i recently discovered my disturbing inability to draw a frog.

March 15, 2009 at 10:51 pm | Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment
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the fuckit tadpole.

the fuckit tadpole.


I was 24 when my mom was born.

December 6, 2008 at 2:58 pm | Posted in writing | Leave a comment
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The first thing – past the uterine walls – they see is the bright clashing wallpaper. Ducks and llamas sashaying across a green background. The screaming follows.

The slightly dimmer scrubs and white gloves distract few from the repeated duck and llama poses. The artist undoubtedly thought This, this will properally usher the babe into humandome. Don’t tell me llamas and ducks aren’t stimulating. Oversized bills, exagerated cuddleability. The babe is lucky.

Countless mothers disagree. Continue Reading I was 24 when my mom was born….

Awkward comic.

November 3, 2008 at 8:11 pm | Posted in humor | Leave a comment
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This Fork and I are Biodegradable.

September 28, 2008 at 10:00 am | Posted in Uncategorized | 1 Comment
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favorite lines?

There is a girl who sits across the universe and stares at me. I can feel it. This tingling in the back of my eyes, but I don’t know what she’s thinking. I do the best I can, which is stare back across the continent, oceans, people doing people things in their respective time zones, crossing borders, dying for Someone’s God Knows What. On the Universal Tabletop we barter with the world. Like Gods playing craps for natural disasters we bluff until we know each other’s tell, an intimacy few people really know. We hate it. Want to take it back. Don’t want to know when she’s lying, don’t want to know why she’s staring at me like I’ve become a metaphor for death and dying and I’ve claimed her favourite grandmother before her time.

The earth’s core is thick with attempts to dig into China. No success as of yet. It doesn’t stop young children setting out to shores with shovels and a mind to make it through to the other side. Pop out in the street or the great wall perhaps and this will be my secret tunnel through the world. The can to string to can tree house communications system draws cobwebs now. Belongs in a museum.
The flowers on my windowsill are dying, petals lying dead on the sill. Still I haven’t watered it or thrown it away. The dried out stems sticking out of the Perrier 10 cents recyclable refundable. They really should be thrown out. In my free time I brush the fallen petals into my hand and drop them in the trash can. Waste tells a lot about a person. Like reading palms, read my trash. What am I like? I eat fruit rollups, got a package in the mail, wrote a note and discarded it. You, my dear. Well, let me see. You like junk food as evidenced by this nutterbutter wrapper. You went to a SLAM poetry event recently, see here this postcard? You’re forgetful, this is a notice that you missed your last appointment. Dear, you will graduate college with an unchanged procrastination habit, single, and one hangover that you definitely won’t tell your kids about. You’ll still be wearing Disney underwear though. You’re a lost cause there.

I wish I wish upon a star to die before the past tense catches up with me. Don’t want to be dying under sheets and daytime drama. Duck duck goose don’t want to know my noose. Bug off until I say I’m ready to quit my lying, writing, sneezing, laughing, Firefly watching.

I am alive in dreams and wakeness, so tell me when I can go home.

September 23, 2008 at 7:05 pm | Posted in Random Thoughts | 1 Comment
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Favorite lines?

I can’t think my thoughts when Vista damns creativity with 11 point Calibri, day over night over double spaced monotony.

In journalism, paragraphs are key. The holy grail of journalistic success, all you need are paragraphs. One or two sentences to express a statement of fact. Kyle Leerie, 23, died when his car crashed into a tree. He was pronounced dead at the scene. Not, the tree was Oak and Kyle’s accident woke up a family of blue jays. They flew away on impact. Continue Reading I am alive in dreams and wakeness, so tell me when I can go home….

An open letter to The Pizza Boy.

August 3, 2008 at 12:53 pm | Posted in Uncategorized | 1 Comment
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Pizza Boy.
I think you work at Dominos. All Pizza companies run together in my mind.

You came to the house a month or more ago and I didn’t have enough money to pay you. I was babysitting and the mom hadn’t left me enough cash. I couldn’t even pay you from my own wallet because I hadn’t brought any money with me.

I was so embarrassed, my red face was probably registered as a red light source by scientists.
I was ready to pack up the kids and march you to my house, which was only a 80 second walk away, to raid our cash jar. Continue Reading An open letter to The Pizza Boy….

Backseat Dryad performing now! Naming Your Band for Dummies.

July 19, 2008 at 9:04 pm | Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment
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Backseat Dryad.

It’s a band name that I cooked up in my head two seconds ago. I quite like it. So I’m documenting.

I have this thing with band names. They’re usually stupid. Naming Your Band For Dummies: 1) think of a noun 2) add this noun to On Rye. (note that 99% of the following examples are real self professed band names most of which I gleaned from a 60s Canadian Garage Band website.)

I decided that if you add anything to On Rye, it works. Naturally the first noun most people (er, at least that is that I)pick for any example (not quite sure why) is Socks. Ergo, SocksOnRye.

Pinnacle on Rye. Backburner on Rye. Mother in Law on Rye. Continue Reading Backseat Dryad performing now! Naming Your Band for Dummies….

Wells Fargo is an alien transplantation and I love it.

June 20, 2008 at 11:59 pm | Posted in Random Thoughts | 1 Comment
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Rather than subject them to random drug tests, WellsFargo keeps its employees happily medicated on ecstasy and morphine.


WellsFargo is the first successful undetected (until now) alien workforce (not from mexico) functioning as human.


I have never walked into a WellsFargo (whether it be Bank or grocery store kiosk) and transacted with an angry/moody/disgruntled employee. Every person has been young, helpful, and smiles at a ratio much higher than that of the normal population. They’re also usually very attractive, perhaps a factor related to the constant shower of pleasantries. Continue Reading Wells Fargo is an alien transplantation and I love it….

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