Author: Roger Mugs

potential for greatness, but the ideas, as they flowed from my head to my fingers, met some serious resistance and the outcome was near disastrous.

poetry

for want of a pant line he had hip injections
for want of a butt crack he trained to be a plumber
for want of reason he played sudoku
then for want of friends
he purchased gift cards to his wonderful hip-injection doctor gave them to his acquaintances
then for want of acquaintances he moved, ran for president, and claimed stupidity

Rewrite. Celine you should be proud.

poetry

Near,
And in addition to near also far,
Really, wherever you might be at all,
It is compatible with my belief system that the heart doth persevere,
And then one more time,
You unlock and then open the door,
And you will find yourself here inside of this dwelling place I call my heart (please do not intervene with the blood flow, it is surprisingly essential to my ability to live)
And my heart will persevere and then persevere some more.

Whew.

atrophy my mind

poetry

the lack of direction
the lack of focus
the lack of meaning
the lack of answers
the lack of a definite timeline
the lack of vision
the lack of relationships
the lack of a good book to read
the lack of decent jazz
the lack of piano
the lack of meaningful information
the lack of stress
the lack of focus
the lack of direction
thelackofmeaning

thoughts in my last few weeks, vomited like a bird feeding its young for your consumption pleasure

poetry

third graders gather on the floor and ask about toilets and school uniforms in a land they cannot fathom and who am i to introduce them to it? i’ve brought pictures to say the things my words cannot, and speaking of eating dog, rabbit head, or pig lung, may inspire exactly the wrong kind of awe, i fear, but do my best as they gaze in bleary wonder knowing all this time one or two may be moved to drop their lives and leave a world where a child must have 100 crayons if they’re to be expected to color, where three simply would not do. sewage runs through streets in images i’ve taken of places where the scent overwhems any bad feeling one might have from the way things look, and it’s been five of my six months and all i can think of the whole time i’m showing these pictures is how much i miss home, and the “grind” and being on the winning team. to know the work i’m a part of ultimately wins when i feel like away, i’m more of a bump on a log than an addition to society, and snow is not near as romantic as i remember it, and consumerism literally makes me want to vomit in these cities where people are virtually strangling their children, choosing to suck the life out of them so they can have a swimming pool in their back yard, and while i’m not foolish enough to believe this is the case everywhere in this great country, i nonetheless catch a glimpse of the vastness of the nationwide epidemic as i get reports from the “bud light sports desk” during the “coors light half time show” where you spend the whole day in awe that infinite jest had this thing figured out years ago and it seems like only a few years ago i read that book (part of that book) and

laughed at the absurdity of the extremity of it all

i’m a shareholder in words, i have rights, power, OWNERSHIP

poetry

i like woids
and the way they’re formed
with building blocks called
shletters
gwammer is awesome when proper
and in large blocks we complete
ideas in cent-instances
if we master the basics we’re given some freedom to destroy convention and set out on our own (or so they said in college)
so we form our own conjunctivitises like hithertothereforewithoutwhich
and stream together brilliance in zombie movels.
because our English linguine-age is incredi-malleable
we raise our noses and look down them at morons without.

nonethewiser

poetry

Ingredients:
Mixed grains, milled cane sugar, textured soy protein, french fried eyeballs swimming in a pool of blood, brown rice syrup, chicory root fiber, partially hydrogenated corn oil, and less than 2% of the following: elmer’s glue, stainless steel staples, gopher guts, tocopherols (vitamin E to maintain freshness)

pokerface lyrics slightly modified 2

poetry

I have a desire to maintain them like some do when playing Texas Hold Em
Or to fold them and/or let them give me another card and then increase the stakes (please don’t fold), I find this enjoyable
Both good fortune and a gut feeling guide me in my decision making process with my cards and frequently I choose to start with a Spade (Because I don’t really understand the game)
But then following obtaining the other’s heart as my own, through deception like in a card game, I will choose to play a card that he wants me to play.

