It’s sad when your heart’s broken
and you can’t say goodbye.
It’s sad when the only thing the doctor
will let you do
It’s sad when the state laws
finally say okay
and now you’re too exhausted
to wear a smile
to say goodbye.
It’s sad when your heart’s broken
and you can’t say goodbye.
It’s sad when the only thing the doctor
will let you do
It’s sad when the state laws
finally say okay
and now you’re too exhausted
to wear a smile
to say goodbye.
your food doesn’t rot
your sperm doesn’t die
your eggs don’t spoil
your breasts won’t sag
your 85 year old medicated penis acts 21
and your smile never turns to sad
everything is not all right
Always new beginnings
Everything always ending
this is the way
life’s supposed to
|featuring the music of:C.j. Boyd(road, USA)
U.s. Ghostal service(San Luis Obispo, CA)
featuring the spoken word/poetry of:
Leslie St. John(San Luis Obispo, CA)
Linda Camplese(Nipomo, CA)
Brandon FollettCambria, CA)
John Reid(Atascadero, CA)
please do bring a few bucks to support and honor the traveling musicians/poets.
once upon a time, C.j. Boyd passed through San Luis Obispo. C.j. was a magical road-warrior wizard of sound. Poetry Church Ministries heard about this and along with Anahata LovelyDay KiaWind brainstormed and realized that they should have a Poetry Church at Smiling Dog Yoga. It was then realized that the good friend and co-founder of U.S. Ghostal Service (also performing), Prince Thomas(performing as !Mindparade) was passing through California at the very same time as all of this so everything began to fall into a lovely place. Prince Thomas(aka Alex Arnold) was traveling with his partner and fellow performer Jennifer Samaniego Burch who also was quickly slated to perform at the church. Poetry Church then realized that the musical ingredients for the Poetry Church were in abundance and yet the POETRY itself(in its natural, silence-surfing form) was lacking so a fervent petition was made to the preternaturally silver-tongued Leslie St.John to share her poetry with the fellowship. Then the poetic services of one John Reid, a mad max of duneite poetry, were requested, as well as the disheveled hilarity of the poetry of Brandon Follett. Following a breakthrough poetry performance at the Wise Owl in Cambria, CA, the final ingredient of one Monalisa Maione(aka the one and only dynamo Linda Camplese) was added to the poetry church brew and then the potion cooked and cooked. C.J. Boyd was somewhere out there, rambling the coast hither and thither, bass lines in his eyes. Poetry Church quivered in anticipation and a hundred thousand kundalini snakes set their modes to rattle.
p.s. please come in a yummy kind of mood and attire for there will be much opportunity to dance, stretch and play in a ceremony such as this. bring a donation to support the traveling performers if you can. all are welcome, regardless. : )
Not so long ago
before prenatal vitamins,
and petri dishes
the birds and the bees
the mommies and the daddies
needed clean air
to make babies
along with a pinch
When the ingredients
their bodies rotted
back into the ground
and the baby making
starts over again
salmon baked with garlic,
basil, and lemon juice
an herb arugula salad
glass of red wine
next to the wood stove
in a log cabin
overlooking a mountain lake
and a pinch of horniness.
Baby making moments
now harvested from mother earth
by the diseased, aged, cancered and impotent
to keep sperm from rotting
to keep eggs from spoiling
to create a stylish Martha Stewartish
air conditioned reception area
for cozy People magazine reading
while the fertility specialist
keeps the baby making
After the credit card transaction has cleared
little test tube baby
in a plastic cage
holds baby up
to her fatty breast.
the baby latches on
slurps in the paint thinner
When baby is full
Dad draws a bath
and lays it in
warm gassy fracked water.
When baby is clean
Momma will lean down
with fast food breath
leaving red animal tested
Yesterday in his pocket
friends, Neil Diamond concert footage, the constitution, nude women, pac man, conspiracy theories, the stock market,
and streaming Rush Limbaugh.
His pocket was never boring.
Today in his pocket he has a tube of chap stick, a set of keys, and a wallet.
Next to him
my dog sniffs and squats.
