Play this whilst reading.

8 11 2011 8 54 PM by Reid May

Saturday, October 15, 2011

Up Hill and Against the Wind

(Listen to audio here)

Jumped on the horse.
Up hill and against the wind.
At the stop,
Sweet and sour cologne found my snout,
Leaves approached and passed,
As did automobiles.

Circled the castle
And stormed the walls
And slay a beast.

Retreat to fight another day.

(An abstract mall poem)

Sunday, October 9, 2011

Are You a God?

(Listen to audio here)

The cop in front of me in line at the coffee shop said, "I'm sick," in response to the barista's auto-greeting-question.  Then he got free tea, as usual, I'll bet.  Or maybe there are a few, kind, working-class baristas left in the world, who give free drinks to cops, on their dimes, in exchange for a little extra security for the rest of us at the  cafe.

The only thing more interesting is the potential meeting happening with the owners of two vehicles in the lot, who happen to parked next to each other, who's licence plates are LIECHSR and (handicap-symbol)RUAGOD.

And the only thing that could top that would be if the DMV randomly issued those plate ID's.

Goodbye cops.

And by the way, that's what you get when you drink tea.

Sunday, September 25, 2011

Symphony of Souls

(Listen to audio here)

The reasons for which half the leaves on a tree remain in Summer, While the rest turn into Autumn may be scientifically explained, just as to why the sky is still grey even when the sun is up.  But as long as I cannot explain it, the observation is a youthful one, a wonder.

Classic beauty is easy to distinguish.  Watch the trends in T.V., art, fashion, music, architecture, radio, automobiles, technology, literature, movies, interior design, photography, web and graphic design, cuisine, hair styles (including facial and body), and pornography.
Shape and color, sound, smell, feel, and taste.
Can beauty bypass the senses?  Beauty may be experienced by the mind using representations of what the senses can interpret.
It is classic beauty because a majority agrees it has represented beauty for an extended period of time.
Other types of beauty include: original, unique, "in the eye of the beholder."
A unique or original beauty may only be perceived by a unique or original mind.  This can only occur upon some thing in existence, either physically or mentally.  A unique or original mind may then perceive the thing as beautiful and attempt to translate its perception to others as beautiful.  If there is any agreement, the thing has a chance of becoming classically beautiful.

It's colder tonight than it has been in a while.
Even in Suburbia you can hear the sirens wail at night.
It's about all I hear, aside from an occasional Big-Rig hauling down the freeway a half-mile away from the house, and crickets in the yard, and the second hands of clocks, ticking away at sixty beats per minute.
I lay in bed, my eyes reading a book to my brain, regularly distracted with thte question, "Is what I do important?"
I also miss my friend who gave me that book.  And now that I mention it, he's an asshole.  So I don't miss him much any more.

"Symphony of Souls" by this guy.

Tuesday, August 30, 2011

The Early Crow

The crow is the first and the loudest of many birds to perch on top of the tallest tree in the morning.

This if preceded ten minutes by the Sun's early arch rising above the treeline.

Which comes after dozens of pairs of legs cross my view of the sidewalk between the brim on my baseball cap and paperback.

Which was given birth by a bloody sinus and the thought of the necessity of raking leaves.

Now I will rake leaves.

Friday, August 12, 2011

Biking, Add Metal

Biked to a closing Borders Bookstore to scour, but I was still too cheap to purchase anything.
 Had pizza and beer.  And salad. And watched football.
One coffee. Started listening to metal.
Metal and churches mix.
Insomnia.  Add the Relapse Records Sampler.

Tuesday, August 2, 2011

Coffee, Tea, and Misery

A man walks out of the coffee shop from which I am sitting down-wind.  His perfume is vulgar-sweet and un-natural, and smells like the shopping mall across the street.  He stalls at the patio table next to mine and fumbles in his pockets.  What's this?  The scraping sound of a match being lit, then the odor of its sulfur.  It battles and begins to nullify the department store stench, when soon, the acrid smoke of the man's cigarette hits my snout.  This is bliss!  He walks twenty feet down the sidewalk, finishes the cigarette, jumps into his red and black Smart Car, and drives off.  I plunge into my bold cup of coffee.

With music
I'm trapped!
Like a worker bee
in rhythms,
in patterns.

If you find yourself at the coffee shop at seven in the morning, you are received with the sun on your back, keeping you warm in the cool breeze.
You may also find that you can't get a word in with Miller because every printed sentence of his makes you think he wrote it for you, and you think why, and by the time you're done you may find yourself with eyes glazed over, staring somewhere between the page and the street twenty feet away.
A passing gentleman says, "morning" to you, as if he knew you were lost in your memories, and you snap back into the present, observing the worker bees, rushing in and out of the coffee shop.

I will acquire a synthesizer.

At a coffee shop
a conscientious
smoker discusses
the etiquette of
Then, after a final
drag, she throws
the butt into the
sidewalk's gutter.

Just me and my tea.
I don't even like tea.
I like coffee.

Finally Punk

Wednesday, June 8, 2011

Personal Amusement

Sometimes I make something and post it on the web with hopes that it will make me famous.  This may be the one!
It's titled "Unemployed Emo Grimace"

Sunday, January 16, 2011

A Day in the Life

(Listen to audio here)

I received an email from a friend about her upcoming first art show.

I made bacon and eggs for breakfast, like I have been all week.  I mixed a punk-rock recording I made with a friend of mine on the previous day and sent the mixes to him in an email.  I walked down miles of Ocean Beach with my shoes off.  I noticed more sand dollars than ever in my life.  I saw one that had a pinkish color to it and picked it up and realized it was alive.  It had dozens of little feelers reaching out to grab a hold of something.  I put it back in the sand.  I got back home and watched the second half of the Alfred Hitchcock movie, "Rear Window."  I napped a few hours.  I bought a half pint of whiskey and some rolling tobacco and caught the bus to the mission district where the art gallery was.  I met my friend and talked to her about her exhibit.  It was about going through a process, hoping to find something, and finding nothing at all.  I jumped back on the bus to return home.  Between transfers, I urinated in a dark corner between buildings.  I ate left-over pasta, rolled a cigarette and sipped a bit of whiskey on the back porch and watched the fog lurk through the gardens behind people's houses.

I will watch another movie now.  Probably "Walk Hard - The Dewey Cox Story."