E-mail: Brian7Morris "at" hotmail.com Archives March 2002 April 2002 May 2002 June 2002 July 2002 August 2002 September 2002 October 2002 November 2002 December 2002 January 2003 February 2003 March 2003 April 2003 May 2003 June 2003 July 2003 August 2003 September 2003 October 2003 November 2003 December 2003 January 2004 February 2004 March 2004 April 2004 May 2004 June 2004 July 2004 August 2004 September 2004 October 2004 November 2004 December 2004 January 2005 February 2005 March 2005 April 2005 May 2005 June 2005 July 2005 August 2005 September 2005 October 2005 November 2005 December 2005 current Blogs Mandapants farkleberries Uranium City Records The C.M. Sienko Foundation Storyteller Musings Solotarian Views Lynne Wiora Tek Poker News Blog Some Biscuits Evil Eye Emporium Niggling Doubts Pressure Release Sara as Mommy runswithscissors Defective Yeti Afternoon Delight trancejen The Terrarium Bird Nird Slipperily Tofu Hut Stereo Gum Links Fixed Gear Gallery Get Crafty This is Grand Featherproof Books Gapers Block Chicago Bird Watching	No one must know my terrible secret... House of Noh! Wednesday, November 10, 2004 I’ve been writing a lot of poems lately. One thing I like about poems is that they don’t necessarily have to rhyme. I have this on good authority from a friend who has an MFA in poetry. But don't spread it around. She doesn't like to talk about how poems don't necessarily have to rhyme. I think it might be an industry secret. I might be getting better at poems. I don’t know. I guess it just takes a lot of practice. This poem is to somebody, but I'm not sure specifically who - it's to the person who’s riding the small framed red steel-lugged schwinn traveller with hacksaw bullhorn bars, back brake and gear shifters and second chain ring removed, 700 aluminum front wheel, toe straps, and a 27 steel rear wheel with the old ten-speed cassette freewheel ratchet mechanism locked with J&B weld that I left chained to a bike rack downtown yesterday. That bike is stolen and you know it. You’re going to feel silly if you try to sell it or the parts because it’s a junk collage, Besides, there were lots of bikes around there better than mine. And, ahem, shouldn’t you perhaps have checked the chain line before picking a bike to steal? Good luck trying to find anything that’ll fit that crazy old bottom bracket, Asshole! You should feel bad, Because I have lots of fond memories of that bike Like that time I was riding on the lakeshore and a cold wintry wave shot up over the cement walkway and totally swallowed me in its curling foam like I was in an Ocean Spray commercial or something and I got water pushed in my lake-side ear all the way to my freaking cochlea and the gang of petty footpads sitting on rocks nearby drinking forties and planning minor burglaries watched it happen and shouted encouraging remarks amongst each other like, “Shit! Did you see that asshole get wiped by that wave?!” Need I even mention again that time I almost got clawed by the creepy guy on spooky street? And so I’m keeping one eye peeled, like that dude in I had Trouble in Getting to Solla Sollew watching for Quilligan Quails, and if I see you riding my bike I’m going to grab you by the jacket and crash you and take back my bike. And if you twist your ankle in the toe-straps, or chip your tooth on the pavement when you go down… well, I just don’t care, because using that amount of force is legally justified in Illinois to recover stolen property. Or at least I think it is. But it’s not your physical safety that I’m worried about the most. It’s mine. Because you also stole that block of foam that I wore strapped to my head. Now when I ride my even crappier bike I have to wear a thick stocking cap. I just don’t think that’s as safe. And sometimes it’s itchy. And this doesn’t have anything to do with my bike, But it’s something important that I think you should be made aware of: Lately, when my bathroom light goes on, I think my neighbor walks out on the landing and puts her ear to the window, Because she wants to listen to me taking a dump, Is that weird or what?! Oh and also, I’m going to go around and check used bike shops, and if I find my bike in one, or even any pieces of it, purporting to be for sale and legitimately acquired and whatnot, then I’m gonna freak out and go all tonight only! pay-per-view Jesus vs. MoneyChangers at the Trump Temple Gardens. To be sure, there’ll be lots of double handed, over the head, angry chimp-style property smashing and spittle-fly-shouting. On this rainy day. Brian 1:22 AM Comments: Post a Comment

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House of Noh!

Wednesday, November 10, 2004

I’ve been writing a lot of poems lately. One thing I like about poems is that they don’t necessarily have to rhyme. I have this on good authority from a friend who has an MFA in poetry. But don't spread it around. She doesn't like to talk about how poems don't necessarily have to rhyme. I think it might be an industry secret. I might be getting better at poems. I don’t know. I guess it just takes a lot of practice. This poem is to somebody, but I'm not sure specifically who - it's to the person who’s riding the small framed red steel-lugged schwinn traveller with hacksaw bullhorn bars, back brake and gear shifters and second chain ring removed, 700 aluminum front wheel, toe straps, and a 27 steel rear wheel with the old ten-speed cassette freewheel ratchet mechanism locked with J&B weld that I left chained to a bike rack downtown yesterday. That bike is stolen and you know it. You’re going to feel silly if you try to sell it or the parts because it’s a junk collage, Besides, there were lots of bikes around there better than mine. And, ahem, shouldn’t you perhaps have checked the chain line before picking a bike to steal? Good luck trying to find anything that’ll fit that crazy old bottom bracket, Asshole! You should feel bad, Because I have lots of fond memories of that bike Like that time I was riding on the lakeshore and a cold wintry wave shot up over the cement walkway and totally swallowed me in its curling foam like I was in an Ocean Spray commercial or something and I got water pushed in my lake-side ear all the way to my freaking cochlea and the gang of petty footpads sitting on rocks nearby drinking forties and planning minor burglaries watched it happen and shouted encouraging remarks amongst each other like, “Shit! Did you see that asshole get wiped by that wave?!” Need I even mention again that time I almost got clawed by the creepy guy on spooky street? And so I’m keeping one eye peeled, like that dude in I had Trouble in Getting to Solla Sollew watching for Quilligan Quails, and if I see you riding my bike I’m going to grab you by the jacket and crash you and take back my bike. And if you twist your ankle in the toe-straps, or chip your tooth on the pavement when you go down… well, I just don’t care, because using that amount of force is legally justified in Illinois to recover stolen property. Or at least I think it is. But it’s not your physical safety that I’m worried about the most. It’s mine. Because you also stole that block of foam that I wore strapped to my head. Now when I ride my even crappier bike I have to wear a thick stocking cap. I just don’t think that’s as safe. And sometimes it’s itchy. And this doesn’t have anything to do with my bike, But it’s something important that I think you should be made aware of: Lately, when my bathroom light goes on, I think my neighbor walks out on the landing and puts her ear to the window, Because she wants to listen to me taking a dump, Is that weird or what?! Oh and also, I’m going to go around and check used bike shops, and if I find my bike in one, or even any pieces of it, purporting to be for sale and legitimately acquired and whatnot, then I’m gonna freak out and go all tonight only! pay-per-view Jesus vs. MoneyChangers at the Trump Temple Gardens. To be sure, there’ll be lots of double handed, over the head, angry chimp-style property smashing and spittle-fly-shouting. On this rainy day.

Brian 1:22 AM

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House of Noh!

Wednesday, November 10, 2004