Dealing With Horrific Things

Sometimes life is hard. Things go wrong — in life and in love and in business and in friendship and in health and in all the other ways life can go wrong. And when things get tough, this is what you should do: Make good art. I’m serious. Husband runs off with a politician? Make good art. Leg crushed and then eaten by mutated boa constrictor? Make good art. IRS on your trail? Make good art. Cat exploded? Make good art. Someone on the Internet thinks what you’re doing is stupid or evil or it’s all been done before? Make good art. Probably things will work out somehow, eventually time will take the sting away, and that doesn’t even matter. Do what only you can do best: Make good art. Make it on the bad days, make it on the good days, too.”

--Neil Gaiman

Coyote

“Please, someone, say something. Anything.”

Silence lingers because

all I can think is

“Keep the jelly donut down”

and the coyote is off-limits.

So Abbie lists the coloring books

she bought for Josh, again,

but I don’t stop her;

I’m too busy thinking about the dead coyote.

It doesn’t matter how loud I yelled

MOM, LOOK, MOM, NO

or how fast she screamed

I’M SORRY SO SORRY SO SORRY

because the oil tanker wasn’t slowing down

so neither could we.

I will not be comfortable in my seat.

In my head I’ve run the physics

over and over in every direction but

the convergence was entirely inevitable.

It happened just how you would expect it to.

On the other side of the median

bronze and sweaty, shining with fear,

the coyote’s heart is pounding and

his legs are pumping through grass

towards an accident I dread for

longer than the impact and

shorter than the aftermath.

Our bumper hits his shoulder

and the whiplash snaps his neck

cutting short the defeated yelp

which morphs into our three frightened cries

when the wheels roll over his body.

They keep talking, too quickly.

I lift my feet off of the car;

wish we could stop and take a walk.

I don’t want the weight of anything

but dirt to push on my soles.

I don’t think it matters what he was running from;

or if he was heading into something

with so much blind determination

it was worth the risk of dying.

Either way I cannot change it,

could not save him.

So we change the light bulb

on the broken left hand turn signal

and pop in a Fred & Ginger flick

to forget about him,

but I will see him again, tonight,

in his best tails and taps,

reminding me that he was important.

Self Portrait as a Giraffe

She stretches upwards, ever up
until her neck has pushed its way out.
From this height
the troublesome gravity of her body is remote.
In the winds that shake the trees
her nobbled, gnarled knees are firm,
her delicate purple tongue
chasing an emancipated scrap of green.
How bizarre, she thinks, that leaves
taste so much better in the sky.

Unresolved Issues With the Animal Kingdom: The Monsanto Link

Every once in a while, I get an additional glimpse into the world of evil that is the deer. Their plans are not always clear to me, and rarely do they give themselves away, but sometimes, I get some insight.

Last week, my mom, sister and I packed up our belongings and drove across the entire country. Yes. The whole thing. Well, all but Nevada and California, but I feel we've driven that stretch enough times that it counts. Back to the story.

Everything was going swimmingly until we got to the end of Nebraska. Iowa, it turns out, was full of construction, detours, and closed roads. So we spent several days winding our way down rather pleasant country highways through Iowa cornfields and soybean patches. All this pleasant country life seems, well, pleasant from the outside. But I know better. And not in the crazy Deer-and-pigeons-are-evil way that many of my friends frown upon. No, in the well-researched, people-who-are-not-me-believe-this-also-because-it-is-a-fact way. (Not that deer and pigeons aren't evil.) You see, the life of the American farmer kind of sucks because our government favors corporations over the individual, and corporations, as it happens, can be really evil. Don't believe me? Watch Food Inc., stop eating for a week, cry, wail at the injustice, get hungry and try to grow your own food, then return to this blog. Done? Good. Now, back to my Iowa story.

