Posts Tagged ‘Scorpion’

Here’s the backstory: currently on Facebook, it is all the rage to use your Notes application (read: blog) to write up 25 random facts about yourself, then “tag” 25 other people to make them have to do the same thing. Personally, I think that this was started by the Facebook people themselves as a way to introduce people / drive traffic to the Facebook blog functionality, and since my WP imports via RSS to FB, I figure I’d do it here so that people can get their fix and stop tagging me.

Original rules (as in, I didn’t write this schlock):

“Once you’ve been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 25 random things, facts, habits, or goals about you. At the end, choose 25 people to be tagged. You have to tag the person who tagged you. If I tagged you, it’s because I want to know more about you.

(To do this, go to “notes” under tabs on your profile page, paste these instructions in the body of the note, type your 25 random things, tag 25 people (in the right hand corner of the app) then click publish.)”

25 Random Things:

  1. I am a better human beat box than Justin Timberlake
  2. If you ask me what one word describes me best, I will always reply with “lucky”
  3. I still suffer from ADHD just like I did when I was a child, but I am better at masking it; I do wish, however, that my metabolism had kept up with the rest of the handicap
  4. I have always been in love with being in love, with music, with friendship, with my family, and with you
  5. I have been known to embellish a story or two, but usually it is due to my tendency to describe my friends and acquaintances as movie-worthy comic book heroes, which is born from a deep respect for their individuality
  6. I often wonder what would have happened if Monster Zero had accepted the gig to open up for No Doubt on their first West Coast Tour in the summer / fall of 1990
  7. I would be happy if I could just listen to music, select cool tracks, and play them at loud volume to interesting people all of the time
  8. For some reason, in some election I was not made aware of, I am the de facto communications hub for a bazillion people; you look up Murdoch if you want to randomly communicate with someone who you lost track of years ago, and somehow I have some sort of last known contact info
  9. Possibly the greatest thing I have ever done is the eulogy I gave Chris Feher after he died doing what he loved: rock climbing Half Dome in Yosemite by himself
  10. I hate children, especially babies, but apparently, they love Unkle Mike, and this fact never fails to humble me
  11. Speaking of luck, I was lucky enough to be adopted at birth by the best parents in the world — Diane and Gordon — and what I can piece together about my biological parents is pretty crazy: Mom was from Massachusetts, married, and had three other children, aged 8, 9. and 11 when I was born; her husband was NOT my father; she was short, Swedish, and had blond curly hair; my dad was an Italian steelworker, son of an immigrant shoemaker who woke up one day to find a note from his wife that she was leaving him and half of the closet was gone; Mom’s husband had a nervous breakdown and was committed; this explains a lot of what is running around in my genetic pool — don’t blame the Murdochs
  12. I am the best party liaison this side of Van Wilder
  13. I have three home-produced album to my name under various alter-egos (see Pus & Zero Boy) and one professionally released 12″ single called “Everybody” that I did with Grant Goad and Andres Mijangos
  14. I am still very proud of all the work I did to become an Eagle Scout
  15. I wrote poetry every day for almost 15 years; most of it is available — tagged and searchable even — on my WordPress blog; my current favorites are “Cellardweller“, “I, Ape“, and, of course, “Froggacuda
  16. I often wish that everyone else could hear the soundtrack and audio effects track that accompanies my life
  17. I am a pack rat, especially for things that provoke nostalgia; for example, I still have many of my childhood toys — Legos, Transformers, Micronauts, etc. — and a box full of the stuff I had pinned / nailed to the walls of my room when I was in high school, such as Fishbone ticket stubs, a referral from Coach T (R.I.P.), and extra pictures of hot chicks I had crushes on from Yearbook class
  18. I have always owned a “strange” pet as well as my beloved cats ever since Linda Nickel bought me my first Emperor scorpion; currently I have Tuonetar Mac Mordenkainen, who is the third Mexican Red-Knee tarantula in a long line of wonderful arachnids I have loved
  19. I don’t code Web 2.0 anywhere near as well as I did Web 1.0
  20. I love jackets; first and foremost is my ska-patched black jacket, which used to be a bomber, but out of all the clothing you can wear, nothing beats the right jacket for the right occasion or situation
  21. I have been a true (4 elements, y’all!) fan of hip hop ever since seeing the Sugar Hill Gang perform “Rapper’s Delight” live on Solid Gold 1979; this seminal moment changed my life forever
  22. There is nothing better in life than having a good conversation filled with enthusiasm, a meeting of the minds, and laughter
  23. Being rejected in junior high school by the popular white folks as a glasses-wearing, uncool, too-smart nerd has served me well; I have good friends and strong cultural ties to non-white communities who have accepted me for who I am from then until the present day; this is one of my greatest sources of pride and what makes me wince when I have to choose “caucasian” on “optional” survey information
  24. I love language, especially since the world is made of it (see the collected works of Terence McKenna), and I have a fierce propensity towards sesquipedalianism just because long, multisyllabic words sound cool and are sometimes the key to doing what Salt & Pepa, Madonna, and Dr Dre during his NWA tenure said best: expressing one’s self
  25. There is nothing I value more in life than my friends; they are the Desiderata of my happiness, the real value in social networking, and many times, the only reason that I keep on keeping on, because I can’t do it all for myself

