The Lost Pole

a mixed metaphor — where wood is thicker than thieves

Pole #756450

when i set out to blog 100 blogs i never thought i’d be pouring out blood
from my wherever
or speaking of orgasms with people i don’t know
and people i do know
people i might see the next day
and then they wonder what to say 
over lunch
which all goes to prove that you never know
even who you are
until something unexpected happens
a surprise unto yourself
which proves nothing
but was i trying to prove anything?

That’s an introductory poem for the blog I’m going to write today. Right now. I’m writing it. We don’t know where it’s going to go. I chose a picture. This is a creative writing exercise. I am done with blood-letting. Sick of sickness. Today I want a beautiful moment where the pain meets the anti-pain, and POOF!

Bob* is not Mighty Mouse. I’m writing a book. If you start reading it in the middle you won’t know who the characters are. I often start reading a book in the middle. If the middle interests me, I go back to the beginning in search of antecedents. Who’s Sharkey?

what’s beyond the abandoned mattress?

Some people write very clearly. You know what they are talking about. That’s not the kind of writing I enjoy putting out, really. I prefer to set off down an unknown path, leading from my kitchen window, on past the birdbath, beyond the abandoned mattress, and into the wilderness at hand.

One day in Spring I was wandering in the dwindling woods of an American suburb, and I came upon THE LOST POLE. If your streetlight is out, you call PEPCO and tell them the pole number so they can come fix it. What shall I say to them when I call about pole #756450?

So fuck you
And your untouchable face
Fuck you
For existing in the first place
And who am I
That I should be vying for your touch
Who am I
Bet you can’t even tell me that much

~ Ani Difranco

Is this blog post finished now? That would be a good finish, wouldn’t it? Have I reached my POOF moment? Maybe so. Lately a little anger feels like the best medicine. It’s more taboo than sex, in certain circles with which I am intimately familiar.

Nothing like it though 
to clear out a stuffy sinus
or move a stuck bowel.

Who needs an electric utility conglomerate 
when you have lightning at your disposal?

Free The Pole!