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The Nightly Rhyme

Dead City twenty-something.
fresh-cut chicken wing.
Oct 17 '14

of all densities

I’m a very big fan of sci-fi,
of all densities
(though I prefer hard sci-fi).

I’ve been reading “Red Mars”
by Kim Stanley Robinson.

and it often gets me thinking,
about colonizing another planet,
sure,
and the social structures and dynamics that are redefined within that realm,
of course,
but also of the nothingness of Space
and all that
meaninglessness.

and I get wrapped into it,
down here on Earth,
where I am,
and are.

this Terran form,
how it envelopes me!
and wholly!

and that meaninglessness
gets hung up on
the coat racks of friends,
and that’s understandable
on Earth.

I’ve been running,
looking up even,
for a while, maybe.

sometimes I have to remember
my feet are still on the ground.
this ground.

for now.

Oct 17 '14

fucklefanger

meticulously poorly crafted
and mistook
for somebody else.

sorry.

Oct 17 '14
he gazed over the horizon.
“not much of anything really,”
he thought aloud
and to himself.

the landscape had shifted
from the pale silt 
he had once remembered
to something…
‘dissonant.’

"maybe next year,"
he thought
in silence.

he gazed over the horizon.
“not much of anything really,”
he thought aloud
and to himself.

the landscape had shifted
from the pale silt
he had once remembered
to something…
‘dissonant.’

"maybe next year,"
he thought
in silence.

Oct 15 '14

wordpaper

when words
sometimes
go together like
sand paper
and baby flesh,
things are not well.

when they slice
like the proverbial knife
does through butter,
am I not better
for it?

Oct 14 '14
even closer. looking pretty slick so far.

even closer. looking pretty slick so far.

Oct 13 '14
old game idea, new prototype. the cards came out great and I know exactly where they’ll go. the board is constructed, but the pieces need to be placed, no pun intended. coming together!

old game idea, new prototype. the cards came out great and I know exactly where they’ll go. the board is constructed, but the pieces need to be placed, no pun intended. coming together!

Oct 10 '14
dsaucedo:

gunthrie the dogtown kid

thenightlyrhyme

dsaucedo:

gunthrie the dogtown kid

thenightlyrhyme

(Source: humortrain)

Oct 9 '14
an open-chest switchboard,
which floored the Expectables - and which had conveniently distanced the Respectables from him -
all began to come together
in one conspiratorial
front-page editorial titled,
Landline Seized by Retropositive Stingray “Greasywheel” Reese.
though no one is really sure
how the call got through,
we are sure of this.

an open-chest switchboard,
which floored the Expectables - and which had conveniently distanced the Respectables from him -
all began to come together
in one conspiratorial
front-page editorial titled,
Landline Seized by Retropositive Stingray “Greasywheel” Reese.
though no one is really sure
how the call got through,
we are sure of this.

Oct 5 '14
la la la
crosse
queen
brunch tomorrow,
today I guess.
found this
outside
after a
sociological meta
blast to the dome. 
life is
crazy.
“you’ll know when you know”,
or “you won’t,”
they said.
grains of salt,
in no more than
one layer.
or more things might happen.
🍕.

bluh.

la la la
crosse
queen
brunch tomorrow,
today I guess.
found this
outside
after a
sociological meta
blast to the dome.
life is
crazy.
“you’ll know when you know”,
or “you won’t,”
they said.
grains of salt,
in no more than
one layer.
or more things might happen.
🍕.

bluh.

Oct 4 '14
a nether dimension.
I wasn’t this drunk
in Wisconsin
this time,
but last time
was more like this,
accidentally,
but:
one-way mirror
to homestate 
faces in a strange place.
it’s strange, it is,
that things happen
everywhere all the time,
and stranger we 
think it all means something
one-way.
“Forward!”
“Don’t tread on me!”
oh, sweet nothings!
chimes to a life forgotten.
a legacy, they say,
in that “yer roots”
means something,
and cherished,
because human nature.
and that’s all georgia peaches
but the wine ain’t too sweet here
and the beer didn’t seem to work
and the qualms I had
I still have,
but their older now
and less important
like most old things.
but not like roots,
which means something
to whole heck of a bunch
of people
older than me.
but the older I didn’t mind
as much as the up
and the downs that come with it
I guess, but that’s all one-way
shit in a world of shit
that’s happening all over.
here’s to upside-down toilets with one-way mirrors into the bar.
totally fucking weird.

