We're All Mad Here: (Picture #7) "Gluttony"


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

When I Was Your Age

"Can you get off your damn computer at all? I left this morning and you were sitting there. I came back and you're sitting there. There's plenty to do around the house! When I was your age- " It's easy to be discounted, Easy to be cheapened by seniority. And only in the land of the free do the elderly lobby vociferously from the disgruntled old age home studio, where their families dropped them off like preschoolers, never to be seen again - Forced to play tag in a treehouse made of alzheimers, misplaced dollars, laminated floors, and steel canes. Yet youth is the time of emotions, the time our limbs stretch out in grotesque, asymmetrical ways, ears flapping in the wind, teeth falling from the sky, hair growing grass-roots style, with little fervor and less intelligible direction. "When I was your age" is supposed to imply that everyone has been a child once, but therein lies the flaw. As Plato's pal escapes the cave of shadows born ane...
Read more

München Takeout

LA pigeons followed me to Munich's layer-cake grids and mile-high shopping districts. Smells of rental backseats turn to late nights in the city crawl surrounded by polite drunkards and beer-sworn allegiances. Folks grin with brushstrokes of various sauces on their flushed cheeks, midnight snacks finger-painted onto plastic cups that you can return to the bartender for 2 euros. I would say people are so eco-conscious here, but that assumption is clouded by the shared chimney dust of a nearby clique whose cigarette butts are still roasting, even on the cobbled road. I suppose the party never stops in this dreamy village-city. There are hardly any children, fewer homeless, and less so any sense of dread or anxiety when inebriated and wandering the mazing streets whose buildings huddle so close together it's a miracle the air could be cold at all. I feel that I am being whispered to as I wedge myself past lines of sirs and ladies waiting to use the nearest restroom, and restaura...
Read more

Lecture Language

Body language is more than a cue, More than a wave of the hand or arms. It often speaks as the name begets, Inflicting pain or mouthing charm. It is the instructor telling her class, "I shouldn't work harder than you," While cupping her eyes At the lower lip of their lids. Nosing up. Staring down. Wearing down the academe Who would not dare to make a scene Because the son at home is hungry, And Momma needs to make more money. Baby boy can't milk the breast of Promise and degree for long. He wants the taste of stress and sweat As much as the next helpless child. Maybe that's why Toddlers would crawl through mazes like mice To come upon a few sweet treats Because they are sick of Momma's tired teet. But she will work harder than the voice across the room. The ode to seniority. The air of superiority Which reduces Momma to a sponging mind and pencil. Whose task for now Is looking up longingly at the security That hovers over the...
Read more