By the time the dog finishes its crap
the man’s lips are moist,
and he has Iooked at the one photo of his family
and one photo of his cat.
He tries to engage me in conversation
about the shapes in the clouds
and the weather.
I motion to the Angry Bird game on the iPhone in my hand.
He starts petting and mumbling to my dog.
I wonder if he’s insane, stoned or retarded.
All this makes me nervous.
Then I remember
this is what people with boring pockets
Before Dan can wipe the astonishment off his face Martha tells her mom they need to go. As they walk out the door and down the street Dan asks, “Did I hear your mom right? Who’s the father? Can a 60 year old woman get pregnant? Does your mom think that antique breast pump still works?”
Martha says, “Dan, you know a baby can not live in my mom’s belly any more than a man can live in the belly of a whale.”
Dan: “Why are you throwing out Bible stories like Jonah and the Whale? What are you talking about? You keep mentioning how your mom has been lonely since your Dad died. Your mom probably had some eggs frozen in the 90’s and now she has found a sperm donor. It’s not like we’re planning to give your mom a grandbaby anytime soon.”
Martha: “You don’t get it Dan! Mom, was never religious like Dad. Instead of staying at home with Dad when he got cancer, she had to work extra shifts to make ends meet. After she worked those 12 hour shifts, it was the church who had dinner ready for the both of them. When Dad died he left the little amount of savings he had to the church. The church decided it was best to decline the money and gave it to mom to help cover the medical bills. It was this act of kindness that opened up mom’s heart and I guess other things to God.”
Dan asks, “What type of church does she go to?”
Martha replies, “A conservative church that believes in creationism and takes every aspect of the Bible literally.”
Dan: “So does your mom believe that every story in the bible is reality and can potentially be today’s reality? For instance, does your mother know the Bible story of Balaam and the talking donkey? What if we were all visiting your sister’s farm, and I thought I heard a donkey say ‘hey Elizabeth, what time is it?’ Would your mother really believe me and tell the donkey what time it is?”
Martha: “Yes she would, so please don’t do that!”
Dan: “Would your mom picket an abortion clinic or wear all black to a gay pride parade?”
Martha: “No, she’s not a an Al Qaeda or KKK God fearing extremist. She likes to leave most of the judging to God. I mean, Mom’s not perfect. On her car there’s a bumper sticker that reads, ‘God hates cat perverts! Lev 18:23.‘ If she notices a person wearing an unsightly amount of cat hair on his shirt, she will interrogate the person like a social worker will question the parent of a child with a black eye. She won’t be satisfied until she feels the fur is left over from friendly petting.”
“Oh,” Dan says, “That’s why she won’t let the cats go outside unsupervised!”
Dan: “Martha, none of this explains why your mom thinks she might be pregnant.”
Martha: “Mom never gave Dad a son. It was Dad’s wish to have a son named after him. In fact that’s why my name is Roberta. Despite all the nights my parents kept me up late, they were never able to create another child. I think Mom is holding onto hope from her studies of the Bible. In the Old Testament, Sarah is the mother of Isaac. In the New Testament, Elizabeth is the mother of John the Baptist. Both of these women had old brittle arthritic hips and a dry well. Because of their great faith in God, God rewarded them by impregnating them.”
Dan: “WOW!!!!!! Yes, I remember those stories! Now I understand why your mom believes she might be pregnant. Can you imagine the joy on Abraham’s face when he lifts up Sarah’s dress? From her mid thigh to the top of her breasts he sees and feels the body of a young, sturdy, child bearing woman. In Sunday school most teachers don’t take the time to reflect upon this physical miracle and the fun Abraham and Sarah must have had while waiting for baby Isaac to be born.”
“Dan, Mom is not pregnant!” Martha exclaims.
Dan: “Well, unless a doctor tells your mom otherwise, or baby Bobby doesn’t pop out in nine months, I’ll support your mom. I will be God’s baby’s brother in law!”
Jean walks into the South Street Cafe. Her best friend, Shirley, sits on the couch with a look of frustration. Her calming tea can not calm this situation. Shirley recognizes the look she saw 20 years ago. She sits down and hugs her friend.
Jean: “How far along are you?”
