Three Links

So it's the last hour of the last day of meteorological summer. That's a little sad, but the only month of meteorological summer I really enjoy is June. The rest is so hot, and pants have to be thoroughly sniffed before being worn on the second day. I'm ready for Fall and football and really unpleasant Mondays.

These are interesting bits, in no particular order (like the order of dreams):

1) Snooze, Lose

2) Throw Away Other People's Trash, or, How to Boost Your Self-Esteem

3) Miscellaneous stolen stuff

It seems to me that many of the blogs I read are drying up. Maybe it's the weather. Maybe they've moved on to greater things. Maybe it's the nature of the medium. So I'm open to recommendations.

Bonus link: BOOK REPORT: Caboose Mystery
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A Human among Humanity

Even in the dream-clouded dawn when the air is cold and my bones are heavy, my life is a gift of possibilities. I'm a human among humanity. It might have been easier to compromise, to marry young, to abandon the global for the local and become another rube in a minivan who runs a stop sign at 6 A.M. for a thrill and doesn't tell his wife for fear that her mouth will make that wrinkly "O" shape after "How was your day?"

There's something more for me, a giving of myself. I feel it when I walk the streets, bathing in curious urban dialect. It's in the smell of sewage and the savage scream of someone's child who wants pancakes at 6 P.M. Really, why not pancakes at 6 P.M.? I could provide that. I like pancakes. I haven't any syrup, which might bring another savage scream. Powdered sugar and fresh fruit are not good enough.

Maybe that something isn't for me, but if it isn't, it's for someone who knows me. It's always there. Some days it's heavy, an obligation. Other days it's light and bright and zooms me forward out of a vacuum. It might be God, but it's probably just life.

Fall Fashion Statement

Too much corduroy is like too much garlic -- it's not too much until it makes me physically ill. How is that possible? Wait, you'll see.

I've got my corduroy pants, corduroy shirt and jacket and boxers and homemade condom (from a swatch of an old pair of pants stitched to a rubber band -- it's ribbed for her pleasure). But corduroy is not latex. Fluids seep and microorganisms too. Given the rest of my wardrobe, however, chances are I'll stay perfectly healthy and won't impregnate anyone.

A Socialist Outside City Hall

Sitting on the stone bench outside City Hall in my red T-shirt, I watch for police. They will come, for I represent disorder, but for now only trash blows down the street.

With a pen in my hand and social justice in my blood, I am obnoxious. I ask questions. I agitate. It's my job to hold your ass to the fire, no matter how terrific or powerful your ass, no matter how much shit it can spew and how fine-smelling that shit. I believe in the people. Your example corrupts their essential goodness. You call it rugged individualism, but I call it selfishness. I call it exploitation. I am right. You are wrong. You want duality? You got duality.

Think you can bribe me? I keep a coin in my pocket to remind me what money can do. I keep a condom in my pocket to remind me what sex can do. I like to press the coin into the condom's circle. Money, sex, humanism.
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Admit Something

I like the idea of what goes into hot dogs. It satisfies my desire to avoid waste.
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