My day will come
It may be tomorrow
It may be 5 years
But my day will come
Not because I believe it
But because it is inevitable
There is no other way to go

Movie Dialogue #16

Man: "I wish I didn't pay any attention to all those old and decrepit people that always told me 'life is hard.' Maybe I'm missing something, but I'm barely trying and getting by and loving every minute of it. I feel like I've got some kinda secret that only I'm privy to... Weeellll, okay. Life's not easy. I'll give ya that. But it's not hard... unless you let it... I mean, I'm not a millionaire or all that lucky, but I'm fine, ya know?"
Death: [Ominous glare] "...Don't jinx it."

Too Many People oh nos

Too many white people
Too many black people
Too many Puerto Ricans
Too many quiet Mexicans
Who hold up the line
Because they no speaky da d’anglais
Too many orange men
Too many green men
Too many locals
Too many aliens

Too many musicians
Making music with computers
And never picking up a guitar
Or anything having to do with-----------
The hands
Too many artists
Dada da Dali, Hieronymus
Mon-mon-mondrian

Too many toolmen
Fixing my TeeVee, fixing my gin
Squeak, squeak, squiggle, squeak
It’s off to work we am
Too many man-in-suits
Talky talky on the telephone-y
Call the presses, call in all favors
WHAT CAN I DO TO SELL YOU-------
Etcetera ad nauseum

Too many fat men
Too many small men
Too many wo-man
Whoa man

Too many people

To Whom it May Concern,

I'm now taking a break from the whole poetry thing until further notice. Unless inspiration has some kind of ambush planned. Which it won't. I will eat my words if the time comes though.

*eats words*

Oh yeah. That's what I wanted to call a novel.

Maybe we can

A symbol
Sure
And that's nice
I guess
But when the glitz
and the glory
Wear thin
Can you be
more than that?

We'll see
I guess

Halloween at Gainex

The register Andrew puts me at is dirty and cluttered. Leave it to Grant. The conveyor belt has mulch all over it. I clean it off and tell Kevin someone was starting a flowerbed on it. He cracks the rare smile. I’m glad I could get him to smile. He has red hair and reminds me of my brother Sam. I guess I do still want to be liked by people. I don’t like to admit it to myself.

Eric has an eye patch and a big hoop earring. He says he’s a pirate. Grant and Anthony have giant afro wigs. They are both Ben Wallace. No pre-arranging. This elderly woman and her young daughter (or maybe grand-daughter), the girl probably only sixteen, are at my lane. The daughter is very beautiful. I feel weird for thinking this. Eric stutters on his words as he explains he is a pirate. The old woman jokingly says, “Yes, I can see you put a lot of thought into it.” Eric agrees. I find his idiocy entertaining. I like him. Everyone else here takes everything too seriously and just finds him an idiot. He is an idiot. But he doesn’t really have a choice like the rest of us.
The woman turns to me and asks me what I am. “A Gainex employee,” I answer, which receives big unexpected laughs. I didn’t think it was that funny, but the young girl’s laughter makes me smile and I brighten inside. I exist to her for half a second. I think I love her and feel like a degenerate for doing so.

My break arrives and this strange, heavy-set woman follows me outside. She asks me if I’ve seen some of the Halloween craziness going on. I ask her what’s happened. She explains, with several expletives, how some kids just up and stopped their car in the middle of a lane with a green light and filed out. Stupid kids. I agree.
We sit down near the curb and she starts to tell me about herself and her life. Someone in the past told me I have a calming spirit (I only wish that were true for my insides too). I guess that’s why people like to open up to me.
She is from New York and she says she tells it how it is and doesn’t care if it hurts anyone’s feelings. At work she’ll grin and smile, but if not at work, she’ll let you have an earful. I get one, but she’s nice to me, because I’m nice to her. I like people that have interesting things to say anyway.
She is the only daughter of ten kids. She wasn’t treated any differently as a girl, because her dad was a strict man and told her that the world wouldn’t treat her any better, so he wouldn’t.
One time her brother took her car and got in a wreck, taking her back $900 for repairs. She told him she would get him back and she did. He went into the bathroom one day after work and let out a howl a few minutes later. She had super-glued him to the toilet seat. His hospital bill was $400. He wanted to get her back but she said he cost her $900, and that she should be able to do it again and then some, so he conceded.
Her roommate could fuck like a jackhammer and broke the headboard on the bed once.
She then told me some vulgar joke, I laughed and told her it was nice talking to her and I think I meant it.

This man comes to the register and shoves some disinfectant wipes at me, then he starts to rant about how he couldn’t find a single brand without Spanish writing on it. “This Obama thing, and all this… I can’t believe what’s happening to my country.” I don’t say a single thing to him and hand him his receipt. His country?

The rest of the night is slow and the bit of self-esteem I’d been feeling is wearing off. Someone asks me if I’ve got any big Halloween plans and I tell them my night’s already gone because I’m here. I must sound like an ingrate. I look like one. I wouldn't have done anything if I wasn't at work anyway.

This pretty blonde employee that I hadn’t ever seen before enters my lane. She acts incredibly nervous and fumbles and acts absent minded and laughs a lot. She has a few pimples on her face, but otherwise she is gorgeous and has a great body. No breasts but I don’t care. I am in love with her instantly, even while knowing I will make nothing of it. She leaves her keys and laughs stupidly when she comes back to get them. I am enamored.

Someone asks for directions and Eric stutters them out. I think I should make those directions a bit more clear, but decide I’ll probably just spit out air anyway.

I go home and jack off, even though my dick hurts, and go to sleep.

Told you so

There is no use for this masculinity
There is no use for this pride
In the scheme of things
What do you matter
You don’t matter at all
In the argument
We both agree on the end
But we come from opposite means

You want to hit me to prove something petty
You want to hurt me to amuse your friends
But ten years from now you’ll say you were stupid
And I won’t even so much as say
“Told you so.”

Even though I should
Even though I have every fucking right

But "maturity"
"Decency?"
Does that even matter either?

Robin Alexander 6

People tend to feel sorry for me
because I'm unhappy.
Because I don't have
what they have. Or I don't want
what they want.

And they're right about one thing.
I'm not happy.
But I'd rather be
dead
than want what they want.

But at the same time,
I ponder the alternatives.
They're really just different,
sometimes worse,
evils
altogether.