Now For Something Completely Different...

I’m having an affair.

I’ve been married for twelve years. And happily I might add.
What I did was bred from necessity.

It happened one night around 8:30 PM. And what we do in the dark, we don’t want exposed by the light.. But once you’ve done something over and over again without getting caught, the deed becomes easier, and the guilt strays.

I was in my car returning from the grocery store. In the plastic bags on the seat beside me was an assortment of items six months prior I would have never thought about digesting. There were ingredients for making chick pea and hummus soup. I don’t even know what the hell hummus is. Free-range farm-fresh eggs. As if these handpicked hens could poop better eggs than the ones on the south side of the farm. Lastly, a tube of meatless turkey. Can you imagine? Turkey with no meat. Meatless. A complete contradiction in terms. And in a tube, for crap’s sake. Meatless meat in a tube. All of the items a result of my wife’s new health kick. And she was dragging me with her, kicking and screaming.

I drove around town awhile, listening to a CD, taking the perimeter home instead of a straight shot through. That’s when I saw her, like a beacon in the night.

She was golden and glorious, and stood twelve feet tall. She was whispering my name. I just answered the call. My heart pounding like a drum. Tha-thump, tha-thump, tha-thump.

She said, drive forward, pull around. I never felt so hungry. I never felt so alive. I was greeted with a smile.

“What do you want?” she asked. I gave her my request.

“Can I interest you in something more?” she cooed.

“No,” I said. I shouldn’t have come here. “Just give me what I ordered.”

I handed her a five. It was the moment of truth. I should have driven off.

But sometimes life is built on a string of shoulda’s. Line them all up, and you have something to be quite proud of, or disgusted with. Depends on your persective. Like the glass is half full, half empty thing. I’ve never understood that. I don’t fill glasses with water anyway. I drink straight from the faucet, my head bent over the sink like a dog lapping at the water.

She came back. The pleasure of taste and smell were too much. I found somewhere to park, behind an alley. A perfect place for a crime such as this. I reached over, tore off her clothing, like yellow paper, tossed it aside, and brought her up to my mouth, watering like a flood. I took my first bite. Like Eve with the apple of despair.

But my apple was a quarter-pounder with cheese.

Yes. I was having an affair with a hamburger.

what are the chances?

The promises I make in the morning
seem to have no effect on the
decisions I make at night.
I should get the two together
and introduce them over a cup of
coffee and a slice of pie.
Maybe then my life would
start to make some sense.

numb

The patient days
and endless nights
always have the same
result,
a body waking,
lying in bed,
knowing the best
move to make today
is the first one.
Everything
after is pure
guessing.

continuation

I'm dancing with the devil
and sleeping with the angels
keeping the margin between us
nominally sound

writing after midnight

It's the dead of night
and the heat blowing on my legs
dries my skin to the "nth" degree
but warmth is a good trade-off
for the pleasure of sitting in the
glow of you, spilling forth my
secrets.

the end

She said her grandpa wore diapers.
She said he had a dirty mouth,
and liked to hit her with a cane.
It made her cry,
it made her want to scrape her
fingernails across his face,
It made her love him even more.
The end was near,
but she'd trade all the pain in the world,
for one more day.

Decade Plus Two

The wedding anniversary brought about
the watching of the twelve year-old video
recorded from the back of the church
by the uncle trying to hide behind the fake ferns
while trying to capture the essence of the
event on this most important of days.
The tape was worn down now, and the colors
had turned orange over time.
He saw people in the crowd he didn't
remember attending,
hugs being given he didnt
remember receiving.
But what bothered him most was
the person standing in front of the sanctuary
dressed in black and white,
no more than a few years into adulthood,
behaving as if this day's routine
was as normal as brushing one's teeth or
finding a matching pair of socks in the basket of laundry.
Who was that man?
Why didn't he show any sign of emotion?
No tears shed,
no longing embraces.
Just simple indifference on this last day of winter.
And the beautiful woman standing beside him,
holding desparately onto his hand
with white knuckles showing.
Did she know that,
on her wedding day,
she was marrying a corpse?

