jackalberson’s Neighborhood

Black and sleek and quick as fire,
Lively as electric wire;
Sparking in the sun.
Leaps and walks the towering fence;
Imperious, in every sense
Queen of her garden.

Creatures cower, become her game;
Lazily she earns the name:
Dispassionate killer.
Yet time escapes her wicked claws,
Never feigns death in her jaws -
And slowly takes her.

Angular bones in a moulting sack,
Matted fur on her bent, ridged back -
Frightened eyes plead to me.
Slowly struggles to her feet,
Anytime is time to eat -
Always, always hungry.

Today she’s too tired to be fed,
Stumbles back into her bed
Pleads again, fights to breathe.
Weeping flesh and sores that run,
Time to sleep, my darling one -
Goodbye, Jess. Forgive me, please.

Who will send the spinning stones
Across the chaos of the road
To tumble through the slotted jaws of hell?
And who, with perfect measured stride,
Will step upon the other side
Before the killer crow can pass the post
And cast his dread satanic spell?
 
Who'll enumerate the railings' bars,
Approximate the speed of cars
By counting seconds till they disappear?
Whose finger-snap will always coincide
With kettle switch and - if they've tried -
Old Big Ben's chimes? Who'll conjure rhymes
That split her face from ear to ear?
 
Who'll tally bricks and estimate
A buildings volume and its weight
And time a rock's descent into the sea?
And who will check the altitude of birds and planes,
The height of trees and weather-vanes
If not me? There's a vacancy...
Oh, and they'll need
 
A needle eye to unpick the random tapestry
And sew her silhouette into their memory -
A stitch in time saves one -
And a pearly shell to catch her observations,
Gleaming drops of conversation,
Fresh as dew, transparent, true...
Who'll do these things when I am gone?

I did my bit to oil the tongue

And make it an informal one,

But if I’d known what I’d begun

I never would have started.

The ‘wi’ from I’ll, the ‘o’ from aren’t

Are AWOL with the ‘no’ from can’t

And e’er again I know I sha’n’t

See letters that departed.

,

 

 

The ‘v’ from ne’er gesticulates

And ‘ha’ from they’ve laughs in my face,

While I - that’s me - hang in their place,

A stitch between incisions.

The b’s’n on the fo’c’s’le stands,

A pile of letters in his hands,

Perplexing lubbers on the land

With five extreme omissions.

,

 

 

The Hilton houses ‘i’ from it’s

While ‘i’ from he’s hides in the Ritz;

I pull together all the bits

They readily deserted.

A crescent moon in lettered sky,

A prick in alphabetty pie,

I turn away, a winking eye

And chaos is averted.

,

 

 

I scratch then scribe the sheet to show

Where absent letters used to go

And thus let everybody know

That something’s missing for my pains.

Contractions brought about my birth,

‘twixt font and grave I’ve shown my worth:

To scatter symbols o’er the Earth

And free them from their paper chains.

 

it's been so long.
I don't even know why I would post here again.
everyone I knew here has moved on as well.
it seems Facebook has won out over any blogs,
as it is the opportunity to stay connected akin to driving by + waving
as opposed to ever having to stop + talk for any length of time.

when I left,
it saddened me to realize no one paid attention to me here.
now, the idea of an open forum no one reads is strangely appealing.
maybe I will consider this...

According to Maxim magazine (yes, I have a subscription - don't hate):

In Ireland they say a pint should be drained in seven swigs, leaving seven foam rings (laces) inside the glass.

In honor of St. Patrick's Day, I decided to put this to the test. Unfortunately, I couldn't record my results until the experiment was completed and at this point, I may be too drunk to adequately convey the results.

Much of this experiment relies upon your definition of "swig" - I interpreted the data in "gulps" vs. "swigs." If taking one swig is filling the mouth and any number of gulps is allowed to finish the drink, then yes, I was able to finish a pint in seven swigs. However, if we are counting the number of actual swallows - or gulps - then my minimum number is 24.

As I said, I'm really too drunk to convey this information. Let's hope the pictures do this experiment justice:

Oh shit! They uploaded in reverse order, but that totally reminded me of what I wanted to say! The experiment was flawed from the beginning...when I got my crappy bottles of Guinness home, I discovered they are only 12 fl. oz., not the requisite 20 oz. that I needed to make a full pint.

Also, my beer didn't even make rings on the glass!

Therefore, I am calling this whole study flawed - I think I probably need to be in the company of real Irishmen, in Ireland, to be able to convey this data in it's purest form and to obtain the guidance I obviously need.

Having said all that - FUN! Yay! Happy St. Patrick's Day everybody! I'm going to continue on now and get lit! WAAAHOOOOO!!!

Oh, before I go, I should give credit to my faithful assistant on this project:

I have been staring at this blank page for about two minutes. Whenever I try to write about this topic, I find I cannot, because it is something very close to me, that effects me very much. I don't really know where to start, so I'm just going to write what comes out off the top of my head.

