2 Minutes. Go!

Write whatever you want in the 'comments' section on this blog post. Play as many times as you like. #breaktheblog! You have two minutes (give or take a few seconds ... no pressure!). Have fun. The more people who play, the more fun it is. So, tell a friend. Then send 'em here to read your 'two' and encourage them to play.

You keep looking at me like if you say the right words in the right order, quarters will start pouring out my ears. I’m flattered, but I’m also confused as hell. You’re in the wrong place. I got no cheap buffets. No complimentary shrimp cocktails. There isn’t a sequence of buttons you can push that will reset my circuitry. I am a broken robot. I am out of quarters. I’m running out of patience. And I’m covered in sticky circles. 

The least you could do is use a coaster. 

You think I’m holding something back. Like I’ve got some secret ace stashed in my asshole. Son, let me be the first to list my shortcomings. Actually, that would take too long. Let me list my strengths. Wait. That’s depressing. Let’s talk about tacos. Not those bullshit ones you put your syrup salsa on; I mean real goddamn tacos from a truck or a stand. Simple. Corn tortillas. No crunch. Some onion, cilantro, Tapatio … shit, I’m getting hungry. 

Let’s talk about egrets. I’ve had a few. They’re feisty birds. I don’t know where the hell Sinatra got his from. Mine shit all over the furniture and make my life a complicated misery. I get it. They get pissed with no sand to sink their beaks into. It’s not my fault that I live in an apartment and sometimes buy exotic animals on the dark web after the Ambien kicks in, but before I go to sleep. Is it? Just following doctor orders.

Fuck egrets. Let’s talk about something else. Let’s talk about fucking egrets. That’s some messed up shit right there. I don’t even know how you’d go about doing it, let alone why. Why’d you even have to take us there? Seriously. Life is confusing enough. 

You keep kissing my ass and hoping; I see it. I should do the honest thing and tell you that you’re shooting your boots full of holes. I never did like having my ass kissed. I hate it. It’s hurting your cause. I’d rather you be critical. I’m not made out of glass. I’m made out of flesh and bones and gloop and a brain that doesn’t like falsehoods. Even if they’re flattering. If you’re going to kiss my ass, you need to do it subtly. I can get down with subtle ass kissing. And subtle hypocrisy. 

You. You, you, you. Me. Me, me, me. Doe a deer. A female deer. Far a long, long way to run. Old movies, I torment my children with. But, hell, they seem to think it’s fun. 

Why did they dress like that? Why does the phone look like that?  Dadda, what’s a Nazi? Oh, shit. Let’s go play Barbie. That’s a different kind of mind-fuck, but Barbie wasn’t down with genocide. Unless there’s a ‘Genocide Barbie’ now – I know they’re diversifying. Gotta represent everyone. And Trump is president. Which somehow allowed all the knuckle-dragging wannabe Nazi idiots to come out into the open instead of cowering in their parents’ basements where they belong. 

You think I’m wrong. You have that right. But I don’t think you’re right. Ain’t it interesting? 

I’d like to be a hermit crab.

Actually, I’d like to be a hermit crab in Doc’s lab on Cannery Row. That way I could keep abreast of the goings on and fascinate drunks and geniuses and saints and whores all at the same time. On Steinbeck’s dime. 

Where are we going to? What are we running from? Why’d we do so many drugs? Because they were fucking fun! I don’t understand why so few people say that. Not that I think everyone should do drugs, but you always hear: I was experimenting. I was lost. I was depressed. Never: what do you mean why? That shit was a blast!

It stops being a blast eventually, but, then again, doesn’t everything?

I’ve got too much white privilege to speak with any authority on blackness, but I know why the engraged bird sings. Because he doesn’t know how to open the cages and set all the other birds free. And that’s a tough one for anyone with a soul and some simple decency to swallow. Or swift. Or hawk for that matter. 

I’m not selling any wares. Anywhere. I’m trying, but no one’s buying. 

Step right up and lay your money down. Before I figure out how to steal your identity and take it.

#2minutesgo Tweet it! Share it! Shout it from the top of the shack you live in! I will be out most of the day, but I'll be back...#2minutesgo Tweet it! Share it! Shout it from the top of the shack you live in! I will be out most of the day, but I'll be back...

2 Minutes. Go!

Write whatever you want in the 'comments' section on this blog post. Play as many times as you like. #breaktheblog! You have two minutes (give or take a few seconds ... no pressure!). Have fun. The more people who play, the more fun it is. So, tell a friend. Then send 'em here to read your 'two' and encourage them to play.