Shirley: “It’s not me. Billy got his college girlfriend pregnant. I’m not going to raise the child. I don’t get it. I made sure condoms were available. On our walks, I point out the young unhappy 20 year old boys pushing baby strollers. I repeatedly told him how many Grateful Dead shows I gave up to raise him and how many Built to Spill shows he will miss if there’s an accident. What could I have done differently?”
Jean: “You can put out as many condoms as you want but if you don’t know what type of flavor she likes or the right type of color he likes, the condoms will only collect dust. As far as pointing out pregnant 20 year olds, children can’t grasp the cause and effect. Walk onto a college campus and check out the freshmen in line for a credit card. Unless you are in the room when the kids are getting it on, you can’t guarantee they’ll practice safe sex. To ensure that I don’t become an unplanned grandma, I regulate my son’s testosterone levels. For instance, do you stock your refrigerator with lots of cabbage and broccoli?
Shirley: “Yes, in fact Billy and his girl friend love black bean burgers with lots of sauerkraut and avocado with a side dish of goat yogurt, raisins and figs for dessert.”
Jean: “Oh my!!!” Don’t tell me he also likes free range eggs and mushrooms?”
Shirley: “He loves mushrooms!!!! Yesterday he begged me to make him an omelet with my neighbor’s chicken eggs and insisted that the mushrooms and spinach be sautéed in garlic and olive oil.”
Jean: “Jesus Christ, Shirley what are you thinking? I’m surprised half the women in Bennington, VT aren’t knocked up because of your careless cooking! Here are some basic guidelines to help keep this situation to only one unplanned baby. Foods with B-vitamins, vitamin-D, vitamin-E, zinc, monounsaturated fats increase testosterone. Cruciferous vegetables help decrease estrogen levels. Next time Billy says, “Hey mom can I make us a broccoli couscous casserole,” I would respond why don’t you microwave some tater tots and smother them in high fructose corn syrup ketchup. You see, processed food with lots of sugar is the best way to keep your son’s testosterone levels low. Also keep in mind exercise increases testosterone. Every time my son suggests going on a bicycle ride or walk to the grocery store I insist that he takes the car.”
Shirley: “Are you serious? You govern Jack’s sex drive by regulating his testosterone levels through food and exercise? Does this really work?”
Jean: “Yes, I’ll prove it. Remember how horny Jack was when I fed him healthy food and didn’t let him use my car?”
Shirley: “I do. You were on a first name basis with the folks at Planned Parenthood.”
Jean gets out her iPhone. She dials Jack’s number.
Jean: “Jack, did you see the McDonalds breakfast money I put out by the TV remote control. Oh good. You drove, right? Cool. Well, I’m here with Shirley. We’re sitting at the South Street Cafe. The cafe is playing 80’s Madonna right now over the speakers. The song Erotic just ended. Oh you wouldn’t believe who sat down beside us. That cute barista with the long brown hair and the long long legs. She asked how you are doing. You should come down. The smiley barista doesn’t start her shift for another hour. I’ll buy you a cup of coffee. Really you would rather sit on the couch, finish your fries, and surf Facebook. Good boy!”
Don’t become an unplanned grandmother. Educate yourself on what foods not to feed your son:
Cambria, California has an eclectic art scene. An example can be found at the Painted Lily Gallery. Artist Sara Blair-Field takes the imagination to a new place with her sock monkey’s. To learn more about the Painted Lily Gallery and Sara’s work check out
Special thanks to Ginna Mueller for her assistance.
At John’s funeral, friends and family dropped fresh cut flowers into the grave. Willy walked to the edge where the casket lay. He tightly squeezed a David Bowie t-shirt before relaxing his hands. Willy let the Ziggy Startdust t-shirt fall into the grave.
Clyde asked perplexed, “What are you doing?”
Willie replied, “John loved David Bowie. Remember how many times he went to the men’s restroom at the Old Stone Station Restaurant?”
A year ago, Willie, Clyde, and John met on a sunny day on the deck of the Old Stone Station. They each planned on enjoying the best Mexican food served on Friday. Ironically, they all wore Mike Watt yellow cat t-shirts and ordered veggie burritos. The three of them quickly realized this serendipitous moment. Conversations began and three tables became one. A Friday veggie burrito tradition began.