Might have been a Mistake

Those high heels and jeans
were a pretty good combination
They made you look smart and sophisticated
chatting away on your cell phone
At least until
you stepped on that tiny rock
lost your footing
and fell over in the middle of the
Whole Foods Market parking lot.
Don't worry, though
that scar on your forehead will
heal in no time
and cold tap water should get the blood
out of your high-dollar blouse.

You're right, I'm left, She's gone

My muse has left me.
Either she is taking an extended vacation,
or she found another
I have tried to find a replacement
but not one has brought words to me
like Kate
I gave an older muse a chance
but she was confused and smoked
through a bong every night
I also tried an intellectual muse
one well-versed in things like
Chaucer and biochemical engineering
but she had a potty mouth
One I thought had promise
but she kept going on and on about
all the writers what came before me
and I hated being compared to others
Lastly, the brunette got out of
the musing business altogether
I think she became a Scientologist
or something
So until Kate returns
or I find a worthy replacement
I will continue
to write this drivel.

The Emergent Revolution

Been reading alot about the emergent church movement as of late. It has crept up in many conversations, so I've been doing some research. I think the whole idea started in the Northwest somewhere, where all great ideas emerge, namely Starbucks. It's amazing how quickly the emergent church idea has spread across the Great Plains. Like a flame that licks along a newspaper.

I've tried to get a grip on the thing. From what I can tell, there is confusion and disension even among it's originators. I think the concept is beautiful. The church wanting to reach the world instead of simply ministering to the already faithful. To be honest, the church hasn't figured that part out very well either.

The emergents also encourge those that attend a "dead" church to leave. This is where it gets tricky, in my opinion. Some would say leave the church altogethre and find God in your own way using your own methods. Some would say continue to gather with believers in home churches. Others still want you to search until you find a healthy church and then become a member of that community.

The paths are different, but it seems the destination is the same--a closer relationship and a deeper understanding of God and his Son, Jesus. If that is the pursuit, can it really be all that bad?

Cheyenne

Went to an incredibly perfect coffee shop this afternoon while in Cheyenne. I was the kind of place where you hope it's going to be what you had in mind, and it turns out to exceed your expectations by a clean mile. My friend Jeff works there. He's been on the job for five weeks and already has turned into quite the barista. Very meticulous about his measuring and tamping and temperature. Everything must be just so. And the beans are perfect, with a beautiful shine about them as they glisten in the lights of the cafe. I bought a bag to churn at home.

My coffee of choice is always white chocolate mocha. This is the drink I measure all coffeehouses by. I'm most familiar with it's taste, the sweet nectarific blend of all things good. (Nectarific is a my new word.) Let me tell you, the white choco mocha I had there rivaled all others. Especially, (dare I say it?) Starbucks.
I encourage you, if you ever are ever in Cheyenne, go to Synergy Cafe. It's in the northern part of town, right off I-25. There's a little rasta-lookin' dude with dreadlocks on the sign.

When you go, tell them the "Great Plains Drifter" sent you. They won't have a clue what you mean, but it will be fun anyway. Trust me. You won't regret it.

bro*ken

What if we had
no guidance, no direction, no model
to follow but the media man and the culture gods?
Only television, Internet, music, movies.
I've seen it.
There is an unknown world out there
and I am absolutey afraid.
A world that I occasionally glimpse
out of curiousity, stupidity, or pure accident.
I know I'm different. I am not a part of here,
but from another place, a there.
But it still scares me.
Are we all really lost?
Is it possible there is much less
good that I thought in the world?
What does it all mean?
Why are we like this?
We are broken.
And our brokeness has not been restored.
We are children in grown-up bodies.
All trying to impress each other,
all trying to fill the hole.
All trying to either find the meaning of life,
or disregard it altogether.
My own brokeness lies beneath the surface.
It never goes away.
It just hides underneath.
Waiting for its opportunity.
Its always there.
Only one thing can restore me.
And its the one thing I fear the most.