It’s not a body; it’s just a vessel. So, fuck it, I hung it from a railroad trestle. That’s one of those decisions you can’t take back, but that was the whole point of it. Black like rain, and it was raining. So many things flit around my brain, and I’m always second-guessing. It’s distressing. I wanted to do one thing. No take-backs. Done. One thing that would be permanent and forever and for always. One.Thing is, the rope broke. And I got wet. 

And then I decided to get my fishing gear out of the back of the truck. It was warm. I had no plans for dinner.

Fishing in a warm rain is a poor man’s luxury.

I wasn’t too much interested in the fishing part. I was more interested in the ‘standing in the stream thinking’ part. But then I felt a tug on my line that almost pulled the rod out my damn hands. And then muscle memory and adrenaline took over. And then I worked that fish for a good ten minutes.

And then the line snapped.

I knew it was coming, too. I knew the fish still had some fight in it, but I was overconfident. And then I was laughing my ass off. A grown man, all alone in the middle of nowhere, laughing because he failed to off himself and a fish on the same day in the exact same way.

I guess we both had some fight left in us.

Now, this isn’t meant to be taken literally. It’s a metaphor. The railroad trestle is your Mom’s homemade cookies. The rope? That was the first time you ever unhooked a bra on the first try. The suicide? That was life, man. It didn’t work. And if you haven’t thought about killing yourself at least once, then you got problems. Or not enough imagination. I don’t trust anyone who’s never thought: well, I could just end it.

The fish? The fish was a metaphor for fruit salad. And the fishing line? God. And the water? The water can be life or death. That’s what I like about water. It can soothe you on a hot day. You can float on it and fritter the hours away. Or you can hit it hard enough that it becomes cement.

And then you return to clay.

#2minutesgo Tweet it! Share it! Shout it from the top of the shack you live in! I will be out most of the day, but I'll be back...#2minutesgo Tweet it! Share it! Shout it from the top of the shack you live in! I will be out most of the day, but I'll be back...

2 Minutes. Go!

Write whatever you want in the 'comments' section on this blog post. Play as many times as you like. #breaktheblog! You have two minutes (give or take a few seconds ... no pressure!). Have fun. The more people who play, the more fun it is. So, tell a friend. Then send 'em here to read your 'two' and encourage them to play.

I wish I believed in God, because I'd love to have a chat. Hey, why'd my friend Rich die? How come babies are born HIV positive? What about human trafficking? Genocide? Rape? Emotional agony? You having fun up there? That's what I'd like to say, and that's why I would love to believe in God. I can't make you believe in not believing in God. And you ain't converting me. Just saying.

You believe what you want to believe. That's your humanity-given right. But I'm going to do the same. I've given it quite a lot of thought. I've read the Bible cover to cover. Have you? It's a weird, but interesting read. I'd give it four stars. 

We're fucking idiots. Listening to the radio on the way home. The lyrics are supposed to be "with my dick in your mouth" and they replaced it thusly: "with my gat in your mouth." Think about that for a second. We're OK with talking about putting a gun in someone's mouth, but we're NEVER going to say dick.

I'd rather my kid hear dick than gat if they have to hear one. 

I'm not saying don't fuck me. But fuck you, too. I'm mad today because everyone is shortsighted. I would greatly appreciate it if you would ask yourselves the following questions. They're easy, but you gotta think about your answer.

1) Do you care who other people have sex with, and if yes, why?

2) Do you really think that someone's skin color or religious beliefs trump their value as a human?

3) Does it really make sense to set your country up so assholes get super rich and most people suffer?

That's it. Three questions. 

I'd ask God those questions and straighten things out if I could.

I'm sure I believe some stuff that's debatable. I know I do. But I don't understand why anyone would care what anyone else does unless it affects them or society. Every person gets to think, wear, and, within reason, say whatever they want. My five year old understands that.

Hey God? Where were you during the Holocaust. See? That's just one of the reasons. You want me to believe that God created the Earth so he could FUCK with us? Look around you. Things aren't going great in the world. If there's a God, then he dropped the reins or he's a sadist. Or she. It. Whatever.

I'm not trying to be a dick. I'm just telling you what I believe. I won't even knock on your door and do it in person. I don't care if you believe what I believe. Remember that part? Worship fairies. Join a cult. I don't fucking care. As long as it doesn't cause harm.

