Archive for July, 2011

July 30, 2011

the job I hate, abhor

by jhon baker

I love my cats, kittens – so much that I want to suffocate them in loving embrace – twist their necks inside my large arms and love them to their death – this is a bit macabre.

I love them, I refuse to feed them unless there is urgency behind it. K feeds them. I clean out the litter box. the shit box. the piss box. I hate it – the smell, the shovel, the plastic bags from the grocery store, litter on the floor. I would potty train them but that was not only hard enough with my son but I mostly don’t want to sit at peace and be looked at crossly for taking too long by a fucking cat.

I also brush them and clip the nails with K’s assistance – but this I never mind – bathing them is a job best left to the professionals as they become assholes when wet – much like some people I know.

 

I wrote this at four am – this is what comes out mid basement catastrophe. Forgot to post it and now I am going to bed.

 

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July 28, 2011

a bitch just for fun

by jhon baker

I am tired of paying companies to advertise for them.

I don’t like the fruit on my computer, or the logo, small it may be, on my trousers and shirts.

I don’t care for the oval on my truck and I removed all the badges from my iconicly designed American motorcycle –

The letter on my gym shoes bother me and I prefer my nameless boots.

I prefer what I brew at home and use non-descript to go cups when I manage to be lead out in to the wilds on Illinois.

all power tools are color coded so there is no getting around that.

even on my weponry the maker is loudly proclaimed across the barrel except the rifles which I enjoy.

are those I shoot suppose to appreciate the extra money I spent on getting the best available?

I hate that the headstock on all guitars and such have contrastingly inlaid or printed familiar names.

and am surprised that the strings are not embossed with the maker.

isn’t it the decades I’ve put into being amazing what tells all?

 

the other side of that coin is the pride that so many take in displaying these bits of advertisement to the vox popoli.

as if the difference in usability relied solely on logo and brand instead of quality invested for two dollars a week somewhere in China, India, Japan, Mexico or minimum wage in USA (which isn’t a lot different than two dollars a week in those other places).

 

Could this have been written…

 

I am tired of paying companies to advertise for them.

I don’t like the apple on my iMac or MacBook, or the logo, small it may be, on my Dockers and Arizona shirts.

I don’t care for Fords oval on my truck and I removed all the badges from my Harley Davidson FXDB –

The letter “N” on my gym shoes bother me and I prefer my non-branded Zengara boots.

I prefer the Starbucks Espresso roast I brew at home and use nondescript Vanity Solo  to go cups when I manage to be lead out in to the wilds on Illinois.

all power tools are color coded (Bosch, Makita, Milwaukee, Dewalt, Powermatic, Jet) so there is no getting around that.

even on my Ruger, Springfield Armory, Taurus handguns the maker is loudly proclaimed across the barrel except the Winchester rifles which I enjoy.

are those I shoot suppose to appreciate the extra money I spent on getting the best available?

I hate that the headstock on all guitars and such have contrastingly inlaid or printed Fender, Gibson, Alverez.

and am surprised that the strings are not embossed with D’Addario, Hannabach, or Martin.

isn’t it the decades I put into being amazing what tells all?

the other side of that coin is the pride that so many take in displaying these bits of advertisement to the vox popoli.

as if the difference in usability relied solely on logo and brand instead of quality invested for two dollars a week somewhere in China.

 

… and still made the same point?

 

and I’ll bet you thought I was going to write about a cheap sassy hooker when you read the title.

 

I write this on the birthday of Our Beloved Jackie O – I mention this only to make known what a great patriotic American I am.

 

July 25, 2011

I got nothing

by jhon baker

As where new things happen, old things stop happening.

 

I got nothing.

 

a drum set without a spur, a poem without a line or two, a cold cup of coffee, a bathroom light fixture with a blown ballast.

 

but I’ve slept – yesterday/last night I slept great. this is an abnormal occurrence, an anomaly in an otherwise sleepless life.

July 21, 2011

This is the title for this post.

by jhon baker

Why do I look at my wife firstly every morning and often at night while I am awake and she is sleeping?

Because she is beautiful and I love beauty.

______________

Enjoying hot coffee in this terrible heat and there is no inspiration except for this heat which, like rain, I nearly refuse to write about. Lately there have been a lot of really wonderful comments and I would like to thank you and tell you how humbled I am by them.

_______________

I’ve decided that my post today would be mildly erratic.

_____________

My most real and available friends are all ones I’ve met through this internet thingy. Also, it is night while I read your post and it is so muggy outside while I am trying to smoke that my glasses fog, my computer is wetting with condensation and my ukulele is warping out of tune.

(that was written two nights ago)

_____________

in 2010 I wrote a lot about death as last year there was death experienced.

such as

life ends

life ends abruptly.

the shadow ceases.

loss is registered but

life goes on,

indelicately as it

must.

– Hoc Scripsi

________________

July 18, 2011

by jhon baker

she’s allergic to the blue iris I always send to her on her birthday.

I slept badly and then we we made love – after I slept until 11:40 and an hour later haven’t moved from my cigarette and empty coffee cup.

at two in the morning my body was creeping out of my skin revealing a man within, the eviction notice again goes without serious note.

every day I have a responsibility to wake and breathe, I’ve done so unfailingly.

every cay I have a responsibility to write the most beautiful poems, something revealing, I’ve done so failingly.

– Hoc Scripsi

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