bathroom fingers
I absolutely hate it when the bathroom doorknob is wet. In fact, I hate touching anything that's unexpectedly damp. Once after someone else's shower, I picked up the tube of toothpaste and found it soaked with condensation. It was like touching a dead slug.
I always dry my hands very thoroughly after washing them, because I don't like the feeling of lingering dampness. I don't like having to touch things with wet fingers. I take forever at the hand dryers in public washrooms—even the really useless ones, because they work eventually, if you're patient enough.
I always brush off my dishes and utensils with my fingers, before I use them. Sometimes I feel silly doing it. But sometimes I feel crumbs, and then all the satisfaction of validation. If I hadn't brushed it off, those crumbs would be in my food.
In the shower, I imagine I'm washing away all the crusty old thoughts and beliefs I don't need anymore. I tend to hold onto things, once I have them. So I make a point of trying to let go.
It's because I'm so good at avoiding things. I keep everything away from me. So when something gets in, I cling for dear life.
Mirror Mirror on the Wall Who’s the Shallowest Genepool of All?
I'm a small pasty, bald, Irish guy that looks like the product of an unholy, biological-law-breaking union between Uncle Fester of the Addam's Family and Mr. Burns from the Simpsons. On a scale of 1-10, most people would say that I'm a C-. Already in my middle years, I fully expect that by the time I'm an old man I'll have to shop at the Big, Tall, and Hunchbacked store for clothes.
In terms of a personality? I have one. I guess. However, it's an open box, slightly irregular, analog, neon plaid, and batteries not included purchased at a shady flea market stall kind of personality.
Psychologically, I suffer from major depressive disorder, with manic tendencies which is interesting because I can't find, "Manic Tendencies" in the DSM-V. I guess my psychiatrist really thought I was special and deserved something customized! It was sweet of him, really. I also have PTSD related to domestic violence, social anxiety disorder, and was exposed to a buffet of illicit drugs in utero.
People think I'm eccentric when really, I'm a ball gag, straight jacket, and resides in a padded cell kind of psychotic. My delusions might be absurd and self-destructive, but they're a lot of fun!
I am a social worker with crippling social anxiety. I can be in a room with 3-4 people, but any more beyond that and I want to curl into the fetal position under the nearest bed.
I am a husband and father of 4. Really! No, they're not imaginary and I know this because if they were imaginary I'd have a lot more fucking money.
I can quote hard rock and heavy metal lyrics verbatim, but I know fuck all nothing about anything that qualifies as useful. Change a tire sew or replace a button on a shirt? Fuck no! Quote the lyrics to both versions of AC/DC's, "The Jack?" Fuck yes!
I was a Taco Bell restaurant manager for more than 10 years. Although it's been nearly 16 years since I worked there my sweat still smells like red sauce.
I hate reality television and country music. Honestly, prolonged exposure to either will likely result in a loss of a minimum of 10 IQ points and at least 1 child conceived with a first cousin.
I'm not into porn, but if there isn't a Golden Girls inspired porn series there should be!
The only addiction I never treated as a substance abuse counselor was addiction to Flintstones Chewable Vitamins. It's probably a good thing because I don't have a fucking clue how I would've responded to being told, "I used to do horrible, horrible things for a hand full of Bam-Bams."
Is there a Just Fans page with just fans? Do you have to pay more for variable speed or oscillating? I can imagine someone getting a little moist in the knickers after watching a black stainless steel oscillating fan with a chrome fan cover blowing on high.
I would rather have my ass lubricated with battery acid immediately followed by a prostate exam performed with a running, rusty chainsaw than be anywhere near a clown.
Behind the façade
Why is someone mowing at 7am in the morning???
If that dog barks one more time...!!
I'll kill him if he runs late again
That guy looks dangerous...are my car doors locked?
You asked a polite question and here's my ten minute answer.
Sorry. Sorry. No I really am sorry.
Yes I do feel like it's my fault. Yes all the time. Sorry.
Sorry for saying sorry so much. Also my fault.
He has the bluest eyes - how dreamy...
What did that look mean at the dinner party last week? Is she mad at me? Did she take offence when I said green wasn't my colour. She was wearing a green hat. She probably hates me now.
Private number. Why do people use them? I'm not answering it. Leave a damn message.
Please stop spruiking your health smoothies on Facebook Debra. No one cares. Unfollow.
What's my ex from 10 years up to? Is his new partner prettier than me?
Don't overshare, don't overshare, don't overshare. 'Oh yeah I was at the doctor today for a pap smear'.
What does that look mean? Oh god, he doesn't think this is a date does he? Quick make an excuse and leave.
Why did you invite me over for dinner at five if you aren't serving it until nine-thirty. Get your shit together. No-one wants to eat that late. It's a school night.
Ooh let's send everyone a text, even though I haven't heard from them in two years, because I have a deadline. 'What are you up to these days, Titouan?'
Pancakes for dinner - because I had soup for breakfast and I'm a grownup so I can eat what I want.
