Atlanta Musician, Olin Rainwater, passed yesterday. Olin was an amazing musician, an amazing husband, and an amazing father. I used to visit Olin often, when we lived across the driveway from each other, on Dixie Ave. Olin would play his songs for me for hours. He was an amazing song writer, and guitar player. He will be sorely missed by his wonderful wife, Sloan Carroll Rainwater, and his son Nigel. Olin is playing guitar, right now, with his hero Jimi Hendrix in Heaven. God rest his soul. We love you Olin, and we miss you. Thank you for all the joy that you brought into our lives.

Our House

She likes to check the mail, as do I.

She likes to cut the lawn, which is good,

because I don’t.

She loves to cook. I love to eat.

We both raked the yard, this afternoon.

She likes to make me my coffee.

I love coffee, and I love that she loves

to make it for me.

Neither of us much cares about driving.

It is so crazy out there.

She loves her dog.

I love my dogs.

Her dog has become my dog,

and my dogs have become her dogs.

The cats have remained independent

though we both feed them.

She likes my frog, and my turtle.

I wonder what they see?

One of my cats knocked my alarm clock radio to the floor, off of my night stand, for the second time, last night, in the middle of the night, while I was sleeping. I just left the clock on the floor. I could see the time from my bed, and I figured that, maybe, three times I would be out, and the clock would be broken the next time one of the cats decided to take over. It’s an old clock, but I still like it. It is one of those Sony Dream Machines. It has cd player in it that still works. I am not going to let my cats fuck up my dream machine. The cats like to take over the table because it is next to a window. You should see them go crazy, fighting over that open window. Cats love to sit by the window, and stare out at the world.

A small piece of shit

I have walked past this thing on the floor of the extra bathroom for two, or three days. Until just now, I thought that it was a dirty ole leave, but on my last visit to this facility, I got the feeling that it was a small piece of shit.

--Mikel K

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I hope you have love

It is Saturday morning. We make love. She makes coffee. I drop a couple of live crickets into my frog’s box, turn on my turtle’s light, feed the dogs, and feed the cats. We ‘re trying to beat The Gas Company, so we have the heat turned down enough, in the house, that I need to use a space heater in my office. The heat feels good. The day feels good. I am glad to be here. I am glad to be alive. I have heard it said that, as you age, you become more at peace with the world, less angry. This is a good thing. I can feel it happening to me. Love is a good thing. I hope you have love.

--Mikel K

Nov. 9, 2012 

It’s Friday in Mableton, Ga., and the parking lot at the K Mart-Dollar Store Parking lot is full of large American pickup trucks driven by Mexicans. We have come here to buy milk. I have my milk habit down to just a tablespoon, or so, every once in a while in my hot tea, and, now, I am out. K Mart’s milk is a dollar more than it costs at all the surrounding grocery stores, so on principal I head out. As we left, we priced a funky plastic tree, and then laughed: no tree this year. We price a gift for the grandkids, and laughed. No expensive presents for the grandkids this year. We find a small milk for a buck, at the dollar store, but when I get to the front there is only one lane open, and the lady who would have been in front of me has left no room for anything else: her cart is filled to the top. I just didn’t feel like waiting through all that to get some milk, so I said fuck it and we went home.

--Mikel K

"We're all in this together," Obama said in a tweet he sent just after 11:20 p.m., when the TV networks declared him the winner. "That's how we campaigned, and that's who we are. Thank you. — bo"

Public Transportation

Sometimes on the bus I pick my nose

I do this, I think, not so much as a direct violation
of social principles, but because my nose urges it
and feels good when I am done.
That seat on which you sit may be one
that I once sat on. You may put your fingers
underneath the seat and find my boogers.
Man, and woman, we are all in this together.

--Mikel K
Circe 1983

Fuck. I just spent over an hour trying to enlarge the icons on this laptop, to no avail. How very frustrating. Simple computer things often baffle me. If left to my thinking, we would still be striking sticks together to make fire.

This computer is supposed to be dead. It is, at least, seven years old, is machine gun bullet like ridden with bits and pieces from meals that I have had, over the years, sitting in front of this computer, and cranking out poems, and journal entrees. The five is missing. The computer hasn’t let me get on the internet in a couple of years.

There are a lot of memories on this computer, most of which have been transferred to a new, faster model. I thought that this machine was dead, but I never gave up on it, never put it by the side of the road for it to be found by a new home, a home that would hopefully give it life.

Computer repairs are not on the books for a man eking it out somewhere down below minimum wage. Those computer guys, and gals, are expensive. A blessing was bestowed upon me, though, yesterday when the man at the computer store fixed my computer for me for free.

It is so weird, and fun, to have this computer back in my existence.

I am thankful to the man, and to the machine; more to the man at this minute as the computer is only letting me play one song over and over: “Ain’t Wastin’ Time No More,” by The Allman Brothers. Hey, maybe the machine is trying to tell the man something?

--Mikel K

November 3, 2012