Tuesday, April 12, 2011


For the last three weeks, while getting ready to move into my new place, I've been staying with my parents in the KC 'burbs, and this is, hands down, the most consecutive time I've spent with them since I moved out ten years ago. 

For the most part, they're normal folks, but I'm starting to notice some of their quirks.

For example, my mom's morning routine includes drinking coffee and watching the weather while brushing the cat, and at least once a week my dad brings home leftovers from his neighborhood hangout, announcing to an indifferent audience, "I've got livers and gizzards. Who wants some?" He has also been known to enjoy the occasional episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer (though he'll tell you it's my mom).

Last night after brushing my teeth in their bathroom, I found them stretched out in their respective recliners watching Dancing with Desperate Former Celebrities, or something like that. I had discovered something peculiar that demanded an explanation.

Me: "Do I even want to know why there's a giant Tylenol bottle by the sink labeled 'POISON?'"

My mom, who throws away everything on the exact date it expires, pointed to my dad, whose advice for eating past-prime foods is "just cut the mold off and it will be fine."

Dad: "That's mine."

Me: "Why do you have poison in the bathroom?"

Mom: *shakes her head* "Your father..."

Dad: "It expired, and your mother was going to throw it away. I told her I'd keep it."

Me: "So it's not really poison?"

Dad: "Your mother thinks it is." 

Monday, April 11, 2011

splitting molecules

Yes, I know I will be fine. Yes, I know it gets better with time. Yes, I know I can be strong blah blah; I don't need someone else to be happy blah; it was probably for the best blah vomit blah; and I'm gradually moving on with my life blah blah facedesk, but the truth remains: Getting dumped by someone you love fucking sucks, and I'm not going to pretend like it doesn't.

Three years later,
you fit in a box.
I taped you shut
while I wait
for a blanket to become
just a blanket again,
or a necklace
just a necklace.

For now these
cold metal
paper postcard
hard plastic
combing through my hair
with the rigid fingers
of ghosts.

I’ve been trimmed away like fat,
but you’re still in the
water I drink.

Monday, April 4, 2011

mud rock

Note: Know how I know this shit you're about to read is insane? It is pretty much the exact plot of a sleep adventure I had last night after taking melatonin, which boasts a side effect of "vivid dreams or nightmares." Seriously -- you gotta try it.
Beneath the town of Easton runs a long, underground tunnel called Mud Rock Run. The name comes from a local legend: The tunnel runs flat and dirty for several miles with a thin, sludge-filled stream cutting through the silt-covered floor, ominously calm, as though stalking invisible prey.

Then the pathway gets narrower – we told Billy that might be a problem for him, being such a fat-ass – and the water starts spewing from above with the strength of ten trains. If you can find your footing on the sharp, slippery rocks and forge upward through the waterfall, you’ll reach a plateau at the top, and there’s the Mud Rock: shimmering, ten feet tall, made of solid gold and balanced on its edge like a ballerina en pointe.   

We would call it a natural wonder, if it weren’t so obviously a mistake.

Friday, April 1, 2011

strange days

I'm naturally a depressive person, but even though these are dark days in the life of Lutz, I'm working on it.

These things help (and seriously, if you have no room in your heart for cute cat pictures, I have no room in my heart for you):

Little Lady Phoenix lends a hand.

Bubbie is real serious about cleaning his belly fluff.

Like a lazy junkie, Fifi spends the whole damn day in bed.

"Runaway train, never comin' back..."
Yeah, I was a teenager in the 90s.