Both pegs for each piece of clothing on the washing line must be the same colour if possible - it's not segregation, it's pegregation.
Dad jokes and bad puns
The inability to order a pizza other than Margherita without being disappointed
Pyjamas are the most comfortable clothes and I want to wear them all the time.
Don't surprise me. I hate it. I need to be emotionally and psychologically prepared to even see you, let alone be surprised.
Aggressively introverted. Loves parties
Listens to hypnosis on Spotify to try to solve all my problems. Mainly procrastination, lack of confidence, overthinking, negative self-talk.
Please like me
Have you ever heard of Fear?
Have you ever heard of fear?
Of strangers' eyes bobbing from that blind spot over there.
Milky shadows that shift and follow.
A breath cut shor--
To match the gasp of a ghost
holding your hand without your consent.
The hairs on your arms standing tall, being touched
without a presence, just a hush.
Cold and cold then hot.
You forgot something.
Don't breathe.
Stop.
Tick Tick Tock.
It's not clean. Your soul. Your back. Your face.
Their judgments rattle the seats beneath
disgracedisgracedisgracedisgracedisgracedisgracedisgrace
The vehicle--its heavy metals--lose its tracks to a cliff
Nosediving
You are groundless
plummeting to the ends of a nightmare
where the bed cannot hold you.
And the floor cannot find you
Yet.
Faces
you can't look at,
tower over you the whole while.
In black and white and criss-crossed eyes
They watch,,,,,,
The vulnerability that you are
Something chases you
slowly.
Both fleshy and frothy
and unseen and
slowly.
It will reach you.
The question is when.
You anticipate it.
You anticipate it.
You anticipate it.
You anticipate it.
You anticipate it.
You anticipate it.
You anticipate it.
You anticipate it.
You anticipate it.
You anticipate it.
You anticipate it.
You anticipate it.
You anticipate it.
It anticipates you.
It cannot wait to get you.
A little more than hug you.
It hovers over your ear
with a whisper of a question:
Have you ever heard of fear?
Of course its not like any of that stuff is really there
?
The Shattered Mirror
The world feels broken these days. Every morning when I wake up, it's like staring into a shattered mirror, with cracks running through the reflection. The news is full of conflict, injustice, and human suffering on a mass scale. Sometimes it feels hopeless, like there's nothing I can do to make a difference.
But then I remember Grandma Rose's mirror. It was an antique, passed down through generations, with an ornate golden frame. One day, it slipped from my clumsy child hands and shattered into a thousand pieces on the hardwood floor.
I'll never forget the look on Grandma's face - not one of anger or disappointment, but of wisdom. She knelt down beside me as I cried over the shards of broken glass. "Why are you crying, my dear?" she asked gently. "The mirror is not gone. It is simply...changed."
She helped me gather the pieces carefully, wrapping them in a cloth. Over the next few weeks, she spent hours each day meticulously gluing the shards back together. When she was done, the mirror looked like a crazy abstract stained glass window, with cracks zig-zagging across its surface.
"There, you see?" she said, smiling at our masterpiece. "It's more beautiful than ever before. The cracks are a part of its story now, a map of all its broken places that have been rejoined. Those cracks make it unique."
Grandma kept that glued-together mirror for the rest of her days. And every time I look at the world's cracked reflection now, I think of her lesson. Yes, the world is broken in many ways - but that means there is immense potential for discovering new beauty in the shards, if we have the patience and resilience to remake it into something better.
You don't change the world by giving up or giving in to cynicism. You change it by seeing the cracks as an opportunity, not the end. By helping one person at a time. By being kind to your neighbor, and encouraging your community to do the same.
About a year ago, I decided to start volunteering at the local soup kitchen one day a week. I'll never forget the first time I served food to the long line of people, seeing the grateful smile on an elderly woman's face as she took the tray of hot stew from my hands. In that fleeting moment, I could see her humanity, her struggle, and her inherent worth as a person - not just another person experiencing homelessness and food insecurity. The smallest act of service was a reminder that even in a broken world, we can start re-assembling the shattered pieces through compassion.
Little by little, these acts of service and sacrifice can merge the fragments into something new, something more resilient than it was before. Whenever the weight of the world's suffering seems too much, I try to focus on making one piece of the mirror a little less broken, one person at a time.
My friend Ali started a neighborhood watch program in her community when crime became a major issue. She didn't stop there, though - she worked to connect young people who had gotten mixed up with gangs or drugs to counseling resources. Over the past few years, she has helped create a community support network that has given so many a second chance.
My co-worker Marcus started tutoring refugee children in English and math, knowing that education is the key to building a new life of opportunity in a new country, free from persecution.
These people aren't heroes, just ordinary folks who decided to stop waiting around for the world to fix itself. In their own way, they have become skilled craftspeople, carefully glueing together the shards of our shattered societies, creating something more resilient and beautiful in the process.
