28 April, 2006

Good Question

...I want to fuck you like an animal/ I want to feel you from the inside....


OK I'm using and now selling this gas additive that increases miles per gallon, increases performance and decreases emissions.

(for me my minivan went from 15.something to 19.something; sometimes over 20..and when I don't use it in a tank..I go right back to where I was...)


Before I put a magnet on my car and show the world, I'm trying to ascertain what folks think..

enhanceMPG.com ; FhighGas.com

Out of the dozen possible urls these were the thought to be the simplist and most catchy....and surprise to me....nobody, nobody had issues with FhighGas.com!

Is that only because we are tired of high prices and corporate windfalls and executive parachutes? So the F is acceptable?

Or is it acceptable?



People are using language and (non) manners and (non)
punctuation in ways that I find completely repulsive.

Fhighgas is very mild, but I object on principle. If
you mean 'fuck high gas,' then SAY 'fuck high gas'.
Don't say 'f-word,' or 'effing'. Don't say 'a-hole'
when you mean 'asshole' or 'h-e-double toothpicks'
when you mean 'hell.' It's a language thing, it's my
specialty, and it's annoying.

And there are so many poor elderly neglected curses
just dying to be used. When's the last time you heard
'tarnation' or 'whippersnapper' or 'jumpin'
jehosephant' used in a sentence?

That's my soapbox, and I'm standing on it.

Well, you did ask.





You got OSHA-approved handrails on that soapbox?

(Closer; Nine Inch Nails)

22 April, 2006

Live Action

...famous people or the parties they throw/ Honey I ain't impressed with all the people you know...

Tonight I appear at the Chesapeake Arts Center with Death and Taxes. Show starts at 8 PM, no dinner included. Private gig for some corporate yobs at Wye River Conference Center on May 2. May 6 is the MWA Annual Conference, also at the Chesapeake Arts Center. MWA's Poetry Cafe is at the CAC on May 10th; Moira Egan will host.

This just in: May 11, I will be at the Coffee Beanery Cafe for the one-year anniversary of the Green Moon Poets' Society's monthly readings. Because all of the year's featured poets will be there, my reading will be limited, but I'll get at least a couple of shots at the mike. May 21, Do Or Die Productions returns to Whispers, our new venue, with Death Warmed Over. It's not quite as cheesy as their website makes it seem, and it's very easy to get to.The buffet looked pretty good, for a buffet.

Come out and see me! I'll wear a beret, or a wig, or a red carnation. Or maybe I'll call Janet and ask to borrow something of hers.

(The Way That You Love Me; Paula Abdul)

20 April, 2006

Baltimore Icon

..O say does that star spangled banner yet wave....

Well, I just saw in the news that not only is 'Wild' Bill Hagey, legendary Orioles fan, still alive, but still attending baseball games. Although more sedately, these days.

Now that I've posted this trivial bit, I will be completely unsurprised if he dies immediately.

(The Star Spangled Banner; Francis Scott Key)

18 April, 2006

It's Official

...She comes in colors ev'rywhere/ She combs her hair....

"You're wearing black underwear, aren't you?"

Excuse me?

"You're wearing black underwear, right?"

Apparantly, this yob, whom I've known for approximately fourty minutes, has mistaken 'Excuse me?' for 'I didn't hear you' when in reality it means 'how dare you such impertinence, you unmitigated ass?'.

For those of you who heretofore had not realized there's a difference, I suggest learning. Immediately.

"Yeah, because I can tell, because your black clothes are stretched over your body, and where your underwear is, it's blacker."

This by way of explaining that while I often wear beige, tan, buff or 'flesh' coloured underthings ('flesh'? Whose? not Iman's, or Cher's or Zhang Ziyi's), I mostly find not-white shades from ivory to taupe somewhat uninspiring.

Ask me about lavender lace, hot pink satin, red velvet or black pointe d'esprit, and I'll wax rhapsodic. Recent purchase: yellow mesh boy-cut knickers. But sometimes, hot just doesn't work, and the only thing for it is something vaguely camel-coloured.

Including (nude) underthings but excluding shoes, today's raiment fits nicely into the palm of one hand.

Between my palms, creamy spurts erupt. I smile, inhaling heady fragrance.

