Emergency!

Remember that show? John Gage and Roy something-something? I used to love that show, it now reminds me of the babysitter’s near my school in North Portland.

Have you ever torn your kneecap outta place so hard that it looked like a piece of fruit hanging on the side of your leg? It’s a snapping, disgusting pain, one that turns a stomach and makes grown men weep.

Instinctively, I grabbed it and mashed it back into place as my horrified eyes gaped on.

It’s like Cane’s Anonymous in here, this clinic is teeming with geriatrics and septuagenarians, I feel like a fresh, newly conceived embryo limping into this waiting room, a callow little baby with a walking stick. Standing in line behind bright white sneakers and the stale air of deathbeds, khakis hiked just below big blu-blockers, my god, I can feel the Metamucil and Centrum flowing through their slow, tepid, trembling blood.

My knee has been blown out for nearly 4 weeks, my home incarceration is tightening its fingers around me and this depression from immobility knows no bounds. Medicated and sofa ridden, this body is shriveling up like a skinny sack of raisins. Where are any of my friends?

The sweet and pure science of sports medicine and therapy is one I will subscribe to for the rest of my life because this injury has given me insight to the future and how visible signs of aging are found in your shoes, pants, diet and exercise.

Sundays

Sundays at the pho joint is crazy with local Vietnamese. The vibrance and chattering din of the families, friends and the lovers fills this vast room, nearly bursting the big windows.

Rarely is there a better way a Sunday could be spent.

Good Knees Are Good To Have

I Love Rock and Roll

Oh my god, I love rock music. Hard love, like a punch in the heart, a violent kiss in the driving rain or a sharp knife plunged in the gut. A long, intense odyssey of flesh tease and blood curdle, an 8 cylinder pounding leaving a pile of rubble and trembling flesh in its aftermath.

Insert Title Here 2

She takes your face in her hands and attempts to bite your flesh like a starving carnivore and all you can think of is how these marks are going to look in the morning.

Bruises from beatings that demand equal pleasure measure are only visible by rifling through the blur of the blackout from the night before.

Your flask is drawing dry and the mileage of this moment is stretching so far into the night that dawn is hunting you down like wild game.

The length of her desire is unmatched by any natural animal and the strength in the fishhook of her grasp is more than just words.

More than just spilled blood or undergarments torn down the southern swath of wild legs, these forbidden, fleeting seconds permeated with impropriety define all things terrible and assure that sometimes terror can be perfectly beautiful.

Roo

Woof

Accord. Acknowledgment. Commitment. Cohabitation. Love. Diggity dog.

Looking around this den of old charm, antiquities and queries, this apartment of weird furniture and hanging frames, it seems that this place just may need a woman’s touch.

Welcome, new dog. New female dog. New 1-year-old little child of a dog, a sweet, big eyed, sleek lover, licker and nuzzler, this beautiful new animal into my home.

Inhibit This

Aww, poor baby, the clouds cover the blue sky you know is back there, the rain is swooping in with a blanket of cold drizzle and wind, the window panes are drafty and the streets are wet and slick with leaves, and the depression hits with the heavy hand of dark autumn and all you can think about is holing up in the house and declaring war on the world. Waving the white flag, is more like it, wouldn’t you say?

I’m unsure what MAO inhibitors are or what an SSRI is (they sound strange and dangerous, like weapons or motorcycles), and I have never taken psychotropic or psychiatric drugs on any sort of rigid schedule. Schedule III, however, I may have smashed through my body once or twice on occasion on a purely experimental or recreational pursuit.

I am seriously considering lying on a couch and confessing how the rain makes me unable to perform simple tasks like trimming my nails or getting out of bed. Because something inside me often tells me not to move too quickly as to not wake the monsters in my soul that enjoy emerging just when my strength wanes. Deep seeded dirty spirits whose cagey and unrelenting chatter turns my confidence into mashed potatoes and douses my fiery desire to create and forge love into a withered, Charlie Brown Christmas tree of forgettable worthlessness. They haunt my dreams and make sleep a terrible venture each and every night.

So Doc…the weather’s got me down. How’s about some magic beans? Seriously. These mad mood swings are damning me to chocolate gorging meltdowns and no amount of alcohol in my cabinet will restrain this evil, enveloping animal for long.

Aww. Is That A Boo Boo?

I’m a free spirit. Fuh ree. A joyous vapor that swirls like a dervish. I like to play like a child. I like to run real fast and hardly look back. I’m a jumper and a climber,  a wild animal trapped inside a crazy Homo sapien. I live pretty hard and this body o’ mine is only good for one life and no matter how much living I try to crush into this one shot, the pain of injury totally brings me down. I feel like a prisoner, unable to motorbike around or run around the block, truly tied to the pavement of the earth, tethered to the ground unable to laugh.

Ode To John C Frémont

In The Presents Of A Woman

Picnics are the best. Even when it’s a solo venture to eat someplace divine and serene, away from furniture and awash with sunshine.

On the other hand, the sandwich would be even more savory if it were enjoyed in the company of a girl foolish enough to share a moment with such a mental boy.

Bouquet of sharpened pencils, for a teacher or a lover, stuffed in foam on cardboard paper or right in your face, the heat and vapor of this bourbon resting in a snifter burns my face like gasoline and stings like neatly arranged lead.

BFF as opposed to GFE, better to stay calm and let the world turn for the best.

Some woman drove her car through Salmon Street Springs, plowed through the concrete sea wall and plunged into the Willamette river. They decided she did it on purpose.

When people are kicking a hackey-sack around and hula hooping, it’s hard to take their cause seriously. Occupy that.

I’m thankful that when I’m entertaining guests that I’m the one usually acting the most foolish and accidentally knocking things over.

Being rakish is something that should come without effort.

There is something terribly disturbing when a child gets needlessly snapped at.

Bands who do a cover song should deviate from the original in such a way that it takes the listener a moment to actually realize it’s a song they already know.

Sometimes I close my eyes when passing a woman on the street and enjoy their fragrance without any other distractions.

Gender arguments aside, chivalry is losing its art and air of importance and it’s unfortunate. Doors should be opened and ladies should be tended to and protected, monkeys.

The presents of a woman should be her presence to begin with.