Words.

Words.

Fleeting.

Coming and going like my motivation and interest. When was the last time I kept interest in anything more than a month? I guess there have been a few things, my mind moving like the stock market—a dizzying dance of up and down when viewed up close, but take a step back and an upward trend unfolds.

My writing is like my poetry and I want it to flow

so long as my mind takes me where I want to go.

I might argue that a good article or book is a poem expanded, where each word and phrase follow a certain rhythm. The words should flow carelessly into a reader’s mind and dance the dance that pulls others off their behinds, enrolling the participation of ideas left alone, whose home in the shadows holds seeds newly sown

A seed can grow and reach into our minds connecting all that we have learned along its rugged vines.

I believe in words’ abilities to do this—to connect areas that often do not meet like Peter on floor 2 who stays away from meat. But if you happen to run into him you might be surprised to find that you learn something new! that something shakes you and rearranges you like a snow globe shaken, whose preconceived notions are tossed in the air in brand new formation. Once here now there.

I believe we need a reshuffle in our lives.

You can see it in our eyes.

You can see it in our eyes.

-Gh

I Scolded A Dog Today

I scolded my roommate’s dog this morning. She was running around the house with dirty paws. I was grumpy without coffee. She was happy with muddy feet. I snapped my fingers and told her to come. She ran away. Why won’t this dog listen to me? Am I not speaking clearly enough? I raised my voice. Still, nothing. I chased her at a full sprint, rounding the corner of the island in the kitchen like Dale (RIP) until I had her by the scruff. You listen to me! I warned her. The fear would sink and she would learn her lesson. I dragged her outside. She would learn her lesson.

What did I do? I was just walking around the kitchen when he started snapping his fingers and cursing. He does this sometimes. I get the short end of the stick. Stick. STICK! No, he’s mad at me. No stick for now. I’m sitting outside on the porch looking through the glass door at him. He seems confused and distraught now. What did I do?

What did I just do? I scolded a dog for walking in the house. The kitchen was my temple and the furry fuck just trounced through with dirty feet, but what gives? I lost control. My perfect space was tainted and I lost control of it. What can I control? Anything? No. Everything moves. Everything changes. I scolded a dog for being a dog. This is silly. I’m sorry, dog.

What the literal dump is up with this guy? Whatever, I’ll wag my tail anyway. He seems happy to let me in the door this time.

Hot Dog!

Today I ate a hot dog out of a travel mug. A hot dog is a mush of pig parts molded into a long skinny tube that American's like to eat at ball parks. A travel mug is filled with coffee for American's driving to work. The two together look like this. 

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This is all part of my recent obsession with hot dogs. The flavor and smell is disturbingly intoxicating and with a small line of ketchup, I'm in fucking heaven. Coat it in cornmeal and fry it? Fantastic. Wrap it in pretzel dough and bake it? I'll sell you my first born. 

The hot dog gets a lot of shit, I think, but for what it's worth, I'm going to stick up for the poor meat stick. Frankly, it doesn't deserve it. Har har.  The hot dog hits all the major categories of a perfect food. Number one, its vessel, a white hot dog bun made out of the most bleached, bromated, and fortified flour available along with high fructose corn syrup and dough conditioners is what is holding the cargo. Already we're winning. Does anyone else out there remember rolling that white bread up into little balls and plopping them into your mouth for the gummy and slightly sweet experience of dippin' dots but for white bread? This is what my childhood was about--eating nutritional black holes, and Runescape, but more on that later. The other component of a hot dog is very deliciously salty meat. When you top it with some sweet ketchup and maybe even a little relish, you've got sweet, salty, and acidic. It's lit. 

Now to Runescape. Fuck everyone Runescape was the greatest game on the Internet in the early 2000s. It was also well worth it to spend $5/month to become a member. My father fronted the $5 because he was a hard working man with $5 to spend on his son. I was a fat thrasher. I looked like this. 

Somehow I was touching myself at that age, too. Hard to believe when you look at that innocent face. Behind the fluff was a dark closet full of secrets. Innocence my ass. 

Well, to whoever is out there in the world, do me a favor...eat a fucking hot dog and never question its ingredients. Trying to decipher a hot dog's ingredients is pointless, like participating in organized religion--it's a wild goose chase for an answer that doesn't exist.