Running out of True

Amy (Lucy’s Football) has written a book of poems which I suggest you do NOT read unless you want to find yourself crying because the moon leaves the sun notes to buy milk. Reading Amy’s book has left me feeling poetic and sentimental. So today, rather than producing a sarcastic tirade, I will write ramblings based on Amy’s poems. This is okay, however. Ken said once that I know how to forget my blog voice for a post or two and alienate my readers. I’m pretty sure he meant it as a compliment.

Because this post is dedicated to (and partially lifted from) Amy’s book, Out of True, those of you who DID NOT read the book will be totally confused. That is what you get for not buying and reading a perfectly good book.

Actually, I’m not even sticking to the same poem. I picked random parts from the book and tossed them in with absolutely no forethought or logic. Therefore those of you that DID read the book will be totally confused. That is what you get for buying and reading books.

At any rate… here you go… happy alienation…

Running out of True

There is magic somewhere in the hush of an early pink morning, but we cycle through days never noticing. We hurry underneath the magic of wispy clouds moving across the sky, lit by early morning sun. Children will be late for school if we look at clouds. Somewhere there is magic in five quiet saints frozen in time, but the world would surely crumble if we took the time to listen to their hushed voices. Frozen saints talk very slow, most likely.

Frozen saints are way too quiet to get my attention. The radio blasts loud in my car as it races along its path to work. Always heading to some other place to be, there is limited time available to notice the edge of a woman’s skirt dragging in the grass.

The moon and the sun keep spinning, just missing each other in their long distance romance. Their dance of unfulfilled yearning is what marks my days. Just as the moon leaves its note for the sun, I wake up to an alarm, check the weather on my iPhone, and drop a frozen waffle in a toaster. Somewhere, there are angels scraping stars from their shoes. They must be far from here. I look up to see scattered stars, but there is only a clock ticking down the minutes until I am late and failing. Must move faster.

One day, when the time seems right, Amy will give back her icy saints. Shivering, one of them will raise a hand to speak. Most likely we will rush right past them, eager to embrace the futility of another day.

Or… maybe things will be different. Amy will catch the angels dancing on ink and box up the scattered stars from their shoes. The moon and sun will find a way to be together and get a nice house in the suburbs. The saints will warm their hands in the spring sun and tell their secrets. Your heart can quit lurching forward. You can rest.

Other people posting random things about Amy’s work:

travelling with Out of True as it was intended – LAHIKMAJOE

Magpie heart –

That is what you get for writing a book, Amy.

A Dollar Make Me Holler

What happened to TV while I wasn’t paying attention?

This all started when the person I share a cubicle with at work asked me, “Do you know Bon Qui Qui?” To which I said, “I dunno. Does she work here?” This happens a lot actually. Because I am not watching YouTube, apparently I have no idea what is going on in the world. So, he directs me to this rather amusing video and we all have a nice laugh.

Bon Qui Qui at King Burger

I particularly like the part how the dude at the end states he is no longer under house arrest. I don’t know about you, but that is how I pick my men.

So, later on in the week, this same individual asks if I have seen, Here Comes Honey Boo Boo. “No,” I innocently reply. So… a brief Google search reveals what people are watching on television these days:

Here is the TLC Promo Trailer:

That was only the trailer. If you look a little below this paragraph, you will notice another YouTube link. This will fully explain the whole disturbing thing. DON’T click it yet! Before you proceed, I must warn you that once you watch this on YouTube, you can never un-see it. Never. Remember that time  you were reading and suddenly people’s torsos were burning up and you were looking at a bunch of legs sitting there? This is EXACTLY like that. Only with a strange little child that can’t enunciate. And no one spontaneously catches on fire.
“A dollar make me holler, BABY.” Really? You are going to train your kid to say that and then send her out on stage with a halter top and a pair of daisy dukes? Also, is a dollar even a respectful price point for hollering? You’d think it would be more than that.

Worst of all, this is on TLC…. The LEARNING Channel! At least, I think TLC still stands for The Learning Channel. What am I supposed to be learning from all of this? Granted, it is almost a reference guide for turning a six-year-old into a stripper, but I don’t think this is anything I need to know. I don’t even have a little girl, much less one that I want to train to be a stripper. I’m sure I could start some sort of outreach program or something, but I really don’t have time for all that. So, let’s just say I DON’T want to start a stripper training outreach program for six-year olds. Thank you anyway, TLC. Maybe next time you can have a show about how to get started with the meth labs, because THAT is something worth looking into.


A shirt for all the self-respecting six-year-olds. I tried to make it into a halter top but the words wouldn’t fit.