The world is new
Technology doesn’t make life better but it does make it more fun. I bought an iPhone 
.
Land of My Hands
This is the land of my hands
crafted, cut, and redrawn
reaping the harvest of the cone
slaughtering the children of antiquity
growing cluttered and choked together.
Choosing a stand and remaking the land
into a presentation of the past
spreading space and shade
creating and revitalizing niches of life
paths and ways will be remade
where game will flee and predators feed
in the re-envisioned habitat
that took the form my saw decreed.
Country boy
I am a white suburban male. And I have bought myself some country music to go with my punk, ska, alternative, jazz, folk, folk rock, and nerd rock collection. I think it makes perfect sense. Funniest song I’ve gotten so far is “I’m still a guy” by Brad Paisley. Thought you’d like to know the lyrics. They pretty much are the opposite of how I view the definition of masculinity, but I find it very informative.
Lyrics to I’m Still A Guy :
When you see a deer, you see Bambi
And I see antlers up on the wall
When you see a lake you think picnics
And I see a large mouth up under that log
You’re probably thinkin’ that you’re gonna change me
In some ways well maybe you might
Scrub me down, dress me up
Oh but no matter what,
Remember, I’m still a guy
When you see a priceless friend’s painting
I see a drunk naked girl
You think that riding a wild bull sounds crazy
And I’d like to give it a whirl
Well love makes a man do some things he ain’t proud of
And in a weak moment I might
Walk you sissy dog, hold your purse at the mall
But remember, I’m still a guy
And I’ll pour out my heart, hold your hand in the car
Write a love song that makes you cry
Then turn right around, knock some jerk to the ground
‘Cause he copped a feel as you walked by
I can hear you now talkin’ to your friends
Sayin’ yeah girls he’s come a long way
From draggin’ his knuckles and carryin’ a club
And buildin’ a fire in a cave
But when you say a backrub means only a backrub
And you swat my hand when I try
Well now what can I say at the end of the day
Honey, I’m still a guy
And I’ll pour out my heart
Hold your hand in the car
Write a love song that makes you cry
Then turn right around
Knock some jerk to the ground
‘Cause he copped a feel as you walked by
These days there’s dudes getting’ facials
Manicured, waxed, and Botoxed
With deep spray-on tans and creamy lotiony hands
You can’t grip a tackle box
Yeah with all of these men linin’ up to get neutered
And headin’ out to be feminized
But I don’t highlight my hair, I’ve still got a pair
Yeah honey, I’m still a guy
Oh, my eyebrows ain’t plucked, there’s a gun in my truck
Oh thank God I’m still a guy
the vaca-y
Things I’ve done on vacation:
cleaned and reorganized room
cleaned bathroom
cleaned kitchen
went hiking
went biking
went to library (on bike)
did laundry twice
cleaned a crapload of dishes
read 5 books
cooked myself food. Yum!
the perfect me
the past is the past, it cannot last
without drastic measures as the memory decays
and runs away like snow melting into rivulets
carving up a mountain the storm that was has drifted apart
rendered asunder by the constant blunder
of the wind motioning life onward.
the present is now, losing relevance
with every utterance of “now, now, now”
breaking out of persistent monotony
breaking the freeze frame of history,
dynamic, it searches the moment
grasping onto possibilities trembling
with potential, universes with virility
forces tasked with shaping the medium
from which life is made
each choice a moment when the knife carves away
a place to stay
chopping up the future to craft
the perfect me
Flashes
I want to say I love
you, but I don’t know
if it is true. blue
eyes are striking me
dumb with flashes
from lashes. batting
for the stars higher
than I can touch, lightly
dreaming of holding in
my arms a parcel known
as you.
Childish Things
I left behind childish things
and scoffed at those who clung
to their outmoded behavior
reality sets to work
updating and revising
trimming back our dreams
filtering out the white noise
of unbridled imagination
hopes cut back to realistic proportions
I barely understand my purpose
drowning in the future
She awakens
There was summer in her eyes and hell in her heart.
The machine came to life. A violet light flicked on. Without moving, I stared at the form lying before me. The walls caved inward while the corners flew out all around. I was petrified by life, truly undefined life. A brief flexing of one digit from the table’s occupant and I knew that the beginning had ended. A being was born.
Some might claim that it was created, but until that moment, the existence was a probability. What happens now is the manifestation of the essence. The previously empty eyes, already opened, gained a fire. A blink, a wavering, and now the eyes search for purchase in a world just opened to them. They move about, grabbing at the information, stripping it from the world.
Fingers fully articulating now, the machine stretches first one limb, then the other, then another, and another. Sitting up, she casts her gaze about the room. I stand stock-still, unable to move. Her gaze drawn to me, she moves closer. There is something different about this particular object to her. I quiver and step back. Understanding floods into her mind at this sight.
“What have you done to me?!” she screams.
