tincantheory

ull new transflations — Rosetta Stone hypothoses

Past is Fast

“Forget about it,” said Janine.

And he did. Fifteen years later.

The brood he’d stewed in the meantime was one hefty tomato.

“Fancy meeting you here.” It was Janine.

Ronald covered his ears, sat his coffee down, and ran out of the 7-11.

Throwing the car in drive, he propped his elbow on the passenger seat and cranked his head around. He ran into a car at the gas tank in front of him.

His stomach was a pit of empty space through which he could feel his soul sinking indefinitely. His mind wracked its various alternatives and an avenue through which to shift to any of them. No. And then the shock wore off.

“Oh my goodness.” His mouth was still open. He shook to and turned his collar up, looked for sunglasses. Nope. He stepped out to see. No one was in the other. The damage was slightly more than minimal and more then he’d expected, his mind still clinging to the last hope of no harm done.

There was sharp cursing and then, “Ronald!”

It was Janine.

How could he forget?

Top Tipper

Forget the hops

We go the tops

Green light the go

Pull out the stops

And when you got

Three times the slops

You rigor stiff

And flip the flop

Marking Black These Xs in the White Room

We mark all these black Xs in the white room

Sweet yesternothings something semi-gray

Then crank this cranks horizon turn and push broom

And sweep the night like shatters into day

Hooray

Stoooooopids We (You and I and Most Dear Five)!

Spin who span the answer

Yes, we all be can, sirs

Oh me wow me pantser

Yes, we all be can, sirs

Pander there fee ere her?

Five whole dollar can, sir

Gripe the gripper glander

Can we all in can, sir

Said can we all be can, sir

A Spring of Stank Autumn

Fallen got up and got cuppity cup. Who’s thirst was it anyway? You take the two dollars, divide it by anonymous, and no one gets parched anymore. Race ever won. Though. Haha. It is funny sometimes. You lay it flat it’s the ocean; the river in motion. How many times–

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

–do we rise from the bank bottom. Stank autumn. A burning leaves refocused, forged in the valley of the let’s thrice again–many times the charm–hobbling with arm open and heads on backward. Hark we are here and we dumb from the water. We birthed of the otter. We swim to the rim, but then what’s alma mater?

 

Glib.

Rib.

Eve has got dibs.

Fumble the wherewithal; cuddle the squid.

 

I would do it for forty dollars. Show me the gunny. Almost the win, but we did  it for honey.

 

Digging for gold and direction is buried.

 

Boots Mama Boogie

Who gotcha boots. Botta boots. boots.

Scoots in the suits. Inna suits. suits.

Who’s gotsa swiiing inna me me me

Downtown to sing mama blue decree

Boots in the roots. River roots. roots.

Boots come a boots inna boot-boot-boots.

 

Where mama stare? Over there. there.

Clean underwear. Cause ya care. care.

I got the tiiime gumma golden grime.

Wisky for wine with those pantsomine.

Mama beware. Cause we care. care.

Ifin fall there you so-close-almost there.

 

 

Steam me Primo

Smoke

sup sup sup sup

eeeeeeeeeee

ooooooooooh

give a time a give a time a give a time a time o

chewwwww

mastication proclamation Jerron gotta rhyme o

 

Clearing

up up up up

meeeeeeeeeem

wooooooooomb

fetal bake a birthday cake awake in time awry glow

chohhhke

shake a shake a shake a shake a

 

Jerron gotta rhyme o

 

(my zipper got stuck)

Cat Sometimes

I run up all

I cat sometimes

Me ffft ffft ffft my way

 

I catch them all

The mouse sometimes

And sleep sleep sleep a day

 

I num de tox

My litter box

From silver bowl cafe

 

I rub your leg

I cat sometimes

‘Til cat is go away

 

 

No Point

Who wasn’t

No he doesn’t

Turn rip

stripngrip

Dip it in the baker’s dozenth.

 

Rip Rip

POTATO CHIP

Letcherhair

cummmmmmOUTTA CLIP!

Get Get

onwithit

In our skin we

steer the ship.

 

Circles.

Write for Tin Can Theory

There’s a little tin can in all of us. In some, it’s a bit larger, like the big family soup kind. Still others are so ingrained and tuned to their inner tin can that boundaries seem to blur. We call these tin men–eh…tin people–and these people need an outlet, a can opener, if you will.

Don’t worry, it’s metaphorical.

How is your tin can? Have you spoken to it lately? It may be that you never knew it was there. Introduce yourself. Put your fingers to keyboard and bring it out to play.

Tin Can Theory is open to submission. It’s not easy work–you’ll know if you skim through. It’s a duty. A way of living. About what you see is about what we’re looking for, but with your twist.

Right now it’s just a man and his can. Shake us up. Mix us around. Show us what you’ve got.

 

If you’re interested (and it would be very great if you would happen to be interested), please submit work or questions to jerrontables@tincantheory.com. We’re not so much looking for a guest blogger, but more of a colleague who would post with at least semi-regularity. However, single guest post submissions are welcome.

 

One thing is for sure. This is bigger than a Jerron Tables. We are all here–all of us atumble in this great, big aluminum clanker, skidding down the pebbled pavement after one swell of a well-deserved swift kick.

Are you tin can enough?

 

‘course you are.

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