Loyalty is overrated. The winter has been wasted. I could have saved money and not purchased the fancy-schmancy products. But never again, oh, no.

Well, why should I, when there is much more satisfying lather from the cheap shampoos?

Because Naked Season has at last arrived, today I stood on the porch, combing my hair in the sun. Brushing while seated is no longer an option. I thought about downsizing my hairdo, donating, or perhaps auctioning it, but now that it's no longer a liability [washed hair minus blowdrier plus cold outside equals ear infections] I suppose I'll keep it, at least until the weather turns evil again.

(She's A Rainbow; The Rolling Stones)

17 April, 2006

Holy Cows

...Peter merely said/ Any kind of love is alright/ But he made too many enemies....

"....today we celebrate Baby Jesus' being nailed to a chunk of wood for our sins, after which he was reincarnated as an egg, hidden by a rabbit beneath a tulip..."

After four glasses of wine apiece, my mother and I are very merry.

"I saw a bumper sticker I coveted. It said 'Born Again Pagan'."

If I've offended any staunch Christians, my apologies. But ask yourself: What Would Jesus Do?

If we believe canonical legend- and the recent discovery of the Gospel of Judas indicates that the Bible lies, at the very least by omission (though if there has ever been an agenda-free publication ever anywhere, I don't know about it)- then what Jesus would do seems to be less judging and more loving.

But what do I know; I'm a Buddhist who celebrates Passover.

(The Ballad of Peter Pumpkinhead; XTC)

15 April, 2006

Two-drink Minimum

...use you and abuse you/ I'm gonna know what's inside you....

I think I've found my sweet spot. I've written six poems in three days. While Writing Under the Influence makes me feel rather Coleridge-esqe, it could just be the weather. Whatever, I'll take it.

(Sweet Dreams; Eurythmics)

13 April, 2006

Stressed Flash

...Hela, heba helloa/ Hela, heba helloa....

Primarily Decorative will be the Featured Poet tonight at the Coffee Beanery Cafe in Annapolis, Maryland from 6:30 to 8:30 PM. Do please pop in and say 'Howdy', if 'Howdy' is the sort of thing you'd be likely to say. Otherwise, any sort of greeting at all would be appreciated.

I still haven't chosen which poems to read and am a tiny bit frantic in my digging and discarding.

(Hello Goodbye; The Beatles)

11 April, 2006

Toes Exposed

...runnin’ a little bit hot tonight/ I can barely see the road from the heat comin’ off of it/ Ah, you reach down, between my legs/ Ease the seat back....

The day, the night, is like a soft caress, the fur of a kitten, the breath of an almost-lover just before a kiss. Stop me if you've heard this before.

It calls for windows down, and I absorb atmosphere.

Thank you to the Silver Spring planning committee, who hires a band to play tonight. I can hear nothing but the snap and boom of drum, and the occasional crash of high-hat, but as that's what I like best anyway, I am not complaining.

Thank you to the woman listening to the Temptations and singing along.

Thank you to the twenty-something cutie in the beat-up pickup truck kind enough to flirt with the likes of me.

Thank you to the makers of my beach chair, on which I recline behind the hedge on the porch, wearing less than I would if I were completely exposed to the street.

I dig through boxes, searching. There's nothing wrong with my clogs: nothing right with them, either. This day requires sandals. The pink ones. Hot pink kitten-heeled thong sandals, with tiny little straps that wrap around my foot.

I will leave to your imagination whether my undergarments match my footwear, my outerwear, or nothing in particular.

Primarily Decorative has not made a permanant switch to Team Brain.

(Panama; Van Halen)

08 April, 2006

Surreal Conversation

...it's so nice to be insane/ No one asks you to explain....

"Oh, Papa, I got two rock salts."

"Good for you, that's great, buddy."

"So now I can make soft cheese or hard cheese."

"Right, in the alchemy pot."

"And when I get the waterweed, I can make cold cheese."

"Well, you'll find that after you smash a few more barrels."

There is a long pause.

Uh, anybody want breakfast? Or is that too mundane?

(Angie Baby; Helen Reddy)

04 April, 2006

A Thought:

What bothers me most about the term "fucked my brains out" is the involuntary visual of nasal penetration and grey matter surging in spastic rhythm from every other cranial orifice.