Clayton Bigsby
While pissing
I hold my dick in my right hand.
I use my left hand to hold the
Toothbrush
that cleans my teeth.
And I think of contradictions.
Suntans
And
Racism.
A hint of poetry.
I originally wrote this poem for another blog. the blog is called 50 first words, you basically take a word or phrase and then write the first 50 words of a story pertaining to said word or phrase. The prompt for this particular poem was candlelit.
Candlelit
Candlelit cravings crept quickly
away while imagining the antiqued
purple rose petals strewn about
your pale-pale-
The constant quiet comes back,
the kitchen clock coughs,
the time is ten to ten pm.
Side by side the linguine
and chicken sit, sadly, lamenting
their cold skins as the candles
cry out goodbye.
Casting The Made For TV Moussaoui Movie
Hollywood Here I Come (Chatting with a casting director)
Cue the close up, cause I am ready!
Time to make me famous!
With all these Arab terrorists in movies
and on TV,
I feel it’s about time we cast an
actual Arab in these roles.
I come with credentials,
check out my name:
Abdul Rehman Mohammed Issa,
rolls off the tongue don't it?
Plaster that name on billboards and
I guarantee we’ll sell out theaters coast
to coast.
And check this,
my dad, his names Mohammed.
I come with an authentic Arabic lineage.
and
he is one of those devout Muslim guys.
You know the type, the ones that carry prayer rugs
wherever they go.
Where do I sign?
I mean come on, I so fit the
stereotype
of a
camel riding, Jihad joining, Flight school certificate holding
Dune Coon.
So pass me the turban and the pen,
I’m gonna be a star!
Do I speak Arabic?
Well, no,
but…
you want to cast my dad?
Might be a problem.
I haven’t um seen him since
I was six and he um
lives over in Saudi and
last I checked that’s a long drive from
Long Beach, CA.
Planes, are you serious?
I hate planes,
I hate flying.
My mom, yeah she speaks Arabic. But
she’s not what you’re looking for.
Trust me. Dude, she’s a white girl.
Blond haired blue eyed devil.
See me slip into character right there.
Well screw you too.
Look I’m sorry. I apologize for the
outburst.
Technically I’m half er a quarter Arab.
But…
Have a nice day?
Fuck you too buddy!
This was gonna be my big break,
I was gonna be a star.
Do I speak Spanish?
What the fuck do you mean
I look Hipanic?
Take this post with a grain of salt and a wink (considering this is my self indulgent blog)
A quick impersonation of myspace sites. Ahem,
Looooooooooooooooooook at meeeeeeeeeeeeeeee loooooooooooooooooooooooooook Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaammmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm sooooooooooo cooooooooooooooooooooooool and u rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr laaaaaaaammmmmmmmmmmmeeeeeeeeeeeeee sooooooooooooooooooo laaaaaaaaaaaaaammmmeeeeeeee. Looooooooooooook atttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttt meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiikeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee coooooooooooooooooooool people that do nooooooooooooooooooot suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuckie people rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr soooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaame. Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaameeeeeeeeeeeeee.
In closing, I'll probably have a myspace website I can call my own before you know it (no lame or suckie people though). I'd also like to use this time to pose a question for anyone bored enough to slog through this post, would anyone be interested in a column of quotes from myspace sites? That site is a gold mine for satirists.
Campy quote
Hutch, somebody ran over my brother in a horse-drawn carriage. I'm going to find whoever it was and I'm going to hurt them
- courtesy of some guy in the should of gone straight to DVD (Duh-Vuh-Duh) movie "Stay Alive."
Now I didn't see the movie but I appreciate it for the quotable nugget it's birthed (kind of like how Hansel from Zoolander hasn't heard Sting's music but he appreciates him for making music). I guess this is my way of saying that something beautiful can be found in the ugliest of situations or in this case the ugliest of movies.
I wrote it but I have no idea what this poem is about
Here to There
I start at
the smallest toe
on my left foot.
The toe with the
crescent shaped, brown
and purple discolored,
bent, broken-
possibly broken,
possibly by severe stubbing
or falling.
The journey?
More mystery in that,
to me
it must be winding,
with
sharp
turns, steep precipes
to scale. Train tracks
and tunnels included
but unaware of where
to plot
their points. Must be
amazing, this mystery
of a journey, a-
mazing.
…It ends at the ear
on the edge of the
right
side of my head, bat like
structure, stalagmites
and tites
of skin folds
crease the crevice
filled cavern.
Deep deep dark, like a
gouged earthen rape.
Same way the Grand Canyon
gashed a perfect plain
and left a deep deep dark
wound without
heal.
Just another manic poem
Little Attics
In my mind, of my design.
Built to house moments of time
which hurt and blurt both
silent and spoken.
Each attic tucked in my ears
houses a memory steeped
in fear. A friend abusing his girl
with words he hurled
through her heart.
I should be shouting
"Shut Up!"
to the prick who thinks it's okay
to yell
BITCH
at the mother of his
child,
when she acts mild and meek
and waits on his temper-losing control
he beats and he beats
and
she takes and she takes.
And I wonder,
who is wrong? And
who is to blame? Which is why
my shame is so high. I let this go on,
pretending not to hear
the fear
in her voice, as it
quakes. And I know that
her mistake, is love.
So I smile
stuck uncomfortably here.
My desire to run is what
shunts me from going.
Why do I not interject?
Is it fear of respect being
lost in the eyes of my friend?
But, who needs a friend more?
She,
me,
or he?
I dim the lights
and close the attic door.
The loudness fades
and the drama
plays on
within and
without
me.
Ah a blogging binge
Ars Cer
(The Art of Bitterness)
Myspace.com, where
your asshole ex, just posted
pics, of her next ex.
Lazy Sunday
I search for inspiration, staring at the ceiling, at 3am.
God bless the American haiku. Seventeen syllables and I can say I’ve done a days work. Yep, did my post for day, now its time to rest up, don’t want to sprain an eyelid or something while watching basketball. How embarrassing would that be? Being rushed to the ER with a possible March Madness related injury, like a ruptured hangnail due to sloppy technique while dipping your Tostitos into six or seven layer salsa dip. It’s only a matter of time before Dickie V. is offering analysis on ESPN 9’s coverage of the NCAA sanctioned Six Layer Bean and Salsa Western Regionals, ” It’s awesome baby, Redick was PTP through the first four layers baby, his follow through while scooping that sour cream was super-scintillating-sensational-baby.” So sleepy now. Too much writing, must-go-lie-down.
