Roly-Poly

Endangered,
becoming radlerified by the dozens,
the pulsating schooner and
soon-to-be beer schnitzel founder matrix
has gotten one step closer to inverting
McGillicuddy’s flounder station ingress.

Something like a flower empowerment extravaganza
for the sake of all that is roly-poly
and nothing much more than that unless
you’re really looking for a tangential crime
to pin on the succulent ape tendril, chilled
(in season between September and July).

I poured myself a Laura Palmer and sprang into action,
working harder–certainly–than any chimp I’d ever seen
(though still a paltry output when compared to our founder
and glorious leader, Ubaldo: Eagle Veterinarian to the Stars).

Just Fine

Chicken cartridges
bestow great tidings
upon the nevertheless grand
mineral campaign engineers,
even if you choose to ignore them,
just like so many others out there.
What a callous move to make
if you want to get anywhere
in this city council race.
These chicken cartridges
could just be our ticket
to easy street, fella.
Just calm down and
do as I say,
and we’ll be fine.
Just fine.

Typecast

A palletful of organized criminals has just suffered the worst possible fate imaginable–at least from the vantage point of an ordinary human with access to some kind of means (or even just innate privilege). The fate? To be typecast as tycoons when they’d really prefer to just joust about with their bodacious buddies at their weekly jousting outing. Is that too much to ask? The sunflowers sure don’t think so, no sir. No sir, indeed. Just catch up to that vacant laundry (propelled by propane gas) and hand me that cheddar–while we’re young. The cheddar, however, must be somewhat aged (24 months, or best offer). It will complement the sunflower seeds we’ve sown over the past couple months. That, and the red-berry jelly.

Youse

The caddie to-do wasn’t ever much more
than an anglerfishworth of gender trappings;
our souls’ faint inner-shirkings
beg to interrupt the rat race formula
so conveniently laid out for us.

Failure is a foregone conclusion
when you stack the chips a certain way.
Of course, we all must stray
from our internal clocks

for the convenience of our plutocratic overlords.
Demean yourself so you can put food on the table,
then you’ll be the richest of us all, I tells ya.

Then maybe one day you can afford
to take a ride on the merry-go-round
of solid gold. Only one ride though,
are you crazy? We’re not running a charity here.

Or perhaps it would be easier to imagine that we are,
if that’ll help you sleep at night. Anything
to shut youse up for a couple hours, you’re exhausting.
Now go play with the TV in the other room for a while,
and try not to get electrocuted like last time.

The High Road

An intricate series of hoofprints
on the stale lithograph
we’ve come to call home
has bled insignificantly–
but not unnoticeably.

Yes, that’s correct. Hoofprints
have bled just enough
for this observer to comment.

Now, I’m aware that there are countless crackpots
who espouse the virtues of anti-vaxxers and birthers,
and this would be right up their alley.
However, I choose to take the high road.

A wise individual once told me
that the low road is the slipperiest,
because the maintenance people need to mop
more often than on the high one

(they have the kind of smelly chemical
floor cleaner that doesn’t dry as quickly
(and they’re always out of wet floor signs)).

Strange New World

Hey folks, hope you’re all doing well in this strange new world we inhabit. This is a checking-in kind of post, where I spill my guts about my creative progress.

I suppose it would have been a good idea to make some kind of goal for this year, but that all flew out the window around these parts in about mid-March. My enthusiasm for the craft suffered, which is funny when you consider that I was doing less to occupy myself than ever before (which you’d think would contribute to a more robust oeuvre, but I ended up atrophying more than anything).

I’ve had plenty of times in the past where I’ve fallen into a ravine of amotivational behavior, and this here pandemic was all I needed to justify my paltry output.

That all being said, I’ve decided to retroactively give myself a goal to accomplish–one that’s already been accomplished! Wow, I did it!

The goal I’d just concocted is/was to reach 1,031 total posts by Halloween, 10/31/2020. Yes, I’m aware that this dating style is backwards for some of you, but it was just too convenient not to use.

The main takeaway from my creative career has been to stop seeking significance in every little detail of every little thing. Of course you can extrapolate and discover the innate meaning of the universe in pretty much anything, but those things need to be brought to life in order for you and others to dissect it in such an insane manner. My issue has always resembled getting bogged down in the significance of the idea/piece before actually composing it (sometimes without even jotting down a single word, losing it forever).

That makes for a nice segue into my new-ish passion of drawing! I’ve posted 15 drawings (as of this post) in the past 3-4 weeks, which has really been a nice cushion for helping me to exploit the algorithms.

Aside: I’ve always been aware of the power of algorithmic computing, but I’ve chosen to ignore it because I’m either too stubborn or I think my work will suffer as a result of the “interconnectivity” and “engagement”. Who even knows anymore? I’ve decided to cave in and tag the bejesus out of my work now, and I feel that all traffic is good traffic (unless it’s a bot or something, but WordPress is a great engine for helping me identify organic viewership anyway, so whatever).
Additional aside: the number of unique tags assigned to my posts has shot up to over 8,300, and soon I’ll be able to say “IT’S OVER 9,000!!!!!!”

The execution of my drawings has definitely improved since the beginning of quarantine and all that jazz, so I figured I might as well exploit those skills on the intarwebs, as they’ve been met with universal praise in my personal circles. But that drags us into the conversation about people’s friends and families blowing smoke up their artistic asses even if the work sucks. I’ve always had that kind of thought on the back burner when people compliment my work, since I have a perfectionist bent (and perfection is impossible, so that kinda sucks).

In conclusion, I’ve become inspired to keep on chugging with my work. Even though the internal naysaying is just as strong as ever, this feels like a sustainable model for providing “content” to “the world”. The fact that I have to refer to my work as “content” kind of makes me want to vomit, but I suppose we need to exist within the times.

Cheers, everyone!

-Aidan