There's a particularly evil corporation, Monsanto, that is doing it's best to monopolize soybeans. As Food Inc. will tell you, there is either corn or soybeans in pretty much everything Americans eat these days. Monsanto copyrighted a gene.Why is that even legal??? Ugh. Anyway. Their soybean crops have to be treated specially- farmers cannot reseed their fields with their own crop-they have to return it to Monsanto and buy new seed. It's expensive and wasteful, and frankly, I think it's wrong. But can you get soybeans without this Monsanto gene?Yes, yes you can. It's difficult, and many have tried. But there's this little snag-if ANY of your beans have the gene, you're out of luck. It's just like having all Monsanto genes.

By this point, you're probably wondering what on earth this has to do with deer, and why I went off on such a tangent. On the Iowa/Missouri border early last Sunday morning, I saw two deer in a soybean field. Eating the crop. You know what that means? They have soybean poop. My brain started working and I realized with a jolt the deer are inadvertently helping Monsanto spread their evil. If a deer eats a Monsanto bean, then goes over to a non-Monsanto field and takes a nice Monsanto-laden crap, Farmer Joe's Pure Unadulterated Field is suddenly tainted by Monsanto impurities and indiscretions. Joe's life is ruined, all thanks to Bambi & Co.

I hate deer. I really do.

Prepare For the Uprising

My friends, it is upon us.

Deer are chasing children. Through churches. In the city where I will be in approximately one month.

They know I'm approaching. Get your shelters ready. It's time.

Calling All Lovers of Lars' Poetry

Ah, my two followers, and however many secret stalkers I have who may be reading this, the time has come for a very important event.

I have entered a poetry contest. Because it involves Billy Collins.

If you don't know about my Billy Collins obsession, do not fear. I'll share! But first, pretty pretty please click here, and create an account (if you don't have a figment.com account that is) and "heart" my poem. The top ten will be read and judged by Billy Collins. I am definitely not giggling in excitement every time I think about that.

See, my love for this American poet began with an animal issue. Yes. It all goes back to my animal problems, doesn't it?

My neighbors had this poor, neglected, mean old mangy dalmatian named Jake. He was about 1000 years old, and he could not stop barking. Ever. It was as if he literally had to make noise to survive. I seriously have never hated a dog so much as that one. He would growl if you looked at him over the fence, and whine if he was feeling particularly sorry for himself.

Then one day, my aunt, who is a writer herself, came to visit. Jake was displeased. My aunt, upon hearing the dog we'd all complained so much about, directed our attention to the copy of Sailing Alone Around the Room by the fireplace and read aloud Another Reason Why I Don't Keep A Gun in the House.

A year later, I met Mr. Collins at a poetry lecture at the library. I was 11. The rest, as they say, is history.

To the Robin Who Came to Visit This Morning...

Dear Scruffy Bird,

It was ever so kind of you to drop by this morning. Just imagine my surprise to find you sitting on my porch, glaring at me as though I were a trespasser when I went to empty the compost! Squatting there with your horrible beady eyes, panting like a greedy dog, and oozing liquid, I suppose you were just resting; how silly of me to think you were slowly dying in my presence. If your behavior were not enough, the fact that you appeared to have been mauled by an unfortunately unsuccessful cat added to your incredibly disturbing nature. I do apologize for screaming and forcing my mother to come take care of you, but did you really need to take a dump before you flew away? Furthermore, your return visit to the lawn was not appreciated. As you can clearly see, we are trying to sell our house, and the presence of angry hobo robins does not increase our chances of doing such.

It's not that I dislike your species; on the contrary I find your brethren lovely. You, however, are the avian equivalent to a lecherous old man far past his due date in an asylum somewhere. I hope the neighbor's cats finished you off, because should I ever lay eyes on you again, I may be forced to bring the cats in myself.

With all due respect, get out of my life.

