soup

working for a living: i’m not really working or making a living.

i’m afraid of the phone and e-mail.

how is it possible that the fortysomething who sits across from me is still single with a laugh like THAT?

have you ever felt like you missed something because you were too busy LISTENING?

the urinal smells like coffee piss before i use it.

sometimes, i miss capitalizing things correctly.

all i really need to know i learned in kindergarten, and everything i’ve learned since has been MY REASON FOR LIVING.

oh, my god, i’m going to be bald soon. someone tell me how to stop this from happening.

am i capable of getting a massage from a man? no. no, i’m not.

i’ve only hated three people in my entire life. two of them deserved it, and one of them is a vending machine.

i often spend money just to have quarters for laundry.

i probably only like san francisco because of the weather.

to be honest, i really do go out to my car for lunch and listen to “born in the u.s.a.” on repeat.

do you think “mad about you” would’ve been better if it had been called “mad at you”? YES uggh brb

life isn’t too short. the PHASES of your life are too sh

[14:17] tonysquarests: do you think “mad about you” would’ve been better if it had been called “mad at you”?
[14:19] dan1elthompson: YES
[14:19] dan1elthompson: uggh
[14:19] dan1elthompson: brb

surfeited
someone at work
may or may not have been
a little out of it
this morning,
but, don’t worry,
i’ll get to the bottom of this.

nose heir apparent
supposedly, women are attracted to men
that smell like their fathers.
if this is true (and supposedly it is),
shouldn’t all fathers (with young girls)
feel at least somewhat obligated to smell NICE?

*phones it in while still on hiatus*

update: i just accidentally ate a pickled garlic clove and KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME IT TURNS OUT I’VE BEEN CALLING HIM BY THE WRONG NAME ALL YEAR KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME

hiatus.

anthon: my plan before i leave:
anthon: get really drunk at some touristy bar and be too hungover to go to work on my last day
anthon: 1 party
anthon: then go to the restaurant that used to be tony romas and lay down in the middle of the restaurant and sob
anthon: while some young male host tries to get me to leave

mount rushmore
he’s four years-old.
no. six. no. three. no. ten.
we don’t know yet.
his parents know, but we’re waiting
for him to show us.
he’s throwing up gang signs,
and i’m the whitest guy i know.
eventually, he picks an age and sticks with it.
his parents concur, with smiles that say
he’s not even close.
then, they ask him to ask me how old i am,
but i can’t show him with my hands.

fireworks
there’s something about going out
on the 4th of july in a town like this.
people, outside their homes, on every corner,
looking up at the sky.
but i don’t need to be doing this tonight.
i’m older now.
older and a little wiser!
where i just need to hear them,
exploding and whatnot,
and i can picture pretty well what they’d look like.

cigarettes
i’m remembering now those hot summer days,
working for my old man,
standing around the old time clock,
waiting for my turn to punch out.
we’d hop in my car, roll down the windows,
and smoke cigarettes.
the wind rushing by would carry the clouds
out and away from us then.
it seems like this was a time in our lives
where all we did was smoke cigarettes.
dear god, i have never felt such relief!

poem
there’s a notebook that i keep with me.
every thought should be a poem
that should be written down.
i mean, ideally.
i really think that if i wrote everything down,
i’d have something.

fourth of july, enough
this is a tomorrow thing.
you want me to do it now,
and i want more than anything
to make you happy.
but this, this thing here,
this is a tomorrow thing.