit, it is funny how these “labels” happen to strike us as if they were tightly clenched fists.

Merchant: Yes, I do agree. They are somewhat offensive and unnecessary in my opinion. It is hard to believe that I am anything or anyone other than myself. Labels downplay individuality and often group unlike particulars into a larger universal category.

Socrates: Well said. And since we seem now to agree that there is something odd to these labels, I must say for myself that if I were to be one of those “sophists,” as you call them, and I did search the streets for men to engage with in meticulous conversation upon ideas and practices which might deserve even the slightest bit of scrutiny, I might not take offense if one were to call me a thinker. For is not a thinker anything other than a man who thinks? And would I not be merely a man thinking when I engage in meticulous conversation upon the ideas and practices that call for the slightest bit of scrutiny?

Merchant: Yes, I suppose that is accurate. But do you not think that some labels also carry with them a negative connotation?

Socrates: Ah! I see your concern now. I had not even considered the connotations of these labels that we are discussing. For connotations are the implications towards abstract concepts which accompany a statement, and the goodness or badness of these implications should not affect a man with a sound mind and devoted heart who carries out his actions with a certain degree of conviction. Would not the thinker ultimately be less of a thinker if he concerned himself with the trifles of other’s opinions?

Merchant: Yes I suppose he would.

Socrates: Such a state of mind could easily be considered insecure, could it not? For such a mind would be searching an empty concept, rather than the concrete label which simply serves as a means of identification.

Merchant: Yes, I see what you are saying; I had never though of it like that before.

Socrates: Well then, if I were to proceed with my original aim in this conversation, that is, on complimenting your wonderful attire, would it be to bold for me to say that you look hip?

Merchant: I must say that makes me uneasy.

Socrates: Please, dear boy, if you could give me one more moment to explain my compliment, and I remind you that is all I wish to do here.

Merchant: Fine.

Socrates: I look at you and I see a mode of attire unlike any other in town. Nonetheless, and I mean this with complete humility, I do see other young men, like yourself, walking around with the same cut-off pants, v-neck shirts, and distinctly styled hats and sunglasses. I say that this style is hip only because it is new; your style does not resemble that of the other young men who wear solely black, or collard shirts, or athletic outfits. I say that you are a hipster because you partake in this newest of styles, just as one might say that the other styles are goth, prep, and jock. I use it in the same manner as you use the word thinker, for it was not but a few moments ago that you participated in the same labeling that you appear to be condemning. Do not take offense dear boy, for it is only the insecure mind and fearful heart that searches the abstract void of definitions that cannot exist alongside the concrete and actual statements we make, as we both agreed earlier. So, if I were to confess now that I am a winded, old, and far too tired thinker, and wish not to continue this conversation any further, might you be able to find enough truth in what I have said to agree that you are a hipster?

Merchant: Kind sir, your words are persuasive, and I am moved in a way that I thought not possible before our exchange of words. I am a hipster, and such a tired thinker as yourself should get some rest. May I help you towards the direction in which you are going?

Socrates: Oh that will not be necessary dear boy; I can manage quite well on my own. And as a parting word, I must say once more, you look wonderful.

Merchant: Thank you sir, and farewell.

The merchant skips off, happily, out of the town square.

Socrates: Fucking hipster.

unfairdual

mosaicyndrome

cypressandmoon

wecareabouteachother

why

intelectuallyunfairdual

toobad

parkeronahotday