Sincerely,

Lars

Unresolved Issues With the Animal Kingdom: Butterflies

Ok. I know what you're thinking. Pigeons are understandable, if a little extreme. Deer? A bit of a stretch. But butterflies? Those pretty winged creatures that grow from caterpillars? The ones that represent hope and beauty and freedom and delicacy and all things feminine and sweet?

Yup. Those are the ones.

They're awful, and here's why:

They are too big to be insects, but conversely too small to be animals. SO WHAT ARE THEY? Creepy. Yuck.

They are fragile. This relates to being a weird size; they can die too easily, but when they do die, their remains are large enough to be seen in disturbing detail. If one of those suckers gets squished on your windshield, you're likely to run off the road and crash as you will be screaming in horror, the way you would be if a bird were to smear itself across your car.

They're specifically designed to look like eyeballs, so that predators think they are large scary beasts. Oh wait. They are.

Finally, and perhaps most importantly, they eat the carcasses of dead animals. They are carnivorous tee-ninecy beings which feed on the flesh of grizzly bear leavings. If that doesn't gross you out at least a little bit...I don't know what will. Probably only really brutal serial killer evidence photos.

To My Dear Friend

Dearest Balthazaar,

For the past 7 years we have been close, weathering the ups and the downs, facing the unknown together. You've been loyal and loving, but unfortunately, unless your behavior changes drastically, I may no longer be able to call you my best friend. I know that your psyche is delicate and easily damaged by stressful events, but you have truly gone off the deep end, and it is time you had a little help in reigning yourself back in.

First of all, although I love you, this does not mean that I want your company while I pee. That is not an appropriate time for cuddling. Licking magazines is also not a suitable past time for the bathroom. Nor are leaping from behind the shower curtain towards my face, or turning the door knob repeatedly. Please don't take it personally when I lock you out; plaintive cries will not increase your chances of being allowed in the bathroom.

I know that you crave my company in the morning, but the first thing I want to hear in the morning is not the thump of your body running into my door frame, or the sounds of your claws frantically scratching at the hinges. This is both ineffective and weird. Eventually I will indeed emerge from my bedroom to feed you and give you some attention, I promise. Just be patient.

It seems to wound you deeply when my father and I lock you out of our rooms while we are trying to get work done, but to be frank my dear, you are annoying. Sitting on my head, rubbing your teeth on my legs, and knocking over everything that you can reach are not activities that promote good work and study habits, or increase my regard for you. Dad feels the same way.

You've made it clear that life as a house cat is difficult, but surely you can find more productive activities? The boxes around the house and the strange people removing our furniture do not signify your abandonment. Oh no. You're coming with us. So just sniff your cat-cheek pheromone spray, chill out, and prepare for the move.

All my love,

Lars

Fishing

This keeps coming back to me. I choreographed it back in December, it's been performed twice now, and the final performance is on Thursday. Perhaps, after this finale, it will be resolved...

Unresolved Issues With the Animal Kingdom

They're disturbing, and not just to me! Here are some videos featuring those animals which give me the heebie-jeebies.

Katy Perry = deer???

I haven't yet talked about butterflies, but it's coming...

Yes. This exists.

Tell me this isn't creepy. I won't believe you.

Unresolved Issues With the Animal Kingdom: Deer

I like to believe I am a rational person so I will explain this as rationally as possible: I am afraid of deer.

Yes. Bambi-and-friends-frolicking-through-the-woods-eating-grass deer. They unsettle me the way horror movies disturb toddlers.

Did you know that more people die in car versus deer accidents than deer? A Park Ranger in Yellowstone told me that. They’re just small enough to be flung up onto the windshield, but just large enough to smash through the glass and lacerate you with their razor-sharp hooves. That’s right. They have razor-sharp hooves.