Oh, Ooooh, Oooooo
I bet I can raise his temperature slightly, and demonstrate to him what is that I have
Oh, Ooooh, Oooooo
I bet I can raise his temperature slightly, and demonstrate to him what is that I have

You’ll find that you are unable to discern my, yea, you’re unable to discern my,
Yea, you find it difficult to discern my face which I am holding in an indiscernible way as in a game of cards
You’ll find that you are unable to discern my, yea, you’re unable to discern my,
Yea, you find it difficult to discern my face which I am holding in an indiscernible way as in a game of cards

(better when sung to the tune of “Oh Christmas Tree”)

slightly modified 1

poetry

if you are both happy and in addition to being happy you are also aware of it clap your hands
if you are both happy and in addition to being happy you are also aware of it clap your hands
if you are happy and also find that you yourself are aware of your happiness and you decide that you would like to also make the world aware of your current state of happiness
if you are both happy and in addition to being happy you are also aware of it clap your hands

dont believe everything you see on tv

poetry

but if you hear it on the radio
then it must be true.

i think our belief what we read in
a book labelled “non-fiction” should
be taken at face value comes from our
judeo-christian roots where we accept
one book as true, therefore the others
but be as well.

what you read on twitter is probably
false, unless it concerns feces. afterall
who tweets about their poo unless they’re
telling the truth.

here’s where we miss the slacker. one timmy
mc-timster, a friend of mine in college
who took credit for everyman’s farts
and then he actually crop dusted and claimed
it as his own, the crowds didn’t believe him.

brilliance can become incarnate in so many
strange forms.

live from my new idevice

poetry

most normal people
(when they’ve saved the money)
dont wrestle with wondering
if those who make his paycheck possible
will be offended by the purchase

most normal people
(when they’ve been given gift certificates)
dont wonder what it’ll be like to both ask for money for the adoption
and at the same time spend money
on an idevice

but then i’m reminded
most normal people
are downright weird when you get to know them.

and normal feels more and more subjective
and less and less feasable.

i find a lot of joy in my upgrade
from generation 1 to 5
my old one almost 4 years old.

no one keeps a phone that long.

*tear*

“I’m sorry siri, I’m so very very happy.”

a typo or two for effect. a moment or three for reflection.

poetry

tissues stack like a victim
of a cold by the bedside
computerside
and typing is met with dripping
is overwhelmed by bad media
driving you slowly into a downward
spiral of confusion into the depressed
state you used to know so well you
were afraid you’d never leave but then
you found help in the history of jazz a
class they told you would boost your self
confidence (if not your GPA) while
lulling you to sleep each night with free
music you’re forced to listen to for
a grade in a way ruining your favorite
genre

a genre you like to play background
music to by blowing your nose in
time with the beat of the bass drum while
the snare is hit repeatedly in form seldom
changing so the sax and the trumpet
can have their moments to shine in turn and
each moment that passes with a tissue
held to your face you realize your missed
dream of holding an instrument and this
cold presses in past your bones and
your heart itself begins to feel sick
as the tissues pile up slowly beside
your computer where you know you
should be doing work but your mind continues
to wander to worlds that could have been
but alas whatever good has come to you
that you imagined.

your fantasies have changed so much over
time you find yourself looking back and
thankful what you hoped for never came to pass
or else you’d be stuck with little susie whats
her face from from first grade, and you know that
while your dreams are bigger now you’ll still
look back someday thankful they were never
realized.

an ode to me beard

poetry

i grew me one long and sexy
but the wife
she disagrees
and now i stare down my
buzzer knowing what stands
between me and him is at least
six weeks.

but there are some powers
my wife maintains through
threats of witholding
things i don’t do well without.

she wins.

i’ll miss you my friend
you made me look pubescent
and then sort of kinda manly.
now you’ve grown long enough
to make me amish, or at least
a “fundamentalist”.

i knew thee far too little.

poetry

every moment of the regular season is spent in anticipation of the
final game of the post season

the final game (or series as the sport may call for) arrives
and we cower in the corner more comfortable in our
anticipation than our excitement at what has arrived

and like that loneliness we’ve come to love and mourn
(albiet briefly and irrationally)
when we marry

we miss the feeling we know more than we enjoy the
moment when it arrives.

“lets make a deal, you just agree to hate me for two weeks and then in exactly two weeks and a day I’ll promise to be much more available… what do you say? better than three weeks of mere semi-presence right? or no?”

poetry

in the great scheme two weeks is hardly
worthy of notice

in the six years of agony two weeks
is anything but
unworthy of notice

minute passes slower than each previous
minute

worthy of painful notice

my watch has received more “face time”
than my wife.

and she’s getting mad.

because that would be a royal bummer

poetry

i figure when the hare
(running full speed towards the finish)
had the ribbon in his view,
he sped up saying to himself
“almost there, almost there, almost there”
and doing all he could to hang on
placed one foot in front of the next
and hoped for the best.

i identify in this stage
but beg the Lord when I cross
the line I will not find I’ve lost
the race to a stinky,
slow, slimy, animal who drags
his home with him wherever he goes.