The Good Word of Sprout

Location: Chicago, Illinois, United States

Tuesday, August 28, 2007

Mr. Rogers Unapplied

We get off the 'L' at Rockwell. The 'L,' for non-residents, is the elevated train -- it is public transportation by rail. There are six of us walking north out of the station. The first three of us go as follows: blue collared shirt and shorts, blue collared shirt and khakis, and then me, blue collared shirt and chinos. The other two are bigger boys than I, but our steps are the same. Why don't we walk and sing...

It's a beautiful day in this neighborhood,
A beautiful day for a neighbor.
Would you be mine?
Could you be mine?...

But we do not walk and sing...

It's a neighborly day in this beauty wood,
A neighborly day for a beauty.
Would you be mine?
Could you be mine?...

The last three are a man, a woman, and a child, Mexican, or Salvadoran, or Peruvian, a happy family with a tiny little man who should join in...

I've always wanted to have a neighbor just like you.
I've always wanted to live in a neighborhood with you.

And yet no one walks and sings...

So, let's make the most of this beautiful day.
Since we're together we might as well say:
Would you be mine?
Could you be mine?
Won't you be my neighbor?
Won't you please,
Won't you please?
Please won't you be my neighbor?

Pity, it could have been so nice.

Thursday, August 23, 2007

Waking Dick Cheney

Dick Cheney rolls to the cool part of the pillow. If he were dreaming, how would you wake him up? By touching his shoulder? By gently kissing him on the lips, even if he could taste your morning breath, knowing that he wouldn't mind? By spooning him? Sucking his cock? He likes your morning breath on his cock. The congealed saliva, the nighttime build-up makes for less friction, and he likes the sound. His cock feels it. You suck his cock good. He likes your hair, not yet washed. “Oh, yeah,” he says silently, “this is like war.”



Wednesday, August 22, 2007


Don't aim your pee after handling jalapenos. Unless you're a woman. Then, aim away.


Tuesday, August 21, 2007

Tuesday's Meals

Breakfast: 1 pot coffee
Lunch: 1 organic bean and cheese burrito + one blackberry flavored yogurt.
Dinner: Beer
Midnight meal: To be determined, depending on the length/intensity of dinner -- today it may be pan-seared chicken breast with sauteed onions, red bell peppers, and jalapenos with rice on the side or it may be delivery pizza (deep dish) or it may be sweet, merciful sleep -- each equally savory.

Dinner is my favorite meal because it melts away the nagging sense of having wasted another day, of not having written anything, or of having written something that is no good at all. Dinner makes me believe that I am a writer and rekindles the optimism, the boundless possibilities of the blank page. At least until I read what I've written the next day.

Breakfast is a good meal too. It jars the mind out of its cloudy dream world, and life once again happens predictably, with cause and effect reinstated.

The midnight meal is the most difficult because I never want dinner to end, but it is also the meal I am most proud of, cooking something palatable without bothering to measure ingredients -- the less containers I handle, the less I can drop.

Lunch sucks. It just makes me want to siesta.

Monday, August 20, 2007

Basic Journalism


The artist.


Stands in the pouring rain.


He feels unclean.


In his body and mind.


The body he's been painting occupies the tub, on ice.



Wednesday, August 15, 2007

The Yellow Pepper Dream

I had the dream again where I have left the yellow bell pepper out too long, and one of its sides slithers off, becoming a yellow starfish spider. I try to smash the spider, but it gets under the rug. The next thing I know, it has climbed me, and it's sucking on my upper arm. I rip it off and crush it underfoot.

But the yellow bell pepper has regenerated, and another spider slithers toward me.

Tuesday, August 14, 2007

Buying a Steak Burrito

There is a new burrito place near the bar where I like to drink on Tuesday nights. I acknowledge that "burrito place" should not be used as a substitute for "Mexican restaurant," as the term "burrito place" is entirely too focused on the drunk white man's needs. They also serve tortas, tacos, sopes, enchiladas, and brains. However, "burrito place" is what I think, so "burrito place" is what I write.

I enter the restaurant. It is brightly lit. Several teenagers smile from behind the counter. I know what I want, and I know how to say it. But I don't.

You see, every gringo wants the burrito asada, with the delicious carne asada popularized by the Taco Bell ads, and I am no exception. So as I approach the counter, I must study the menu rather than immediately succumb to the stereotype, which, in the study itself, is probably a more accurate stereotype.

I consider the burrito de chorizo. Too much chorizo.

I consider the bistec a la milanesa. Gross.

I consider the burrito al pastor. Too much pork and potential for hard parts.

I consider the burrito de tripas. Tripe? Are you kidding?

"I'll have the steak burrito," I say.

The fair-skinned girl says, "With everything?" She is nice.

"Yes." I am ashamed.

You see, I could have said, "Un burrito asada, por favor," and she could have said, "Con todo?" and I could have said, "Si, con todo," but that would paint me as the yuppie who has taken a few Spanish classes. I disdain such people, and I am very much like them. I studied Spanish from Spain, so, in any further conversation (beginning perhaps, "Rich whites are destroying the world"), I would be totally lost in her Mexican accent.

I got my burrito and left.

Wednesday, August 08, 2007

Hump Day Humpings

This Hump Day, the following people or things tried to hump me:

1) God - succeeded in dry humping me, except while I showered -- that was wet humping. But He is omnipresent with His humping. In fact even now, He continues to hump me, and He will do so until my death. Then the clothes come off. Through decay.

2) The neighbor's terrier - did not succeed in humping me because I bent my knees to catch her in the head before she could gratify herself. I felt bad about this later. Who am I to stand in the way of self-gratification upon my ankle?

3) The neighbor's terrier (2nd round) - succeeded in humping me and seemed really relaxed afterwards.

4) My first cousin once removed - did not succeed in humping me. Not because he's gay and likes incest, but because I am not gay and don't care for incest. Although, first cousin once removed? Does that really stop anyone?

Tuesday, August 07, 2007

Dream options

I am sleepy. I hope I have the gliding dream tonight, where my silk robe catches warm updrafts, and I become a purple blur over tall trees and buildings, and some of those buildings have mini-golf courses on their roofs. Either that or the naked Swedish girl dream, where my trousers are filled with herring.

Friday, August 03, 2007

Researching Sex Kitten

I was searching the internet for the origin of the phrase "sex kitten," but I couldn't uncover any satisfactory answers, that is, until I turned SafeSearch off. The result of that was only momentarily satisfactory (and how!), but did not fill the yawning void in my soul like Chicken Kiev does. I digress. My point is that kittens are many things: fuzzy, cute, playful, mischievous, disproportionate -- but not sexy.

Upon reviewing those adjectives, with the possible exception of the last one, I have decided that "sex kitten" must have initially, in conversation, referred to a part of the female anatomy (e.g. "She can shoot ping-pong balls out of her sex kitten" -- sorry, that's sex cannon -- let me try again: "The homeless lady, lacking undergarments, fashioned a pair out of a brown paper bag to keep her sex kitten concealed and amused."). This reference, as it was, must have been deemed too threatening to the male establishment (female genitals cannot be given sentience, even that of a baby cat), and so they modified the expression as so: attractive, sensual woman = pussy.

But if any of you want to do some research (or, especially, crude speculation) on the topic, let me know what you find out in the comments section.