Smoking Charges Ignite
Last night, Amy took Anna, our seven-year-old, to the dress rehearsal for her 2015 dance recital. I was left in charge of Will, our nine-year-old, and Ella, our three-year-old. What follows is a litany of the kids showing me that I exist in their world as a piece of tightly-spun twine, permanently...
Our actions become our kids' reactions. Not exactly new. Not exactly Newtonian (pause while joke sinks in). But it's a truism all the same. ...
Piece of Sh*t Car Reprise
When I was in high-school, a popular song named "Ode to My Car," by Adam Sandler, spun regularly on the radio. No, it didn't. All foul-mouthed teenage boys wished such happy, unfiltered radio days would appear, but that didn't stop the explicit lyrics from making an impact, even if the song's plot...
My newfound dwelling is dense and thick With healthy Douglas Firs, not bumpkin clique The journeys awaiting up there in the hills Cast a shadow of worry, for head trauma, for thrills Waiting with trepidation, I imagine my falls I’ll …...
Certain messes in life are unavoidable. If you get a DUI and your hair is sufficiently mussed or you manage to jam your finger into the nearest outlet just prior to the mug-shot, chances are you'll be a big-time celebrity some day. ...
A Reasonable Explanation
Therapist: Take me back to the beginning. Tell me how it all got started, how you eventually wound up holding the bloody knife in the aftermath of your killing spree. I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation....
That's a Mouthful
Waking up to the sounds of birds and (outside) insects is alluring, and when you have your second 10th cup of coffee and realize you are on vacation, and this auditory lovemaking is real, not the result of an ambitious-carpet-cleaning hallucination, you can finally relax, letting your bulk stress...
Stupid Piece of ... Oh, That's Right
I'm a realist. I call things like they are, and if I look stupid in the process, well, so be it. ...
The morning started off good. Four eggs fluffed with a splash of milk, mixed with Parmesan and salt and black pepper and red pepper flakes and slathered with Cholula hot sauce; four ounces of Bob Evan's spicy Italian sausage (sorry for the smell, honey, luv ya) fried into the wonderful concoction;...
When Did I Become a Pushover?
I've never thought of myself as the Ultimate Fighter type. As a kid, whenever the possibility of bodily harm came up, I tried to avoid confrontation. But if the issue was pressed, I could stand up and issue fake threats along with the best of them and hope that my manufactured bravado was enough to...
As I Approach 30
I live in a small town. Colona, IL has a population of just over 5,000. As a jogger, this means I am usually only assaulted with exhaust fumes a few times whenever I decide to go outside to burn some calories. But as far as the type of people passing me on the roadside? Over this, I have no control....
By Seth Kabala
My newfound dwelling is dense and thick
With healthy Douglas Firs, not bumpkin clique
The journeys awaiting up there in the hills
Cast a shadow of worry, for head trauma, for thrills
Waiting with trepidation, I imagine my falls
I’ll slip on some rocks, and end not some–all
It’ll be a horrible ending
From which there will be no mending
No recovery to speak of
No nice perfume or cheap gloves
Just me and my cast
Wow, I had such a fucking blast
But that’s all fantastic, imaginary scenarios
Up here it’s all quiet–no iPods or radios
Up here it’s all tents; it’s trail mix; it’s health food
Up here it’s all about being a sane shrew
Up here’s it’s about listening to those thoughts you wanted filtered
Up here it’s about hearing and acting upon ideas that were pilfered
Down there there’s no one left to hatch an original thought
Not a single soul to drown out the noise of what’s lost
They need to understand the price that still stands
On the heads of the innocent, on the development of crowded lands
Who should this be? The ones who are here?
And if them, why them? They hold all the fear
Just wait until a challenge stands before them
Just wait until their escape is as friendly as a rose stem
Then they’ll see
Then they’ll flee
Then they’ll wish they had listened
Then they’ll wish they had christened
A new idea, a fresh idea, an idea that had merit
Something that could have stood a chance at succeeding were it not for the last awarded demerit
That was it, was’t it?
That was the final hit
That was the one that caused everything to burn
That was the one that made the dreamers turn
They’re going now, away from this new place
They’re going back to where ideas aren’t a waste
Working decades for a dream they can control
It’s all good; self-help is the easiest to cajole
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Tags: bad poetry, blast, bumpkin, cajole, cast, christened, clique, control, crowded, demerit, ending, fear, filtered, flee, friendly, gloves, here, hills, hit, iPod, LOST, mending, merit, newfound, pilfered, radios, rocks, rose stem, scenarios, shrew, soul, TFF Issue #15, thought, thrills, trepidation, waste
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