Friday, August 26, 2011
WHY DO SO MANY MEN HATE CATS?
I really do need somebody to help me out here. Can
someone please tell me why so many men HATE cats?
I mean, I've always liked cats a lot. And I'm pretty
sure I'm a dude. So there are some exceptions. But
keep in mind that I am also a poet - and we tend to be
a fairly strange breed. So maybe that's why I like
cats? But have you ever noticed that most men seem to
DESPISE felines with a vehement passion? It almost
borders on a phobia! These dudes will say the most
incredibly offensive things about cats and their
"sickening" habits. But how come? HELP!
I have a theory? It's just a small one, and not all
that scientific, so again - feel free to offer your own
insights. I think a lot of men secretly feel
threatened by cats. Of course no dude will ever fess
up to that. It would make them appear too weak. And
that's the worst thing that can happen to a dude's
ego. But why the murderous feelings? The only good cat
is a dead cat? That kind of passion to me means that
something very deep is going on inside the dude's
head. I mean, some of the things they will actually
say: Cats are stupid. A dog is better. At least it
will do something when you tell it to. So is that it?
Most men feel threatened by cats because a cat
actually knows how to think for itself, and will look
at you like you are insane if you order it to do
something?
And a lot of men take it very personally when a cat
ignores their attempts at making friends with them.
The cat is simply too stupid or stubborn to be
overjoyed about getting a nice little pat on the head.
Bad, bad cat! Well, I actually admire the cat for
being so independent and aloof. I understand that I am
going to have to earn the cat's respect and trust
before it will allow me to manhandle it in any kind of
fashion. I actually think dogs are kind of silly for
being so easy. It doesn't impress me when I have to
fend off some overgrown mutt that insists I pet it,
and let it lick me from head to toe—not even one
minute after I have first made its acquaintance.
And don't get me started on the litter box deal.
That's usually the excuse I get when I ask a dude why
he is so phobic about cats. He actually hates the
sickening litter box more than the poor cat. But is it
less sickening to have to follow a dog around as you
take it for its morning stroll, and get ready to scoop
up the latest……. I think you know what comes next.
I mean, I find that much more "sickening" than a
harmless little litter box. And who wants to get up at
the crack of dawn, and take Butch outside for his
first walk of the day? I sometimes don't even get out
of bed till the sun has gone down! I am truly baffled
by this cat phobia thing.
So I am hoping that some of you cat hating dudes (the
more honest ones) will bravely step forward and clue
me in. Just fess up that you really hate cats. Then
try and give me a really good reason why - I mean,
something that makes sense. This could very well be
the first step in your recovery - or even my own.
Perhaps you'll somehow convince me that dogs really
are much better than cats. And I hope to hear from
some of the cat lovers too. Men and women both.
Because I am hoping to solve this mystery that's been
bugging me for many a year: Why do so many men hate
cats? Please help me out here.
Essay © 2009 by Dylan Mitchell
Monday, August 22, 2011
SUDDEN LIGHT
I slept
in my clothes
again
last night. Those stubborn
buttons were beyond
my dying
fingers. No energy to
unzip my pants, take off
a shoe.
The stark sun
stabs my exhausted eyes
each morning.
Shrill
street sirens startle
my numb mouth open:
A long silent scream,
in a deaf man's
nightmare.
Under the heavy covers
I try to shut out
the world
until I'm somehow able
to rise again. Maybe
Jesus
will come to me
during this suffocating
darkness
and take my soiled hand.
He will pull me out of this
deep black hole
and guide me towards that
sudden light. His sweet
and gentle hands will
bless my blind
eyes open
and make my
body pure. He will wash
away the decay
and deadly fear
with his unearthly love. He
will make the sullen worms
forgive my fallen flesh.
He will throw out the mouldering
shroud. He will sing me
wide awake until
I'm wearing something
white and waltzing in the
sun. He will carry my heavy
burden and stand beside me,
as I laugh and dance on
my own empty grave.
Poem © 2009 by Dylan Mitchell
Thursday, August 11, 2011
GUILD, 3 A.M.
The twinkling
yellow and white
lights
yellow and white
lights
of the marquee
are done. The
money's made.
Nothing but black-
ness, and a persistent
wind
entering my sleeping
bag as I try to
catch
a couple more hours
of sleep
before
sunrise and the
sudden return
of
people rushing past
me and the
averted eyes
of The City:
more partial to
celluloid tragedies
and a smart cafe after
than a poor old man
sleeping at their feet.
Poem © 2009 by Dylan Mitchell
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