The cracks in the world's mirror will never fully disappear. There will always be a new hazard, a new injustice to face. But if we all commit to doing our part to address those shattered places with love and service, piece by piece, the masterpiece will only become more striking over time.
When times seem darkest, I imagine myself as a child again, sitting next to Grandma Rose as she patiently reassembles that broken mirror. I hear her words of wisdom echoing through the years: "These cracks are a part of its story now...These cracks make you unique." These cracks are part of a larger whole. I hear my grandmother's soothing voice, reminding me that I can always restart my day....
Sleeping Dreams
There's nothing I feel for in this day that could make up for the time life has spent wasting me away.
There's a door right next to me that I don't feel like walking through, just to try and fail at fixing a world that few set out to do. So few it becomes an impossibility; a sacred mural of hope only an artist can try to seek until their little clouds rain over their work, reminding us daily that we are weak. But without their colourful sounds of hope and imaginings of what its like to have peace, the vast majority of the crowd mentality will wither so completely, 'till money becomes the only thing reminding the earth of the toxic litterings that was once humanity. And that time they spent striving for the very green-coloured garbage they created and not the hearts of the Smiles hoping the world can become a better place, is such a waste.
Until then, I'd rather sit here behind this door and write out my hopes to someone out there who's actually awake.
What it Takes
What it takes,
What it takes.
What it takes!
WHAT IT TAKES!!!
Everything wants to take from you. Rob you of your riches and rewards.
Cover the face of your work with their traps and contracts
and rip your dreams right -w-r-i-t-e- out of your head.
What they take from you is your all. All the days you spent slaving for the takers, when all you want is to be a giver, to give to those who haven't yet learnt how to take back their stolen lives from these greed-filled takers who rake every drop of sweat from your bones and leave you to pay the price of your medication and casts.
Watch each bill leave your fingers as, you--now made cripple--hobble back to your desk to feed dreams out your pen to give back to the thieves who break souls to no end, so take, TAKE it all away.
Because at the end of the day,
The dreamers and believers
Will find a freakin' way.
Resignation from the Absurdly Literary Position
Dear Dick,
I hope this letter finds you in a state of literary grace and grammatical correctness. It is with a heavy heart and a dictionary of synonyms that I tender my resignation from my position as Chief Wordsmith Extraordinaire, effective immediately.
Please understand that this decision was not reached lightly. It’s just that after spending countless hours crafting metaphors, similes, and puns, I’ve come to the conclusion that my true calling lies in the lucrative world of competitive Scrabble. I feel that my talents are better suited to arranging tiles on a board than rearranging words in a document.
I will fondly remember the days spent debating the Oxford comma, arguing over the pronunciation of “gif,” and trying to sneak “onomatopoeia” into every memo. However, my ambitions now lie beyond the confines of this office, where the only punctuation I’ll be worrying about is whether or not the triple word score was worth sacrificing all my vowels.
I assure you, this decision is not a reflection of the stimulating workplace environment or the copious amounts of coffee provided. It’s simply that I’ve grown tired of searching for the perfect synonym for “exhausted” and yearn for a challenge that involves more than just battling writer’s block.
I appreciate the opportunities for growth and creativity that this position has afforded me, and I will always cherish the memories of our team’s literary shenanigans. Please know that I leave with the utmost respect for you and the entire team, and I wish everyone continued success in all their future endeavors.
Thank you for your understanding, and may the pen forever be mightier than the sword (unless we’re playing Scrabble).
Yours literarily,
Mamba
Mineral Rights
Wigged out
Behind the wheel
On some godforsaken
Los Angeles freeway
I keep telling you
I’m sick
As the thud
Of another Walmart
Slumps into the earth
You’re sucking the bottom
Out of a bucket of Pepsi
And I am unable to stop
Thinking about mineral rights
And crushed butterflies
What’s wrong?
All I’ve ever wanted
Is the exact opposite
Of what this place
Keeps shoveling
Down my throat
Disgusted
Not saying
What I’m feeling
Why am I here?
As my heart
Like the sun
Keeps on sinking
David Burdett
1/20/2024
Touched by fire
She was born of the dragon
With that glint in her eye
A spirit of iron
Chin always held high
From the time she was birthed
We followed her 'round
A leader so natural
We subjects were bound
Her body was tiny
Her muscles were frail
The tissues oft failed her
The pain made her pale
And yet - she's a dragon
She won't be kept down
Her body might protest
But her mind wears a crown
She's smart as a whip
And quick as a dart
The fire in her words
Might just tear you apart
She's bold and she's fierce
She brave and she's kind
She loves without fear
A mercurial mind
She can't stand a bully
She sides with the meek
Her small knees might tremble
But the truth she will speak
For a dragon she is
Though her body is small
When no-one believes
She's still standing tall
Too clever to trick
Too stubborn to break
She always gives more
Than she deigns to take
She's born of the dragon
She's touched by the fire
And as long as she loves you
You're safe from her ire.