Tag: art
Blog Posts / Random / Writing

Champagne Idiot

- by Typewriter Fox

Slipping wild down around DeWitt Road. Right where the airport roads all blink and bend together. Down past the inconvenient end of 28 Left jutting out into Clinton County. That rippling runway scar along which a familiar tin tail number used to shimmy and brake in bombastic MD-11 style. Back in those happy times. Before that catastrophic crash, that cost me more of my friends. I was left shifting gears mechanically in time with the rhythm of sifted memories. Slapping the stick just to better absorb a soundtrack that only I could hear. Because something had to push me through all the suck.  And sometimes, you just have to ride out all the fucking hurt. It was just another unsupervised dose, of yet another manic Michigan …

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Blog Posts / Random / Writing

Last Call

- by Typewriter Fox

She was there when I needed someone the most. She was there on that awful stain of a 517 Thursday. A shitty day, full of shitty airplanes, tacked on to the end of another shitty week. Maybe I was just grouchy; maybe I was just manstruating my way through another shift of maniac, Mittened madness. Maybe I was still hungover from the night before; maybe it was an indecipherable combination of reasons spawning all the suck.   I just knew that I needed to tap the fuck out for a second.   I needed to catch my breath. And to realign my head into a better place. Because I was honestly about thirty seconds away from jumping headfirst into a rotating jet engine. Figuratively, of course. I’d never …

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Blog Posts / Random / Writing

The Ring

- by Typewriter Fox

There was once a ring. She never knew about it; it was the only secret I ever kept from her. Because after that first Wayne’s City kiss, I pledged absolute transparency—I knew that was the only way that we would ever work. And I wanted to be understood as a fox of his word. The gamble was enormous. The one involving state lines crossed. And expensive pettifoggers. Endless boxes and bruises. The ones ending in too many damn sleepless nights; the ones bleeding into hot, hard days scrambling up those congested 120 miles. Pushing to build a comfortable life from a tender start of want. Those early days holding the promise of only two tea mugs, a simple kettle we both kind of hated, and a …

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Blog Posts

Shift Lock

- by Typewriter Fox

‘Shift Lock: A Metaphor for Changing Perspectives’ 5-9 p.m. March 27 Struk Studio 2916 Turner St., Lansing What would happen if 25 people sat down to type out their random thoughts, surrounded by art and fueled by Cravings Gourmet Popcorn? Find out on March 27 as north Lansing’s Struk Studio hosts “Shift Lock: A Metaphor for Changing Perspectives.“ The unique event is the brainchild of Jeffrey Gaff, a Lansing author, artist, collector of vintage typewriters and ramp supervisor at Capital Region International Airport who goes by the pen name Séafra Duffy. Gaff is a pugnacious, punk-rock defender of all things tangible and analog. In September, while Gaffs gonzo collage art was enjoying a minute of fame at Struk Studio, he and studio owner David Such dreamed …

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Blog Posts / Random / Writing

Fireball

- by Typewriter Fox

Pushing hard east on Michigan Avenue. Fireballing through traffic lights. The burn in the gut helping to burn down everything else. Because it is the kind of night to not really give a fuck. Just like every other night in these godforsaken flyover fields. The compulsion is always to put things with things. Even when there isn’t a handle to hold. Or a viable exit strategy. If I’ve learned anything over the years, it is that there is always something else left to lose. So it’s always a scramble to maintain some semblance of a grip. But everything eventually slips away anyway. Behind spinning tires lingers the stink of tin monsters. Those temperamental, dual-engined beasts. The ones nightly vomiting out “need it right the fuck now” …

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Blog Posts / Poems / Writing

The Gekkering

- by Typewriter Fox

The Gekkering i will make joyful the bright noise of my reimagination. i will stand determined on the side of more patient angels. i will walk unfettered by the stain of savage predator hearts. i will run free across the less travelled pathways. i will adapt quickly to the unpredictability of rhythm. i will hunt joys of better days lurking on tomorrow’s horizon. i will write honest the story of my vagabond experience. i will achieve what is hard; i will demand what is great. i am feral. i am free. i am FOX. ##)S.D.(## 21 JAN 25

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Blog Posts / Random / Writing

Birthday Funeral Part One: The Drive

- by Typewriter Fox

Things just haven’t been the same since you hot shot yourself.   That awful Monday night when the needle bit you a final goodbye. Alone. Curled up inside that ramshackle Indiana motel room tacked to the shoulder of US 33. Your few belongings neatly arranged as a last courtesy. Everything in its proper place. Everything except for those last words on a page—your final temper tantrum. It was a gibberish beyond the comprehension of most. But I understood perfectly. Because no matter the distance of our disconnect, we somehow remained tethered. At least when it came to the writing. We could read each other as easily as the riddle printed on the back of one of her hoarded banana Laffy-Taffys. She always had that soft spot flair …

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Blog Posts / Random / Writing

Sticks and Stones

- by Typewriter Fox

If only someone had told me it was the best worst of times. Maybe then I would have kept the receipts. Or demanded a refund.  But no one said a fucking word. Things that were plainly obvious to others remained stubbornly foreign to me; I was always the misshaped peg. And I kept trying to stuff myself inside all of the wrong holes.   I could never stomach the correct stillness of being bored. The mundane nature of pretend adulting goes against the nature of my chemistry; I am not hardwired for responsibility. And that disconnect causes more irritating friction than the back strap of a sandy beach thong.  So I stumble through as best I can. Playing the part of the drunken fool. Disrespecting boundaries. Because …

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Blog Posts / Random / Stories / Writing

Sushi Tastes Like Highschool

- by Typewriter Fox

The list of places I am no longer welcome continues to grow; the number of people willing to put up with my shit seems to be shrinking. Thankfully, it wasn’t an accidental cohabitation situation with a blonde disaster like the last time. Regrettably, it was a friend from high school who wanted to meet, “just to catch up.” After thirty some years of not actually seeing each other’s faces.  We somehow managed to stay in touch over the years. At least as far as the big life events were concerned–births, deaths, her too many affairs.   It was always the middle of the night when my phone would ring. Another transcontinental call. She knew I would be awake. And probably drunk enough to talk her back from …

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Blog Posts / Random / Writing

Coconut Rum Diaries

- by Typewriter Fox

Sunday drunk on coconut rum. Not a flavour native to Michigan. But it reminds me there are better places in the world. And that’s not nothing. So I cling to it, like a mother does her special needs child to keep him from running into the traffic barreling south on MLK. Tropical drinks downed against the backdrop of Midwestern blandness. It seems a reasonable response to the ridiculousness of it all. Because nothing here makes any fucking sense.   And I’m dying to get away.  Away from the stink of airplanes—yeah, I’m pretty fucking talented at kicking tin. I’ve set the early departure record multiple times. And someone up at corporate must have noticed that. Because they rolled back our scheduled departure. In doing so, I helped …

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