Rainy Days

It better stop raining soon. This is getting out of hand. It started on St. Patrick’s day. Twenty weeks later, it hasn’t stopped. This is like Vietnam, except there’s nothing to do. I don’t have my buddy’s brains in my lap or anything, it’s not like that, but it is still a type of warfare. It’s an internal conflict. Both sides are on break waiting for the rain to stop, using only propaganda to fight for the cause. Every morning is a continuation of this dreary, drowsy experiment. I’m becoming like a vampire with the flu. Like Letterman delivering jokes that he knows are trash, content with mediocrity since his surgery. Never seeing the sun and never willing to do anything more than eat cereal out of the box and watch the rain. I have the cereal because my mother is crazy and she has a problem. She sends me packages. It’s been going on for years. It’s either cereal or barbeque sauce or the latest Disney release, filling my walk-in closet. It used to make me angry but now Honey Nut Cheerios are keeping me alive. The mail stopped once the water started creeping up the buildings. It’s like this everywhere. TV stopped a few days ago. I’ve seen the Lion King more times than I care to estimate. I keep picturing my cigarettes inside of the truck, but since I never got my back window fixed they’re ruined. I barely even want them anymore. If I’d kept my setup from my trip to Long Boat Key, I could be snorkeling all over the place seeing how interesting things look submerged as opposed to not-submerged. Treasure hunting, that type of thing. There probably aren’t any cigarettes anywhere by now. Most people left a long time ago. Many that stayed starved or sunk and bobbed. For a while I was talking, or I guess screaming, with this girl across the street on the second floor, but one day she wasn’t there anymore. I guess she left too. All I do now is sit on my balcony and watch the Abercorn Street River. Like the fool who ruled the abandoned city. I watch the rain drops kurplunk, kurplunk, kurplunk, and think about nothing at all.

I hope it never stops.


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It’s 10pm. Did you really let your 13 yr old daughter out of the house like this?
I swear these bar mitzvahs are turning into some bizarro underage slutfests where
there are moments of the evening when chants come from a sea of 7th
grade girls in the form of:

” From the top of the pole I watch her go down
She got me throwin my money around
Ain’t nothin more beautiful to be found
It’s goin down down.
From the top of the pole I watch her go down
She got me throwin my money around
Ain’t nothin more beautiful to be found
It’s goin down down

Hey Shawty must know I’m not playin
My money love her like a numba one fan
Don’t look at my mouth, let her talk to my fans
My Benjamin Franklins
A couple of grands, I got rubber bands
My paper planes makin a dance
Get dirty all night, that’s part of my thing
Keep building castles that’s made out of sand
She’s amazing, the fire blazing
Hotter than cajun
Girl won’t you move a lil closer?
Time to get paid, it’s maximum wage
That body belong on a poster
I’m in a daze, that bottom is wavin’ at me
Like damn it I know you
You wanna show like a gun out of holster
Tell me whatever and I’ll be your roper…

You spin my head right round, right round
When you go down, when you go down down”

weird… and a battering of a good song may I add.

Another brilliant track by POGO. If you don’t know now you know… and if you have already seen it’s always worth another looksy – BF

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DAINA HIGGINS
Coney Island Avenue Sign Shop
oil on wood panel
45″ x 30″

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Ben Piwowar
Of this much we’re certain
Acrylic / mixed media on canvas
60″ x 70″

TIM AND ERIC AWESOME SHOW!