There we are: 25 random things about me. Feedback — as always — is very welcome. Have at!

Untitled Poem #173

Posted: November 9, 1993 in Poetry
Tags: , , , , ,

sometimes I finger the scars on my heart
in the dark, all alone,
rough ribbons of hardened tissue;
they are braille lines of poetry;
railroad tracks to remind me of my innermost fears.

They feel almost skeletal,
and read like the scriptures of God,
and sting like the scorpions of God.

Scorpions from Sedona

Posted: May 2, 1993 in Writing
Tags: , ,

I was sitting halfway up on the bank of Oak Creek, on a steep slope of crumbled orangish rocks. I threw these Arizona rocks in long arcs above the tops of the trees along the riverbed. They would drift lazily in the air until they decided to plummet through the foliage with the sound of rustling newspapers and plunk into the shady water, sometimes where I could see a little plume. I could hear the rocks fall deep, and I listened to the hiss of the water as it fell back on to itself. The ripples spread out in circles under the leafy branches.
I had disappeared on my parents; I was starting to get sick of them on this vacation. The guy behind the counter of the Oak Creek Liquor and Deli grinned at me when I put a five dollar bill on the counter next to a 40 oz Mickey’s. He took all my money and didn’t say a word.
I had to clear a little level place in the hillside for my bottle so it wouldn’t tip over, and I threw rocks into the river and drank my beer in the late afternoon sun. I thought about girls back home and how I couldn’t seem to talk to them very well. There was a girl in the liquor store who winked at me and she was really cute in faded cutoffs and a red flannel shirt, probably two or three years older than me and I could still feel the flush on the back of my neck that wasn’t all sunburn.
Picking up rocks and throwing them through the trees into the river helped a little with my sour mood and the prospect of four more days trooping around in Arizona without an escape from my parents. Each stone seemed to carry a little weight from my shoulders. My hands were caked with a thin layer of earth from the rocks and dust sticking to the water condensing from the beer bottle when I picked it up. The beer didn’t really taste that good, but it was cold, and it was alcohol, and all of my friends back home drank Mickey’s, so I did too.
As I picked up another rock, I glanced at it to see which way would be the best way to hold it in order to make it to the water, and there was a little brown and yellow scorpion poised on it. For one long moment I studied it, my face no more than a foot from it; it was exactly like the ones they had in the tourist souvenir selection in the motel lobby frozen in some sort of plastic to make a wonderful eye-catching paperweight. Mom had purchased one for me yesterday. And here, virtually in my hand, was the real thing.
I flung the rock away from me with a quick gesture and scrambled to my feet on the shifting slope, knocking over my carefully ensconced beer to clatter down the slope and into the river. Throwing rocks through the trees into the water no longer appealed to me with the same casualness. I turned and struggled up to the edge of the road that led down to the motel and put my hands in my pockets. The girl in the cutoffs gave me a ride back in her jeep after I had walked a third of the way there.

Imitations of Busin

Posted: March 30, 1992 in Poetry
Tags: , , ,

I
a cricket
gets eaten by my
black scorpion.

II
a cricket
wonders what Robert Frost
is doing.

III
a cricket
is waiting
for a blackbird.

IV
a cricket
digests my poetry
thoughtfully.

V
a cricket
chirps loudly somewhere in
my dark room.