Fagiolo is a funny name for pasta
Fucking raindrops
Drip drip dropping onto my paper
Dampening my inked words into smears and smudges
Fucking raindrops on my paper
Black Eyed Peas playing in my ears
The sounds of “time of my life”
Dirty bits. Dirty smeared ink on paper
Fucking raindrops
Sun is gone
No glow of the moon to be my night light
Lightning
I cannot see what I write on damp paper
Thunder drowns out Black Eyed Peas
I had rice and beans for dinner
Fucking raindrops-darkness and thunder
Now “moves like jagger” plays through my red ear buds
Rain dripping from my ears
Someone told me that once rain hits the ground it is referred to as water
Who cares? Water or rain. It’s still fucking wet on my paper
Thunder rolls
Stop! I cannot hear the music – I hear life around me
Barely seeing what I write
Fucking raindrops-fucking rain soaked paper
Fagioli is a funny name for pasta
Fucking spellcheck !! tells me my sentences or portions thereof are fragmented !
Fucking MS Word and fucking rain
My words – my thoughts
Joe Lethbridge June 25 2012 10 42 am
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Blue ink on white gum rubber soles
My canvas for my words
Few words this time
Words waning- thoughts kept to myself
Lessening everyday
Kept to myself at most times. My writing much like myself. Kept to myself.
A canvas of brain matter
Even my mind won’t hold as much anymore as the USB memory stick I had
The one painted a dull pink tint
I wore it around my neck on a plumbers chain for awhile
People had asked what it was “just events in my life” I would say glumly
I top writing- peel the black rubber finger grip sleeve off my pen and toss it into the ash bucket beside me
Blue ink on white gum rubber souls of some Nike Air Force 1 shoes I picked up from the food bank
Soles stained purply blue from picking mulberries in an abandoned industrial lot
Fruits of my labours? Maybe one cup of mulberries for one hours pickings
There is a small willow tree there as well; silvery green foliage on a tree not much taller than myself
I write on my shoe “Gay but not a fag”
Cambridge is said to be the city with the most Tim Horton coffee shops per capita. I haven’t really counted. As cars pass by and people walk by I wonder if it’s the same fro “in your face” hair hilites ; not the blended subtle hilites. The ones that are bold caramel or red or burgundy aside chunks of jet black. Wouldn’t it be easier to use an ink pad and just stamp the hair. I wonder if it is the same for Mohawks.faux hawks and fro hawks; differing variations of what I call hair skid marks. I wonder if it is the same of small black spandex tights on “not so small booties”. I wonder if other cities have as many people wandering about in pajamas (or maybe I missed the zombie apocalypse) I wonder if I wonder too much or maybe its others that don’t wonder enough. I wonder if people will see the words I wrote on my white gum rubber soles on the free pair of nikes I got from the food bank. Then I wonder; what kind of people really look at other peoples feet. Foot fetish ? I wont even wonder; nor write on that ?”
“Would you ever entertain the idea of writing about someone of ill-repute?” That was the question I was asked one day last week. “People just eat those stories up Joe !” I knew which person they were referring to. I know people have a morbid curiousity. People stop when a building is afire or slow down to get a better look at the scene of an accident or watch more than copious amounts of “reality tv” . I also wonder how those armchair voyeurs would feel if one in the fire or accident or murdered were a friend or family member ? The answer I gave was a quick “NO” I am not about to write a story where the accused criminal plays the victim. Blaming his or her behavior on upbringing or lack thereof. Blaming it on having nothing growing up or so much they are a spoiled brat or blaming it on the “rampant use –epic proportions of crystal meth or other drugs in “gay culture” Dude !! fuck you- you chose your culture. Stop the blame game. We all can make excuses but all or any of them do not excuse us from our social responsibilities and humanity. So that story and others like it won’t be written by me. I will leave those up to the highly overpaid and overhyped (much like the criminals of which they chose to write about) . I believe any and all money from the sale of these books, made for tv or big screen movies go to the victims and victims families; not padding the wallets of “established writers” (I won’t no part of that establishment) and boosting the “fame factor”. If we are a compassionate people; where then, are the shelves full of books about victims or the victims families. Sadly the ones written about victims remain on shelves while those about the perpetrators of hideous crimes can and have waiting periods or second and third printings.
Rephrase “would you “Entertain” the idea about writing about someone taken away from his or her family and friends?” I would if able; grammatically give a resounding Yes ! without need for sordid details and glorifying the accused as a celebrity !!
Joe Lethbridge June 25th 2012 10:45
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