Brand New Start

This summer I lost my glasses and got new ones and couldn't help but think it meant something more than just $400 and a pain in my butt. A new way to see and be seen, you know? Clearer vision. A new outlook. I took any sort of cliched meaning from it that I could because I needed to and why not?

Anyway, another fresh face: www.thegreattidepool.com

It's currently under construction but we are/Ben is working on it. Fonts will be smaller and better and everything will look nice. And I'm going to try and write more fiction maybe but maybe not.

Make it a motto

This week we have positive or important messages. Things such as: Good things come. Go get 'em, tiger. Don't worry too hard. It's not as bad as it seems. You're probably great. People like you. Brush twice a day. 

Keeping Portland Weird

These goons. On this same day (yesterday) Stephen asks Suzanne to marry her. She says afterward, "I'm going to marry you, but I tell you that all the time." He says, "I called your bluff."

The world's largest third wheel.

"I'm engaged. I think I've opened up a whole new pandora's box of jokes."
-S. Wicks, 2011.

Ode to Rap (By Matthew Bernstein-8th Grade)

Rap music you are magnificent
A golden light from the firmament
With beat of perfect measurement
And words so eloquent
Not like a jingle in an advertisement
But a love-letter sent
Using voice as solo instrument
The best accompaniment
Like a burger and a condiment
I relish each ingredient
Rap you are my nourishment

It is no accident
Rap is often irreverent
Expressing life's discontent
Rolling waves so turbulent
Like from a volano's vent
It washes over me my enlightenment
And with child-like wonderment
Unravel each red-wrapped argument
? tied in knots of puzzlement
? decipher what is meant

And all my money will be spent
On rap with names like T.I., Jay-Z and 50-Cent
Without rap life loses its merriment
Rap music is my one true enjoyment

On the wall of a record store. Portland, Oregon.

At the Capers Community Market

At the table next to me two mothers are chatting over lunch about the lack of private schools in this neighbourhood. The one is “frankly shocked” about it. Wherever she had grown up, apparently, there were far more private schools; she says, “it just wasn’t a problem there”. Meanwhile her daughter has begun crying at the pigeon near to their table full of food; she is not, however, shedding any tears. Another daughter, who, according to her mother is “eating too many blueberries,” spits on the pigeon. This goes unnoticed.

A third daughter, clearly belonging to the mother nearest me, gathers away her family’s garbage. Her toe and fingernails match her blue eyes perfectly.

When the youngest girl’s crying grows no longer ignorable, the mothers faintly acknowledge her worry by telling stories about birds. One mother mentions a swarmed picnic once. The crying girl offers her own story about the time at the beach house when she dropped some groceries and a bird got them. The girl appears clearly traumatized. The pigeon wanders around the table.

As the pigeon approaches the middle child, she takes a large swig of chocolate milk so that she can make one ultimate spit onto the pigeon’s back. Organic milk and salvia go flying. This time though, the mother does notice. The girl gets in trouble. Lunch is over.

Pt. 4 (Things Brother Will Says)

"I did a speech on rocks that mom wrote once, and it was really interesting. I learned a lot from that speech." -W. Kane, 2011