Like a digital clock with a strong battery, Willie, Clyde, and John showed up at the same time every Friday and ordered the same veggie burrito. The tradition changed when John’s wife left him for a young stud and the L.A. city life. Depressed, John began to eat 1.5 burritos, than 2 burritos in one sitting. Willie and Clyde were amazed by John’s overwhelming burrito consumption.
John replied in a condescending snarky voice, “How can a person not eat two of a these remarkable creations! The flavors of the beans, sauces, fresh ingredients, veggie burger and cheese make me forget myself. I am no longer John who gave 20 years of my life to a woman who didn’t appreciate it. At the Old Stone Station I am simply a tongue who doesn’t need love – only a burrito.”
The guys noticed John use the bathroom more frequently and lose weight.
One day when John left to the restroom, Clyde asked Willie, “Do you think it’s weird John’s bladder has gotten smaller since his divorce?”
Willie, “I don’t think his bladder has gotten smaller. He frequently uses the restroom because the carnival fees to enjoy a circus mirror in private is ridiculous. At the Old Stone Station the price of the mirror is included in the price of the meal. He can laugh and laugh as long as he purchases something. John’s a huge David Bowie fan. He told the restaurant owner he wants first dibs on the David Bowie shirt in the bathroom. Notice how he looks at the burritos and mutters the lyric, “Oh you pretty thing your driving your mamas and papas insane.” I’m a huge Paul McCartney fan. I would pretend to pee a lot more if a Paul McCartney t-shirt hung in the bathroom.”
John heard most of their conversation and paused before returning. He could not let his friends know of his burrito addiction. He decided to mask his bulimia by becoming a David Bowie fan.
A month of Fridays passed. John looked more skinny and unhealthy.
Clyde finely addressed the elephant in the room, “John, what’s wrong with you. You have grown into the body of 17 year old girl who wants to be a model.”
John snapped, “I look like David Bowie on heroine.”
John went to the bathroom muttering a David Bowie song.
Clyde said, “Willie I have a crazy thought. Did you see how fast John ferociously devoured his burrito? He reminds me of my cat, Henrietta. She can eat a can of canned cat food like John can scarf down a burrito. When she can’t eat anymore she sneaks off and pukes up her food. Do you notice how John eats and eats then leaves to go to the bathroom? Does John remind you of my cat?”
Willie, “I’ve never met Henrietta but I do know John reminds me of David Bowie on heroine.”
Old Stone Station
713 Main St.
Cambria, CA 93428
Special thanks to Gillian Rowley’s edits. Check out her blog Allergy Bites
“Oh, no,” I think as I walk past the public bathroom. “I didn’t take my morning shit. I hate it when I get distracted. Now there’s an uncomfortable pressure in my bowels and something brown pushing for freedom.”
Earlier this morning Buddy wrote on Facebook, “I’m fatigued from working lots of hours with only a little rest to watch a sports game. I feel like a limp hot dog after working ten hours to support the Democratic lazy welfare folks.”
Buddy got me thinking about my own lifestyle. Maybe I need to be more accountable for my actions. I don’t want to add to my overweight, over stressed friend’s poor health. I have a job, pay taxes, and do not live off the government in the hand to mouth sense, but I’m a big fan of former Idaho Democratic Senator Frank Church and former Idaho House of Representative Nicole LeFavor. Right there that’s a big red flag. Somehow I must be mooching off the system, making my friend work extra hours. There’s got to be something I can improve on. Then it dawned on me. Maybe Buddy is overweight because he won’t compromise his Republican small government principles for his health. A simple example would be state owned land or state funded projects that people walk on. Buddy always reminds me that the benefits of small government are greater than the practices of Democratic big government. I’m sure this applies to over-bloated big government expensive walking budgets. Just as I decided to revise my walking habits, the Colvils drove by.
The Colvils live up the road from me. I am one of three or four of their closest neighbors. They own a large swath of land between the East Village and West Village. The property has a conservation easement and there are miles of established trails surrounded by a barbed wire fence.
