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the blue collar poet. |
11.09.2003 |
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a plumber by nature, and a poet by trade, lou welcomed the twenty-first century with a passive wave. everyday, lou (which is a shortened form of louis) would sit at his typewriter and try to write poetry. god, he hated it. always preoccupied with the deeper roots of love, anger, happiness, and perversion, lou's mind would become all congested and clogged. soon, the thoughts would jade the easily overwhelmed lou, and his poem would revert back to lou's signature poems about incompetent seafarers.
it all started when his eighth grade teacher had once told him that he should be a fighter. probably because lou was always getting into fights. he would win some, but not nearly enough to make a career out of it. to make a short story more complicated, lou's hearing compensated for a speech impediment that the teacher didn't actually have, therefore mistaking fighter for writer. ever since, lou has been grappling with poetry. and hating every second of it. people like lou don't ignore callings. even if the phone is actually off the hook.
right after the tenth grade, lou decided that the eleventh grade wasn't for him. and without being able to register into the twelfth without first going through the eleventh, lou dropped out of school. unfazed-- because he had already had a career path laid out for him-- lou embarked on the rough byways of writing poetry for a living. it took every ounce of his effort to turn off public access tv and sit down at his typewriter.
dreams of being a plumber had tapped lou on the shoulder since he was thirteen. at first, he just thought it was virginity reminding him that it was still there, but a few years later he discounted that theory. then, after a sex-ed class as a sophomore in high school, lou decided that his original theory could still be a possibility. however, the whole debate was put to rest four days later after lou gave one of his first poems "you're kidding about the sharks, right?" to the sexy susan.
thirty years later, lou sits at his typewriter. leaning over in his chair (butt crack showing), his depressed look was buried into the fake cedar of his off-brand desk. lou had been trying to remember an inspiration that fleeted through him (like a really fast deer) two nights prior. it was something about a mariner who had lost his love for the sea, and had acquired a love for the liberal arts. something like that. but then, just then, his drinkin' buddy walt had burst into the room. ironically, he was wearing a scarf. he hollered that mel's tavern had a leaky toilet. the ploy always worked. plumbing over poetry. even drinking over poetry. poor lou. poor poetry. poor fleeting deer. poor goodnight moon.
sometimes for inspiration lou would type out random words that came into his head. with scissors, he would then cut the words out on tiny slivers and then tape them on his refrigerator. rearranging them erratically-- lou would look for poetic phrases. lou's friend Vicki, the chain-smoking, wigged-out lady from the trailer next door called this mind sparking aesthetic, "pathetic." this made lou feel, in his words: "sad." eyes becoming heavy and leaky, lou pouted all the way into the bathroom and yanked at the toilet paper. (yes, something dramatic was destined to happen.) grabbing the pile of toilet paper that had accumulated on the floor during this tantrum, lou began shoving it violently into the toilet. splashing water soaked his sleeves. lou wiped his eyes with his wet sleeves, picked up a plunger, and went to work.
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| 3:56 am |
sui generis said this. |
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| more frequent updates? |
yes, yes, children. we are back! be sure to sign up at the mailing list below to receive notices on phrensick updates.
we will be updating our list shortly to those of you IDIOTS that checked up on the site while we were on an eight-month hiatus! |
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| mailing list! |
sick of visiting phrensick and seein' the same old un-updated site? well, join the mailing list and be alerted to new posts.
go to the contact page... remember to put in your email address... and put "add list" in the body.
god, phrensick's always on the cusp of technology. |
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| POLL |
last night, phrensick polled the current 40-man roster of the MILWAUKEE BREWERS to find out their favorite and least favorite posts.
2003 Milwaukee Brewers favorite post:
XANDER'S "Owimoweh, Owimoweh."
2003 Milwaukee Brewers least favorite post:
SUI GENERIS'S "Popcorn Carts."
(poll was taken of the seven players that returned their questionnaires) |
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| response to POLL |
all i have to say to the milwaukee brewers: sarcasm and base hits... who would've guessed the brew crew couldn't get either?
~sui generis |
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