I hear he’s in talks to co-star with Jennifer Lopez’ mom in the next “The Surreal Life.”
http://www.cnn.com/2005/POLITICS/10/20/judd.lottery/index.html
Author Archives: Tony Brown
About Tony Brown
if i mention elvis
will you notice this more
if i mention 50 cent
will it matter more
if i mention anyone at all
who isn’t you or me
will it lend me certain gravity
if i point a finger at the mirror
and let you see it
am i missing the point or are you
if i turn off the radio
stop downloading
drop the tv from a bridge onto an suv
go to baghdad for eid
new orleans for mardi gras
and milan for the spring shows
will you care an ounce more about all this
if i put a beat behind it
score it record it bang it like a tin pan
will you think it any better
will you want to hear it again
if i bleed for you
will you agree to sop it up
if i cry for you
will you agree to laugh it up
if i come for you
will you let me come inside
because i swear to you
i’ve got a million in me
just like this one
that will never see a page or stage
because i’m better than that
or so they say
there are days when i wish
i was a kid again
back when i couldn’t tell the difference
between good and meaningful
maybe if you write enough poetry
you eventually reach the point
when you’ve written too much
to get that anymore
Long Way
the long way around, that’s what i live for;
the road that does not go directly home,
which passes things i would not see if i were in a hurry,
which leads into silver midnight woods and fields,
which moves through neighborhoods of silent homes
that here and there shine yellow even at two AM,
which reveal the deer and the skunk in transit,
which make me dream of journeys that will not end;
the long way around that is nonetheless terminal,
the road that eventually loses me,
which does in fact come to a stop at the front door,
which does in fact make me pause before i get out of the car,
which makes me wonder if i should have kept driving
even though i know there was no place left to see,
which makes me wonder if there was ever a different way at all,
which makes me close the door and sit for a while longer
before i go in to sleep,
before i start upon the road again.
corporate naming of arenas
my favorite is the former Providence Civic Center, which is now:
the Dunkin’ Donuts Center.
I’ll let you think about that one for a bit.
i hate being sick
y’know, between handling the bipolar disorder and the sleep apnea, you would think i’d have a good handle on what it means to take care of yourself when you don’t feel well.
ha.
i’ve been sleeping round the clock, tis true; i suppose that counts. but i’m way dehydrated and a tad hungry too.
i did just eat a banana.
i hate that i’m behind on a bunch of personal/poetic stuff, and this isn’t helping.
so stress about being sick piles on to sickness.
i wonder if i’d feel better if i didn’t have this laptop and had to get up to use the PC? give me convenience or give me death, right? that was the choice?
shit: it’s a sinus infection, not a death sentence.
i’m such a wuss, eh?
i just thought of something.
the way i speak when i feel like this = sinus inflection.
i’ll be sleeping now. sorry to have bothered you.
wake up and write a poem then sleep some more
wednesday morning
wake up
on a wednesday morning and put on
some rough shoes, because this is the day
you’re going. don’t wait for the weekend,
don’t wait for next week; pick up in the middle and go
because only an abrupt break is going to hurt enough
to make you feel how good it’s going to be
when you get where you’re going.
wake up.
don’t say goodbye. all your family, found or born,
wants you to be happy their way
right here, so you pay attention
to the way your boots look by the bedside in the morning,
because they are the best brothers you’ll ever have
and they will carry you where you need to go.
wake up,
turn away from the loves of your life,
give up their ghosts. give up your voice
that used to crack at midnight when you called out a name
you couldn’t remember the next day.
pick a new voice from the rack.
slip it on like a clog you can kick off at will. try on any pair
that suits you, and get to walking. get to running. get to flying.
wake up,
burst off from the earth,
and go orbit upon orbit around the sun.
then, turn on your heel and come back down.
founder or triumph, slink or strut.
no one’s going to believe you did it for love
and not fame or spite,
so you might as well do it anyway.
once you’re all in hell,
there will be time enough then
to hear them mumble about you.
blick
woke up, got out of bed, broke a comb off in my head
then called in and went back to sleep, or what passes for sleep.
and i’m gonna do it again, right now. back later,
oh, and if in the meantime someone can explain why i can’t get into the member fora at the PSI site, i’d be much obliged. either that, or post the decision here.
“i just want to know who the fuck did it”
That was the line that got him fired from SNL.
I was watching the night he said it.
Evidently, the answer is, “he did it himself.”
He was a local guy who went to RISD and was well known around Rhode Island in the years before he got the national exposure. Although I hadn’t seen him in years and wouldn’t call myself a fan per se, his passing makes me nostalgic for a certain time in my life, and leaves me saddened once again for another suicide.
RIP, Charlie Rocket.
http://www.cnn.com/2005/SHOWBIZ/TV/10/17/comedian.suicide.ap/index.html
sleep apnea
and a wicked head cold do not mix.
when i feel like this, i can’t use my CPAP device very effectively. which means i have ahead of me an unaccustomed night of full-on apnea, in which i shall stop breathing multiple times.
and i am afraid to take an ambien for fear of sleeping too deeply and…you know.
so i expect to be up later.
several times.
all night.
there will likely be a poem, a meme, an aphorism, and a snarky comment or two.
grr.
companion piece
try to use something
more gentle than
guns and fire
to describe the way
you feel after a shared
sleepless night —
it is not always a struggle
no matter how sore you are
in the morning
there are things to be said
for sunrise and cool bedroom air
things to be said for short sleep
and long waking
this talk of taking aim
and waiting for
the smell of smoke
may make a cocked and loaded
initial sense
but not for what happens when
the guns are laid aside
when the duel is done
there is a
peace between us
that was always there
waiting to be
observed
never fails
mention that you’re not writing poetry, and…
this, by the way, is most assuredly NOT a suicide poem. 🙂
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
revolver
in love with the potential
for the shattering, and not
always prepared to make it happen,
nonetheless you listen
holding your breath
until you hear it
turn until
it clicks into place
with a solid “chunk”
that sounds like fate.
there is a moment like that,
available and explosive,
in every life —
in some lives there are more than one.
but the way you handle the trigger
is the key to how much you’re like
the next guy:
set it down or
pick it up?
steady hand or with a tremble
in the touch?
squeeze, jerk
or pull?
and —
where do you point the thing
in case it does go off?
you may find this weird
but i’m really enjoying this whole “not writing any poetry” thing, at least right now.
it has been a long time since i allowed myself to just be fallow. and shallow.
it feels good.
i shall now snap into a Slim Jim and listen to a recent Santana album.
