Grrr. My wife is super sick and I’m stretched crazy thin, trying to work 8-hour day, nursemaid and babysit, plus getting up at 4AM to keep the baby from going nuts. Dude. I’m sleepy.

Poem anyway.

The Manthroom is a myth.

Matthew Perry idea of exclusive domain,
Testosterone Land in estrogen ocean.
Wife moved out to enjoy a whole bath tub,
tired of oppressive autumnal color scheme.
Left me envisioning
comic book art,
succinct but solid stereo,
maybe even mini fridge.

Vision falls flat
As infant hand pound door
during morning tooth brushing,
disintegrate as door flies open,
Finding feminine products
still secreted under sink.

Every second NASCARs against time,
Waiting to see who or what needs where now?
Let shower water Swedish massage shoulders
Enjoying the silence.

“Gentleman’s Time”
By Hannibal Tabu

Written at 11:38PM on Monday from the Manthroom.

Playing (Music): “Doompasage” by Sha-key

… you’re one of the “syndicated” readers I have who are (know it or not) experiencing the wonder of RSS during my yearlong sabbatical from social networking. Despite the fact that you are on Facebook (or wherever else, but that’s the one that leaps to mind), I am not. I left an automatic setting to seed my random rantings there from my actual blog, where I broadcast unabated. I’m in your living room/phone/cubicle without ever leaving wherever I am. Cool.

That said, I am also aware of conversations happening around these writings, conversations that I am not taking a part in. Why? Well, as you could find out easily if Ping.fm’s shortcut URLs lasted longer than Lindsay Lohan’s sobriety, I’m still in my year-long self-imposed exile from social networking and, to be honest, I’ve learned some things.

• I miss Twitter. A lot. I’ve come to get a gang of news from the 126 subscriptions in my Google Reader feed (which feeds my linkroll on the web and on my mobile site) but the immediacy of Twitter, the pithy interactions with my people like Ja Bir or my wife or Craig or Ritch or Encyclopedia Black or Chinedum even Tax Hitler (also known as “Senor Sidekick”) … I won’t lie, I miss it.
• I don’t miss Facebook. At all. Facebook’s mobile site went through more alterations than Heidi Montag (yes, I’m keeping up with even celebrity gossip … kind of ), taking away the most useful functionality points (remember press “4″ for new notifications?) while becoming more of a beyotch about privacy and generally annoying me even without my presence. Moreover, I’ve seen and participated in some of the dumbest conversations (Roman Polanski leaps to mind) on Facebook, stuff that I’d have been embarrassed to be seen in were it Usenet or some more civilized locale. I won’t abandon the site when I come back, but it won’t be my “home” online.
• Laugh if you want … I kind of miss MySpace. The same people were closer, had less fleeting interactions, had less privacy worries while having more of a public platform. I’m just saying.
• I don’t need to have a conversation on LinkedIn unless it’s about money. I love that.
• No, I don’t miss Friendster or wish I’d have enhanced myself on Bebo, Hi5 or anywhere else “ghetto” like that.

More lessons learned when I get back, I’d wager. I just wanted to apologize if you’re trying to interact with me and it seems like I’m ignoring you. I’m not really there, you see. I’m just a pigment of your emancipation. Or a fragment of your intoxication. Something like that. Work it out for yourself, I’ll be back in four more months to discuss it.

Playing (Music): “Dynamite” remix by Taio Cruz feat. Jennifer Lopez

This morning, I was asked if I’d post some sensitive details about someone I know. I had to refuse, and suddenly understood some things people had said about my writing. That, of course, led to this …

When I was younger, I was fearless.

Talk about a thug rapper’s momma
in front of his concert,
Surrounded by all of his boys.

Stand in front of Parker Center
with a picket sign
showin’ Daryl Gates
sodomizing Bernie Parks
and dare somebody to say something.

If “AM” and “sunshine” went together
it was time to go to bed after
switching lanes suddenly
90 miles per hour
4AM on 405,
literally acting a fool.

Now there are quiet Saturday mornings
catching up on streamed TV shows
baby strapped to my chest.
Standing in dance performance aisles
to catch slivers of six-year-old smiles.
In bed before 11 on a Friday night.

I don’t mind talk about me going soft.
Same stuff stays in my trunk,
still never sit with back to any door.

Closing open door policy on my life.
Details about dramas get delivered nowhere,
hard to grow up under stage lights
relative privacy a gift for the present.

It’s not fear.
It’s a healthy respect.
It’s having people around.

So my blog becomes insular
my poetry less revealing
a sacrifice taken from art
given to tomorrow.

“The Curtain Falls”
by Hannibal Tabu

See ya tomorrow, we’re in the home stretch now.

Playing (Music): “Bottle It Up” by Sara Bareilles

NOTE: Since this blog is automatically imported into my Facebook page, I apologize if you comment on it and I don’t respond, as I am taking a sabbatical from social networking for 2010. So me not responding is not personal, I just won’t see the comments … until 2011. Maybe. Also including this disclaimer on blogs, but you’re welcome to go to the blog itself and speak your mind, as I may look there …