Top Secret


Top Secret


On this night is come to you,

Packaged up with care,

Enveloped here,

Nice and clear,

Messages for you.


Exactly what? You want to know,

Can I have to say?

A secret note.

Read what I wrote.

Eventually you will know.


Folded, hidden, secretly

Underneath these lines.

Lines that hide,

Lo, I tried…

You should read me vertically.


This is Revolution



This is Revolution


It’s time we stood up

to all those naysayers

who sit down.

Tell me who’s right:

the peanut butter or the jelly?

Lobsters! All of them.

Snapping like overstrung rubber-bands.

Guess what? It’s time to show them

who’s got the best aim with a rubber-band.

Pour on that vitamin D.

Drown them in sunlight so deep

they’ll be screaming “Trix are for kids”

before they ever fall asleep.

And when they do, they better pray,

pray we brought our erasers,

‘cause I can draw a smiley face

in permanent ink on a cardboard box

shorter than any of you.

Are you with me?


Take your thumbtack to the world

And sing the song of freedom.

Staple it to the ground.

Remember: A gourd well-grown is a soup in the fire.

Love this like tinfoil;

Let it broil,

and when it’s cooked,

smell the grass

and know that




This is Revolution.


Out to Lunch {Flash Fiction}


Out to Lunch

“Can I get you something to drink, Mr. Randal?” the waitress asked.

“No thanks ma’am,” he said, “I got some juice boxes out in the truck.”

The waitress clicked her pen into her apron pocket and forced a smile while three boys in flannel shirts at a nearby table raised eyebrows at each other. That old man in jeans and work boots couldn’t possibly be the Mr. Randal. That old creep never came into town.

The three boys fell silent when they heard the bell over the door jangle as Mr. Randall returned to his table through the empty restaurant with a six-pack of juice boxes.

They couldn’t hide their silence and neither could he as he slurped the bottom of his juice box. Setting the empty box down on the table, Mr. Randal turned to the three boys.

“Did I ever tell you about the time them crickets chewed a picture of the Mona Lisa herself into my wheat field?” The three boys shook their heads no, so Mr. Randall launched into story.

He was just finishing another story, one about the time his rooster decided to crow at sunset, when the tired waitress returned to take his order.

“Yes, I’ll have them kid’s chicken nuggets on an adult-sized plate. The old gizzard can’t handle more than six or seven nuggets at a time anymore.” Mr. Randal patted his stomach and the waitress hurriedly jotted down his order.

Mr. Randal kept on telling stories to the boys as the mid-afternoon haze crept in through the windows, even when the waitress brought his food. With nothing to do in the empty restaurant, the waitress sat down at a table in the corner pretending to read Gone with the Wind. Soon though, Mr. Randal’s home-cooked stories filled the air and she gave up the pretense of reading, undid the string of her apron, and settled into her chair with her eyes closed, listening to a story about the time his neighbor’s pig jumped the fence on Halloween and chased away the trick-or-treaters.

The waitress chided herself for dozing off on the job, but no one would care. The restaurant was still empty. She stood up, stretching her arms and moved to clear the tables. As she was clearing Mr. Randal’s table she discovered a napkin with the word TIP scrawled on it alongside an unopened juice box. The waitress just shook her head and smiled, tucking the juice box into her apron pocket for later. What a story to share.


The General Slocum Slough


The S.S. General Slocum was a passenger steamboat that caught fire and sank in the East River in New York. The disaster caused the largest loss of life in New York until the terrorist attacks of 9-11 nearly 100 years later.

Inspired by the story of the S.S. General Slocum, composer Charles Ives wrote an incredibly descriptive and unnerving piece of music to tell the story of the disaster. As you listen to the piece, you hear the sounds of the party aboard the ship, conflicting sounds from the shore and otherships until the boat crashes and sinks. He does this by having multiple melodies going on at once in different keys, which adds to the conflict and sense of impending catastrophe.

One of the other pieces that is referenced in this poem include Debussy’s “La cathédrale engloutie” (literally “The Swallowed Cathedral”) which tells the story of a Gothic cathedral which rises up out of the ocean (or as I like to picture it, a swamp) and then sinks back down. See the link below.

The third piece that is referenced is “The Flight of the Bumblebee” by Rimsky-Korsakov. The title is pretty self-explanatory.

And now for the poem:


The General Slocum Slough


It’s not that I don’t love

the commotion of The General Slocum,

but it is rather slow in coming

and jarring to the ear and running

rather longer than it ought to run.