Why, you may ask, does a deer need sharp hooves? They do not need to kill to eat, nor do they dig, or do anything with their feet but walk-anything but fight, that is. Their sharp hooves are supposedly for “self-defense”, so clearly they are fighting something. All the members of the alces family attack threats to their young in a specific manner: they rear up on their hind legs, then smash their pointy front feet into the hapless victim’s skull with the force of their entire body. It’s true; it happened to my great-great grandmother. She survived by waiting until the animal reared and then stepping calmly just outside hoof range, over and over again. Eventually the ungulate’s hamstring was bitten by a dog and the fight ended. This doesn’t seem like a defensive maneuver to me.

Deer have no concept of personal space, or dignity. They wander into people’s yards and eat the grass off of graves in cemeteries. They clearly have no respect for our dead or our living. They’ve been left by the side of the road bleeding to death at the mercy of cruel motorists too many times and now they’re out for revenge. When they’re munching the lush green on grandma’s grave, they’re using those uncommonly large eyes to say “You killed my great-grandfather, and now you must pay. Om nom nom.”

We’ve pushed them off their land and destroyed their food sources, eaten their brethren, and hit them with our cars. It was only a matter of time before a major uprising began. It is my firm belief that they are gathering together to fight the ultimate fight against mankind. Soon, they will control us with their hypnotic eyes, hooves to our backs as we slave to restore their forest and protect them from other natural enemies. They will find every last trophy head and place them over our beds, a sick reminder of how the tables have turned.

Slowly, they will become more sadistic. The ritual killings will increase and deer will control all species. These plans have been in the works since the first deer-human battles, and the deer will stop at nothing to reclaim their pride. When the deer apocalypse comes, and you don’t have your bear-guarded shelter prepared, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Bambi’s mother had it coming.

Unresolved Issues With the Animal Kingdom: Pigeons

I was in New York City for the first time the summer before 8th grade. It was magical; the city was so new and different and exciting. My hometown couldn't hold a candle to its radiance. Unfortunately, there was a similarity:

Pigeons.

I loathe pigeons. There is not a single creature on this earth which I find as hideous as the pigeon, and they are everywhere on this planet. You cannot escape them. That is one of their most unattractive features-they have such vast numbers that there is no escape. They stare at you with their round, watery eyes, make that chilling cooing noise, and you can immediately tell that they are plotting something nefarious involving fecal matter.

Pigeons crap wherever they please, whenever they please, but only after eating something difficult to digest. Then they locate a target, usually someone doing something exciting, who is wearing an outfit that is either expensive, difficult to clean, or both. For instance, a pigeon will see a girl in the audience for the Today Show wearing a brand new white t-shirt and think to itself, "That violently green pesto I just consumed is making my tummy feel weird. It's time for it to move on. That pretty girl in white surely understands my sorrow." Then it will let loose and you are left covered in warm, green, stinking bird feces that will leave a horrible grey shadow on your shirt as a painful, permanent reminder.

The last offense I take with the psychology of pigeons is their (lack of) intelligence. Birds who sit on busy thoroughfares and do not fly away when approached by SUVs deserve to be crushed under the wheels of the vehicle. This is called "survival of the fittest" and rumor has it that's what makes the creatures of this earth maintain standards. These standards are important. After all, no one wants a dog that can't fetch, or a city populated by birds too stupid to use their God-given wings to save themselves from automobiles, particularly not me.

It's not just their behavior is off-putting, however. There's also the problem of their appearance. Once enough of these animals are crowded into an area populated by fools who feed them and garbage cans line the sidewalks, even the dumbest of the dumb survives. There are incidents of horrid inbreeding and terrifying accidents. This leaves us with deformed pigeons. Regular, oil-spill green birds are unattractive enough, but add goiters, extra toes, and bulbous tumors, then suddenly pigeons are infinitely worse. It may make me cruel, but I find deformed pigeons repulsive.

Unfortunately, there is no way to escape these vile creatures without moving to a remote, and likely undeveloped, part of the world, where the climate is too dramatic for lowly pigeons. That, or we use them to feed the world's hungry until we can effectively reorganize food distribution and solve world hunger. Perhaps I have a new life goal.