How could so many stupid people make something so simple so complicated? Everything in life can be put into two categories. Things that hurt people or society. And things that don't affect anyone except the person doing them. That second group of people should get to do whatever the fuck they want. Not only is it right. It's a right. Pursuit of happiness and all that.

The founding fathers you love to talk about would start the revolution if they were here right now.

Are you kidding? 

Dear God. It's me, Dan. If you exist, you have a lot of explaining to do. If you don't, and things are the way I think they are, it would have been really nice if humans had stopped evolving right around the time they discovered language. We don't need bombs or laptops and cell phones. We really don't.

We could be living in a natural paradise right now, but we screwed it up. And we keep screwing it up. And pretty soon the ocean will be sludge and all the rich CEOs and politicians will shrug their shoulders and go, "welp, we had a lot of fun with the money. So, there's that." And we'll all fucking starve.

Or we will be forced to put aside our petty differences and just do what animals do. Eat. Sleep. Try not to die. It's not fucking complicated.

So, that's it, God. Thanks for letting me pretend to have this talk with you. My Nana didn't deserve to die the way she did, by the way. And you should really think about sparing the kids.

For Christ's sake.

#2minutesgo Tweet it! Share it! Shout it from the top of the shack you live in! I will be out most of the day, but I'll be back...#2minutesgo Tweet it! Share it! Shout it from the top of the shack you live in! I will be out most of the day, but I'll be back...

2 Minutes. Go!

Write whatever you want in the 'comments' section on this blog post. Play as many times as you like. #breaktheblog! You have two minutes (give or take a few seconds ... no pressure!). Have fun. The more people who play, the more fun it is. So, tell a friend. Then send 'em here to read your 'two' and encourage them to play.

And these are the games we play. Nonchalant, we put the petty insults away. But just to save them for another day. There’s a woodpecker that visits my yard and hammers out his call with reckless abandon. I know his head is built for it, but some mornings, I just feel bad, man. You gotta slam your face into something hard over and over again just to eat? And then I remember that I slam my head against a job day after day just to have money for food and bills. And my sympathy wanes.

Me and the woodpecker. We both got growing pains. 

My dad used to do this thing. He’d jab me in the center of the chest with a rigid index finger. It hurt like a bastard. And I remember thinking, just hit me. Just go all the way to extremely pissed and abusive. I think it would be less painful. And it would be honest. Because, even when I was a wee bastard, I remember thinking that this was the way he rationalized it away. All I did was poke him in the chest! Yeah, but it hurt just as much as a punch would have. And I remember thinking, why in the hell would you do that to a kid who has asthma? Not that it hurt me asthma-wise, but it hurt my sense of understanding of the world. Because. It. Didn’t. Make. Sense.

And there are so many things that don't make sense. I am dark blackness infused with a blinding light. I am a an empty vessel filled with bullshit and bravado. Not really. The fingers lie sometimes. I don't know why they do that. Like, they're pathological. Fucking weird things. Like spiders. And now, I'm old and they're veiny, old man hands. 

And they're softer than either of my grandfather's hands were.

Not proud of that. 

I'm not ashamed of it either, but I do feel like a Disney character. Like I have constructed myself from off-brand Lego blocks. The colors aren't consistent. Imminent systems.

Insistent.

Fuck you and your fucking metronome. I'm afraid of gnomes, and I can take the bus home. 

I used to blow people's minds because I could drink a pint of vodka faster than they could drink a pint of beer. And I could. Won quite a few free drunks that way. But they usually didn't end well. And there was a sad tinge of burnt-hair-smell about the whole thing. Or the way that old people smell.

Halfway to hell. Mickey Rooney slapstick slick. 

I've seen things you have never seen, done things you will never do, and I did it for one reason only: I wanted to not give a fuck. And not giving a fuck is hard. And I've always liked a battle of will.

I was born for this shit.

I died for it.

I told you, I'd come back for you. You were lost, wandering in a November snow flurry. Your jacket pulled tight around you. And I saw you there. Like some kind of porcelain figurine, red-nose and snowflakes on your eyelashes - pure. Beauty. It was like seeing a unicorn. And I thought to myself: someday, I am going to break your heart. But, I'll try not to.

Then, I did. 

But I didn't get any pleasure out of it. It was the hardest jab of all; my chest still hurts.

#2minutesgo Tweet it! Share it! Shout it from the top of the shack you live in! I will be out most of the day, but I'll be back...