Lost Messages
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Toddler Burlesque
Welcome to Toddler Burlesque where we remove one article of clothing and proceed to run around and laugh like jackals. Then repeat after every piece of clothing down to our skin when it all turns into a lewd game of tag or catch me if you can.
Come on down! Hurry, before we pee on something valuable or hilarious!
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You Can’t Take It With You
I noticed in much of my poetry, and perhaps other poets I’ve read but don’t specifically recall, that I use “mine” and “time” - specifically “a short time” or some variation - as a rhyming couplet frequently. At least it seems frequent and sticks out in my mind when I come across it. If it is, in fact, used excessively, does it say something about the fleeting and temporary nature of possession; maybe something like we don’t really possess anything, nor can anything be possessed completely? Maybe that is some underlying law of nature. Or maybe it is just that we are mortals.
(Source: pintofstout.me)
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Late Night Reflections
By Bill Dixon
I’m not tired. Maybe I should take another Melatonin. I wonder what would happen if I crushed up a Melatonin and snorted it. I bet that would be a really awesome way to provoke an instantaneous blinding headache. I would never…it would be just my luck to OD on a natural supplement. A Good writer dies of a heroin overdose; a bad writer succumbs to Emergen-C poisoning.
That Kelly Clarkson song is stuck in my head…I think that one is about a break up…wait…that’s all of them…jesus. If her songs are any reflection of her real life, then she desperately needs to take some “me” time to work on shit. Every song is about being taken advantage of by some asshole. Kelly should explore some of her codependency issues and figure out why she keeps reintroducing the same destructive personalities into her life. It would be interesting to hear the other end of the story…what if her ex-boyfriend wrote a song about how a pop star used him to churn out a shitty top-40 hit.
That’s sort of funny…maybe I’ll try that at open mic…god…and then I’ll be that comic…the pop culture guy who shits of pop singers…then, all I’ll need is a strong closer about pogs…I’ll be the Lenny Bruce of who-gives-a-shit.
My writing needs help. It needs to grow. I’ve stagnated. I need to talk to someone. I wish Microsoft Word still had that paperclip guy in the corner who would help format documents. I’d like to talk to paperclip guy again. I wonder how he is doing. I wonder if he ever popped up in the for a serial killer or terrorist creating a truly horrifying Word document.
“Are you making a list entitled ‘People To Kill and Drain of Blood In Order To Cleanse The Earth of Sinners’? Can I format that for you?”
“Looks like you’re trying to hijack a commercial airliner! Do you need any help with that?”
I bet he quit Microsoft to write a tell-all book about his time in Word Documents. I bet it was fucking inspired too. Then, after his book was a big hit, I bet authorities found paperclip guy in the bathroom of a Motel 6 in New Mexico slumped over the toilet dead of alcohol poisoning…like a proper writer. Lucky bastard.
…more Late Night Reflections
An awesome brain-dump style of ramble by Bill Dixon
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Neil DeGrasse Tyson: A Proclamation of my Nerd Love
The lovechild of Carl Sagan and Samuel L. Jackson can’t help but “be cool”. His calculator is the one that says “Bad Mother F@#*er”.
By Danny April
You hear a lot of chatter in ever-flowing meta-critique of popular culture about how “It’s cool to be a nerd” these days. Take Joseph Gordon Levitt and Zooey Deschanel, who managed to break the entire internet for a day by making a Youtube video of themselves using a…
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Escape
My new revision of my old short story. Here is the first paragraph. Click the title to go to the post with the whole story.
The black felt sack was yanked from his head. His scalp burned where his hair was ripped out. Lingering pain tormented his battered knees and shins. Carl had felt every bump in the road through the cold, gritty floor of the empty cargo van. He had lain in the dark of his hood with only boxers and an undershirt for warmth. The course rope cut into his wrists and knees. His weary muscles found little respite now in the heavy steel chair. Carl squinted into the bright sunlight and tried to see the men standing around him. The light only made his head ache more and amplified his fatigue. Fear for one’s life was exhausting.
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1940 Census (Individual Records) Released Digitally
This will be fun to explore when I have some time.
Likes
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Kind of Hertz
I pulled into the return car lot at Hertz, the man with the orange hand cone pointed...
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My favorite version of this song.
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By Bill Dixon
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past student of mine - ellie doughty - solid work!
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Facebooking My Biological Father
By Bill Dixon
I never knew my biological father. Well I mean...