When we moved into our new place a year ago, I was immediately drawn to the filthy plot of hardened earth on the sidewalk outside our building. It looked like this when we moved in:

Well, actually, it looked much worse than that. The photo at left is after I took out most of the used plastic utensils, old batteries, orange peels, assorted rusty keys, nails, a single razor blade, and a condom wrapper. It took awhile to aerate the dirt and mix in a new layer of top soil. I then bought 500 worms to mix in and planted some flowers. Here is what it looked like after all that:

Unfortunately, those flowers did not prove hardy enough for the foot traffic coming in and out of the parking spot adjacent to the garden. The stone border got kicked to shit and the flowers trampled upon. After a little while of continuing to water & nurture the soil, as well as keeping my worms happy and removing trash daily, I decided it was time to upgrade the garden, which I refer to as "the bum patch" with some hardier succulents and ground cover plants.

 

My husband rented a car for us, and we visited Home Depot to procure my new babies. I briefly considered planting nothing but cactus, but my conscience wouldn't allow me to actually do so. Instead, I purchased aloe, some ground cover with pretty hot pink flowers, and a succulent of some varietal I could not name. Thus, I cultivated bum patch 2.0 and for about a week, it looked almost as though people were going to respect my little plot. There were still daily deposits of trash - lighters, cigarette butts, styrofoam coffee cups, and animal feces - none of which bothered me, as I have grown accustomed to picking these items out of the patch.

The real offense came this past weekend, when some godless fuck went to the trouble of digging out and stealing my fucking aloe plant. Now, I don't know the street value of aloe or if it can assist in the procurement of crack or crystal meth; nor do I know if this vermin simply decided to take my plant because it was there and not chained down...but really - REALLY - is that REALLY what we have come to as a society? That anything not nailed down is free for the taking? That it is okay to destroy someone else's property, just because it's unguarded?

I know that I should not be upset; I knew this could happen, even that it was highly likely to happen. I even gave my plants a little pep talk when I put them in the ground - I told them that they had been selected for a tough job, because they were the best of the best and I knew they could take it...but now I just feel bad. For humanity. For my stupid abducted plant, which for all I know ended up in a dumpster or a crack house. And it's hard for me to talk about this shit, because no one, EVER, should be this sensitive to the world and I hate that I am this vulnerable.

Here's the current state of my garden:

I will do what I can to maintain what is left, but in 75 days we will be gone and it will be totally on it's own. While the plants will likely go unwatered and the trash will undoubtedly pile up, my only hope is that the 500 baby worms I mixed in the soil - which are huge fatty's now by the way - will continue to be nourished from my efforts. I did the best that I could do for them, and for this tiny piece of urban landscape. What happens next is no longer in my hands.

This is a very special installment in the "drops to freedom" series, detailing my journey to become debt-free. Yesterday, I was called into my boss's office and handed a generous bonus that I was not expecting. Needless to say, I cried like a little bitch. It was deposited into my account this morning and although I would love to blow it shopping, I will send it all to my evil student loan provider today. The even better news is that I think this payment will bring me significantly closer to my goal and I may now only have 5 or 6 big drops to make...I'll report back a little later after I have had some coffee and spend a little time with a calculator. In any case, I AM SO STOKED RIGHT NOW!!! The end is nigh, suckahs!

I am so thankful for this gift, it's hard for me to even put it into words...in fact, I have to stop or I'm going to start crying again. Amazing how debt can be such an emotional thing, huh?

UPDATE: The payment I sent today was large enough that I now only have 6 more installments to make, in as many months, to be completely 100% debt-free and finished with my student loans!!! OMG, I need a drink.

Custom made for us by the super mega talented Amy:
To read about her process click here

‘I’ve learnt so much, please listen, son:
Don’t waste your life as I have done,
And don’t lose games you should have won
Because you weren’t prepared.
I fooled around, I missed the bus
And failed to do the obvious,
Now time is up for one of us…
I always was too scared

To put my neck upon the line
 - to err was not a mode of mine -
I ummed and ahhed without a spine,
Now learn from my stupidity.
I lacked the nerve, shied from the fight,
I frittered days and squandered nights,
I did what’s easy, not what’s right
And blew each opportunity.

Oh, God, I wish I could go back -
Regret’s a huge ungainly sack
To carry ‘round upon your back,
Especially when you’re old.
Mistakes are light, evaporate
With every new success. Don’t wait
For other souls to choose your fate -
For once, do as you’re told.

I was young, like you, but life is cruel
And hard and quick - I know that you’ll
Not be a disappointment to all
Your family. I’m so sorry…’
‘Thanks, Dad, but it’s too late - I’d be
A better man, but don’t you see
That, Dad, when you die, I do too
For I’m the boy inside of you.’