I frantically waved at the Colvils. They stopped.
“Hey Mr. Colvils, this is Mark, your neighbor down the street. I’m going to go on a Republican walk. I need to find some private property big enough to get the heart rate going. My home is right across the street from your forest. Now I know a lot of Republicans who can’t afford miles of private land for walking rent a small piece of property at the gym called a treadmill. I find that TV’s and walls cannot soothe my soul like the sight of a deer or a living forest. I promise to keep on the established trails. I’ll even pay you a couple of bucks for wear and tear on the forest.”
Mr. Colvils looks irritated. “Leave my miles of forest alone. If I catch you on my forest I’ll have you arrested.” He drives away.
Disappointed after the Colvils conversation I decided to head out on my walk. I got to the edge of my white picket fence gate. I reached out with my big toe. I hesitated. I figured as soon as it touched the public sidewalk, I would crumple over in guilt and be ravaged by unpatriotic emotions like a baptist with a broken down car who walks into a bowling alley to use the pay phone. The baptist knows his guardian angel will leave him at the door but he wants to get home to see his family. I stepped onto the sidewalk. Surprisingly my big toe didn’t burst into flames and I didn’t start sobbing about being a bad bad Republican sinner.
This brings us back to that uncomfortable feeling in my bowels which now takes on the animal spirit of a turtle. I walk into the nearest shop. The bathroom sign reads: “for paying customers only.” I pull out my wallet. I have $30 cash plus my debit card. I buy an Americano handed to me in a to go cup. The destruction of a tree and $2.50 is well spent for a privatized shit even though the public bathrooms are free and a disposable cup would not have been wasted.
Continuing the walk I notice some garbage. I am not going to throw it away in the public trash can but choose to carry it home to dispose of in a patriotic American fashion. The three beer bottles and one used condom become cumbersome. I see a Romney Ryan sign in a yard. My initial reaction is, “Thank God for a Republican walker.” I knock on the door. I hear several locks unlock.
“Hello, I noticed your sign. I too am a Republican walker. I don’t want to burden the taxpayer with three empty beer bottles and one used condom. Can I give you this trash to be disposed of in a privatized manner?”
The woman glances at me, then at the condom and back at her five blonde blue-eyed children. In a nervous tone she says, “If you don’t get off my property I’m going to call the cops.”
I drop the the trash and run.
At the beach big waves are breaking and the harbor seals are barking. I’m tired. I want to sit down on the public bench or stretch out on the public sand. The only private space I can find is a restaurant that luckily has a deck with an ocean view. I look over the menu and see that there is nothing organic or local. I decide to get a baked potato because Idaho is a Republican state. I don’t understand why big farms tend to vote Republican. Big farms are synonymous with big government support. Shouldn’t agribusiness farms support the Democratic Party? Small local farms are synonymous with no government or small government. Republican walking is one thing but I don’t know if I’m ready to eat a big agribusiness Republican diet. I’m just going to enjoy my potato and hope that the cheese and sour cream covers up the taste of fertilizer, pesticides, GMOs, hormones, antibiotics, and illegal migrant workers.
I leave the beach disappointed. The beach in this area cannot be accessed by private land. My feet miss the feel of the sand and the splash of the water. There’s got to be some way for a one-percenter to buy up some oceanfront property, then charge us ninety-nine percenters a small fee to walk on their beach. It’s not fair that only the welfare walkers can enjoy the beaches in this area.
I start my trek home midday underneath the blazing sun. I become insanely thirsty for some water. I stop at the gas station convenience store. A bottle of flavored water costs three dollars. Refreshed, I round the corner to see a family in nice Gap clothes, obviously lower-middle class. They are lined up in front of the public drinking fountain. I mutter, “Fucking free loaders. They can afford Gap clothes and probably have cable TV but can’t buy water. That woman, who calls herself a mother, needs to get her tubes tied if she can’t provide water for her kids without government assistance. It’s that family’s welfare walking antics and a socialist-leaning walking government that is destroying this country.”
I yell, “Victory to the Republican walker!” as I march down the street.