Tuesday, January 17, 2017

Next Generation

Will there be irony, sarcasm and satire?
Not looking good. Cough wrong and you get destroyed online. Everyone is ranting.  If you point out being overweight is unhealthy, you're body shaming. If you inject the word responsibility into a discussion on race you are a racist. If you question the Church you are Godless. If you only wear black you are the Devil's tool.
Taxi drivers are vanishing. Everyone is talking to themselves, an early sign of Alzheimer Disease. Hugging will disappear because of new bacteria. God help us if plaid goes. I've organized my life around it.
Once space for burial is used up, will bodies be tossed into the ocean creating new virulent water born illness?
Will writing still exist? Will imagination become part of the huge compost heap quickly being formed?
Will the next generation be able to skate backwards and use a pogo stick?
Politically correct vultures hover. Waiting.

Year 1968

I still had hair.
I pledged a fraternity at Rutgers. We pledges built a bar that fell apart. I worked part time at Two Guys Department Store. I wasn't sure what to do with my life. I weighed 157 pounds.
Earth shaking world events were happening. I had no girlfriend.
In June I was taken by aliens who probed for days and ultimately rejected me. I was despondent for months.
In 1969 I discovered macaroni and cheese and became a new person with purpose. I would become a macaroni and cheese chef.
Men landed on the moon. I took up the banjo unsuccessfully, plunging me into another depression.
I looked forward to a new decade.
The hair situation became problematic.

100% Cotton

I check strangers' tags to see if it is 100% cotton. I won't associate with anyone wearing dacron or orlon. Boring. Suede and leather people like to make an entrance. Pretentious. Wool folks want to hug. Unhealthy. Spandex and lycra are threatening.
I notrice your socks are drooping. Better upgrade if you crave my friendship. That couple in the corner--I need to check out their tags. They seem attractive, but can't take any chances.
Since I've matured, everything I wear is 100% cotton, except my hats.
My navel lint is also 100% cotton. You get the idea.

Sunday, January 15, 2017

No Symmetry

My poems lack symmetry. They sprawl across the page; words do not coalesce, lines circle around themselves, punctuation won't stay still.
Sometimes my poems break out of my notebook and leap on other writing, swiping its identity. The words transform from thought reflections to drunken slobs staggering across the page. Chaos.
I adjust the borders, spacing, font, use quad space and, in desperation, elliptical s to no avail. I look around at the poets nearby. None look symmetrical. Some are so lopsided I fear they will tilt over.
What happened to balance in this world?
I will attempt to right things anyway I can. First I will line up my pens by length. Or should it be by color? Decisions, decisions.

A Car with Personality

My old Hyundai Accent had personality. When it felt ignored, the Check Engine light would flash on. On cold mornings it sounded like Morgan Freeman with a head cold. It's old car smell blended with my old man smell. Seat cushions slid forward, my safety strap got tangled and I noticed strange stains on the dashboard.
My Civic is a year old and except for flat tires, has exhibited no desire for attention. It did moan when I spray painted over a few scratches, but nothing I try has broken the ice between us. It is just very businesslike.
My old micro had personality in the form of chili and gravy stains all over the inside I was too lazy to clean. I replaced it with a black one to match my black radio, table, fridge side, and my black car. I am not a devil worshiper.
Sometimes I'll just pop it open for no reason because I like the power. My toaster and I have lively discussions. Once a month I flip it over and empty the crumbs. My toaster is an atheist. It's logic is simple. What kind of sick God would create all those crumbs?

Twisted Greeting Cards

What can I say about your cooking that hasn't already been mentioned in the autopsy report?
Our last hug did not go well and I take full responsibility.
I want to share all your rashes.
That growth on your forehead shouts character.
You are the sand that invades my cracks.
Your bacteria completes me.
In the darkest of winter, your woolen undies warm my scrotum.
Let's honor our commitment by sharing off unneeded hair.
If I had your elegance, I'd crawl through your laundry bag.
I'm so sorry. I thought that was an ashtray.

Friday, January 6, 2017

Netflicks vs Samsung

I lost my Netflicks!
On Thursday night late I tried getting onto Netflicks and the screen treated me like a prospective user when I already had an account. I called and was told Samsung was updating its software and all the extra programs like the above were suspended. No warning!
He told me to hit Sign In and type my e mail and password and all would be fine. I hung up, assuring him I could do this.
Except my remote was malfunctioning. It wouldn't move the letters to the line on the right for email. Were the batteries weak? I kept clicking and barely getting anywhere. Finally I switched from my right hand to my left and bingo, it worked. I typed in my password and was able to watch episode 7, season 8 of Dexter, my favorite show.
I'm proud that I did not panic and resolved the problem. When did I become so dependent on Netflicks to give my life excitement?