Ought to run away.

Take the fortissimo

and scram.

With The Flight of the Bumblebee

and La Cathédrale Engloutie

as limits,

reaching for futurity

without compromising.


Desensitization is not

decisively  beautiful;

it is tacitly futile,

like drinking frozen castor oil.

Or not.

It is the General Slocum slough.


Evinrüd {Sheet Music}



“Evinrude” is a hymntune I wrote a while ago. The name itself means “Riverboat”. I can’t seem to write words for it, so if you come up with some, feel free to share!

Sidenote: It has no real title, so it is called “Irish Hymn” in the sheet music in the meantime.

The sheet music link is below:

Evinrude [PDF]


Some Say It

Google Translate is back. This time, Google Translate will be performing “Say Something” by A Great Big World. If you are unfamiliar with the song, check out the YouTube video below. It’s a one of my favorites from the past year and very sad song, but Google Translate has a knack for lightening the mood.

Some Say It

[Google Translate performs “Say Something” by A Great Big World]

I must say that.

You can give.

I want you to be.

They are everywhere!

I must say that.

 You can give.

So this is it.

This is a disaster.

I tripped.

I like to read; you should start.

I must say that.

 You can give.

Unfortunately, we did.

They are everywhere!

I speak.

I can give you my swallow-sense.

You are not in love.

And let us…

If possible?

And I—I cannot get upset.

And I’ll follow.

I must say that.

You can give.

I must say that you can give.

Some say it.


ERROR: title deleted



ERROR: title deleted


“It was my crime and I must pay for it”

“You are young and still have life to live; I am old and must soon die.”

“Please Grandfather, you must escape while you still can.”

The sound of a door opening and closing came from below.

“Quick! Give me your cloak! There is a rope just outside the window.”

“But Grandfather. . .”

“I do this because I love you. Go swiftly my son!”

The door creaked open just as the boy swung out the window.

He still had time.

There was still hope.

If only he could find that mango tree, he could

ERROR: it seems

that the remainder of

this masterpiece was lost

to meaningless characters

in the file conversion process.

please accept this emoticon

as a consolation for your trouble.







I sit in my chair

with my headphones on

and the sound off.


The world is soft outside my ears,

the gentle brush of skin on synthetics;

but the world is loud inside my ears,

the harsh battle of observation and synthesis.


At odds are what I am

and what I ought to be

—St. Helens, Everest, and Marianas—

A roaring aurora.

Colors painting or rending the sky

in applause.


Is flying to the sun an ascent to heaven

or the folly of Daedalus’ son?

A mere trick of wax and feathers?


Would King Midas laugh or cry

if he could hear the sounds of

my heart, my mind, and my ears,

as I sit in my chair

with my headphones on

and the sound off?



yayoi kusama_fireflies on the water

A while back I wandered into the Henry B. Plant Museum in Tampa, Florida. Inside, I found an empty room with a really cool, beat-up piano. I decided on the spot that I would record some video of myself playing the piano. I played several pieces, the first of which is the subject of today’s post.

Here is my cover of Owl City’s song “Fireflies”. It is a one-take, spur-of-the-moment adventure, with its fair share of bumps, but I think it turned out pretty well.



Google Gets Patriotic


The following poem was inspired by a poem in which the book Genesis in the Bible was fed through all the languages in Google Translate and then back into Englishm where the poet repunctuated it. I used the same method in creating this poem.

Note: For those of you who may not be familiar with The Gettysburg Address, here is an Wikipedia article to tell you more about it.

The Googlesburg Address

[The Gettysburg Address as told by Google Translate]

They did come from four continents,

and years ago,

our ancestors who were born in freedom,


creating Equal.

Jakarta shall constitute a country.

We dedicate

a two-time hassle

Engaged in a major civil war,

Fighting in a major location,

In situations,

On time.

In this case, life is life.

We’re doing things right.

At this point people sense the age.

It is not clear.

We cannot add life and death.

These brave men,

the poorest in my language or comment,

increase pleasant.

It’s time to erase a memory.

Here they fought people.

I do not forget it.

Give generously.

Committed, in the middle of a war and in the community

—it’s why they have a prepared death.

Died for naught.

Bonds in the dead.

Measures to meet obligations.

They are done.

In freedom march.

Play a major upload function.



Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 181 other followers

%d bloggers like this: