why do i have "whistle as you work" stuck in my head?
Today I found a guy who has published 2 poetry anthologies, but apparently has spent most of this year on X-Files poems. He has a lot! This is my favorite:
"Everything Is Weird"
Wolf Boy is allergic to shaving cream and that’s sad because how will he shave off the wolf parts of him? An entire episode with fake thunder. Everyone and everything is in black and white because maybe they couldn’t fit color into the budget because maybe Mulder wanted more silk in his suit or maybe the fake thunder cost too much. Sometimes the fake thunder sounds like a wooden rollercoaster and sometimes it sounds like tin cans tied together with shoelaces but that doesn’t make sense because the fake thunder always sounds the same, so what the fuck? Facts: There is always a burrito in me, it’s easier to drink from a mug than a bottle when you’re already drunk, and cutting a woman in half will not get you two women. Between the fake thunder, the doctor says to his wife What do you want, a baby or a Nobel Prize? His wife cries on the comforter because a Nobel Prize doesn’t cry on a comforter or in a crib or in the sink that is being used as a bathtub. They’re burning corpses and it takes forever to get the dental records, so it’s just yellow body bags on top of yellow body bags. Something about a resistance and faceless men. This is a different episode. First degree burns and I’d still touch Scully on the small of her back. These moments are too obvious. Every episode I write ends with me doing the dishes while Dana sorts the laundry. After the credits I use pillow talk as a verb while Dana uses my chest as a pillow. She never lets me call her Scully in bed.
In one of his blog posts he says "i feel shitty, here’s another unpublished X-Files poem. if you are a journal or a press & you want to see more X-Files poems, let me know." Which is basically poet code for "I've written a shit ton of X-Files poems because I'm a little obsessed so it'd be great if ya'll would take some off my hands." I like them because there's a certain shared consciousness to them, you know? I feel close to them. Because I am. (There are a couple more, if you are intrigued.)
Today I also bought some shoes:
when I picked them off the sale shelf my best friend was like "wow Zanza you are so predictable I COULD HAVE PICKED THOSE OUT OF A LINEUP" but... I feel like if my predictable is sunset platform shoes, I am doing pretty well in life.
"Everything Is Weird"
Wolf Boy is allergic to shaving cream and that’s sad because how will he shave off the wolf parts of him? An entire episode with fake thunder. Everyone and everything is in black and white because maybe they couldn’t fit color into the budget because maybe Mulder wanted more silk in his suit or maybe the fake thunder cost too much. Sometimes the fake thunder sounds like a wooden rollercoaster and sometimes it sounds like tin cans tied together with shoelaces but that doesn’t make sense because the fake thunder always sounds the same, so what the fuck? Facts: There is always a burrito in me, it’s easier to drink from a mug than a bottle when you’re already drunk, and cutting a woman in half will not get you two women. Between the fake thunder, the doctor says to his wife What do you want, a baby or a Nobel Prize? His wife cries on the comforter because a Nobel Prize doesn’t cry on a comforter or in a crib or in the sink that is being used as a bathtub. They’re burning corpses and it takes forever to get the dental records, so it’s just yellow body bags on top of yellow body bags. Something about a resistance and faceless men. This is a different episode. First degree burns and I’d still touch Scully on the small of her back. These moments are too obvious. Every episode I write ends with me doing the dishes while Dana sorts the laundry. After the credits I use pillow talk as a verb while Dana uses my chest as a pillow. She never lets me call her Scully in bed.
In one of his blog posts he says "i feel shitty, here’s another unpublished X-Files poem. if you are a journal or a press & you want to see more X-Files poems, let me know." Which is basically poet code for "I've written a shit ton of X-Files poems because I'm a little obsessed so it'd be great if ya'll would take some off my hands." I like them because there's a certain shared consciousness to them, you know? I feel close to them. Because I am. (There are a couple more, if you are intrigued.)
Today I also bought some shoes:
when I picked them off the sale shelf my best friend was like "wow Zanza you are so predictable I COULD HAVE PICKED THOSE OUT OF A LINEUP" but... I feel like if my predictable is sunset platform shoes, I am doing pretty well in life.