a nether dimension.
I wasn’t this drunk
in Wisconsin
this time,
but last time
was more like this,
accidentally,
but:
one-way mirror
to homestate
faces in a strange place.
it’s strange, it is,
that things happen
everywhere all the time,
and stranger we
think it all means something
one-way.
“Forward!”
“Don’t tread on me!”
oh, sweet nothings!
chimes to a life forgotten.
a legacy, they say,
in that “yer roots”
means something,
and cherished,
because human nature.
and that’s all georgia peaches
but the wine ain’t too sweet here
and the beer didn’t seem to work
and the qualms I had
I still have,
but their older now
and less important
like most old things.
but not like roots,
which means something
to whole heck of a bunch
of people
older than me.
but the older I didn’t mind
as much as the up
and the downs that come with it
I guess, but that’s all one-way
shit in a world of shit
that’s happening all over.
here’s to upside-down toilets with one-way mirrors into the bar.
totally fucking weird.

Mar 18 '14

probably

Feb 12 '14

ugh

I said it again.

day after yesterday:
bad hip-hop through the next door.
a late start to cold coffee.

the beat drops with a curb stomp.

Nov 14 '13
Sep 5 '13
…and both are medium-rare.

…and both are medium-rare.

Jul 18 '13

jumping down, jumping over

mind is fine
sharp even

quicker than a whip
presuming whips are fast

I imagine them cool
so I don’t pay much ponderance.

but here I am.

dropping things
repeatedly,
forgetting
I am home,
necessarily,

letting the smoke burn long
swan songs
into my walls

letting the willful negligence
sit next to me
on my fold-away
sometimes-bed

by my cigarettes
and the girlfriend-smell
that lingers.

and here I am.

nestled in and tucked into
a wrestling match
of the century

left and right don’t
mean up or down.
right-side up is
left-side inside-out.

I barely make it out alive.

here I am.

I miss these conversations
between myself and my inner-me.

past-Guthrie has done this once,
and future-I will too, I’m sure,

but nothing quite beats this sound
that sound of every favorite sound you’ve ever heard

at once

at full volume

at full speed

it sends shivers down my arms
alarming that mystical thing
of divine quality
which rides that line
so precariously
and gracefully
though likely to fall.

I envy it.

there I am.

and you see me,
in ways that you might see yourself
not beyond one way or another,
held to that mystical line.

I sought refuge.
I seek it still.

you might,
or you don’t
you haven’t
or you will.

there we are.

lighting another cigarette
I clung to this passage,
that “final stretch”
between one rite-ful circle
and the square that I am

deep down.
on the surface.

there I am,

again, I thought
all this in silence,
scribbling more serious
than I needed to scrobble. 

there I was.

and there I still am,

clinging to my fencepost
before jumping down,
or jumping over.

the eternal climb
is enough to make any man fall.

now, here we are,
at the root of it:
the trouble it is 
just to be anywhere at all.

lucky,
I will dare say,
that we’re here,
and at least,
we both woke up this morning,

but look around.

things might not be
what they already are, sure,
but what if 
they can be what they already aren’t?

and here I am

hating myself for playing the ‘what-if’ game
looking down at the handfuls of possibilities
suddenly taking shape in my brain-pan,

knowing full-well that either:

a) they aren’t good ideas
b) they won’t happen
c) they won’t happen
or d) all of the above.

so I fell of the fencepost
somehow or another
and fortunately remembered,

it’s never too much of one thing for much too long.

there-then I was.
then-here I will be.
here-now I am.

the girlfriend-smell lingers.

next to my willful negligence,
the burden of interest
and unfeigned ignorance
to the passers-by of rightful passage
burdens me more than I care to say.

there they go.

nobody cares too much for too long.

the world is on a fencepost.
we’re jumping down,
or jumping over.