These “novel-poems” were posted on Instagram in a serial fashion from November 17 – December 2, 2019.
Alvah was considering turning them into a play, a podcast, or another longer-form genre.
The full text of "Side-Hustle" appears below. To skip ahead to particular installments, click the numbers below.
N.b. He skipped numbers 10 and 21.
Tonight, I spilled
strawberries all over
a lady’s lawn.
I was walking up
and the shit just
popped open.
She was so sweet about it.
Stephanie. She said, “things
happen,” and I guess they do.
She didn’t say, “things happen
for a reason.” But, they do.
Sometimes they happen
for more than one reason.
I trace the case
of the spilled strawberries
back to my trunk-light.
It’s burnt-out. There’s probably
a reason for that, too, but
I don’t know what it is.
Could be the wiring. Not
really my field of expertise,
electricity. Stephanie.
She was so sweet about it.
She said, “things happen.”
I didn’t tell her about you,
or my trunk-light,
or the strawberries
I’ve spilled
all over town.
$7.95, for the record,
and I’m not really
expecting a tip.
November 17, 2019
There are all sorts
of cut-throughs, but,
you’ve got to know
about them. You’ve got
to be at this a while.
Sometimes I’ll see
somebody stuck in a turn lane
and I’ll think, “sucker” or
“rookie.” Anyway, cut-throughs
are important in this game.
You’ve got to make the most
of your time and your gas,
if you’re gonna win.
The other day
or the other day,
I found this cut-through
between two Walmarts.
I’m not going to tell you
where it is because…
competition.
Anyway, the first street runs through a lower middle-class
neighborhood of single-story
concrete block homes.
Unremarkable, except in the middle
of this neighborhood
there is a giant Buddhist temple.
It just comes up
out of nowhere and it’s gorgeous.
It’s got to be 5-stories tall,
all white, except the windows
and the awnings, which
are gold filigree. It’s got
an ornate gold gate
and signs painted in blue
in a language I can’t understand.
I think two things, now,
every time I drive past it:
There is no such thing
as a single story home
and, once I drop
this shit off, I swear,
I’m gonna think about her
one last time, and
then, I’m gonna move
beyond desire.
November 17, 2019
I’ve moved beyond
desire now, I think.
Damn, it’s hard to tell.
it’s possible. But, I know
I need more money.
What I should do
is get another side-hustle, but,
that would be
a side-side-hustle
and that starts to sound
like a line-dance
or something out of a ‘90s
exercise video. I cannot
dance and I will not
exercise, but, I definitely
need more money.
That’s not to say
I desire it.
I definitely don’t desire
another side-hustle, so,
that’s progress.
November 17, 2019
I’m writing this in verse, but
once I’m done I’m going
to take all the line-breaks out
and make paragraphs.
People will pay good money
to read from one margin
aaaall the way down to the other one.
But, they won’t pay you shit
to read half a line, then another
half a line, then an ellipsis,
then an internal half-rhyme
followed by your best line
which you’ve turned into
a refrain.
That’s my one takeaway
from my creative writing class.
That once in a while
take your best line
and turn it
into a refrain.
November 17, 2019
When I first started this gig
I got two speeding tickets
bang, right off the bat. $300,
and those cops
were being generous. Plus,
I’m a white guy, so
I got to keep my head.
Still, generosity aside,
do not sleep on
a speeding ticket. First,
they will suspend your license
and then if they pull you
over again, buddy,
they will have your ass
in the Starkville City Jail
with a quickness! Now,
that’s a speeding ticket…
a subpoena, depending
on who you are, you
can safely ignore. Join
a nice conspiracy, hell,
cook one up, give aid
and comfort to the enemy,
undermine whatever
you can find, and if, one day
you catch a subpoena
in your mailbox? Do what
you will with it. Wallpaper
your bathroom, make
a paper airplane, an origami
frog, if you have
the attention span,
flout it, make flautas
out of it, write a note
on the back of it
and leave it
for the delivery guy.
Have a field day!
Plot on, plot on, Voltaire, Rousseau!
Tweet away, tweet away,
tweet away, Dixieland!
Because there is
absolutely no penalty
for ignoring a subpoena,
depending on who you are.
That’s the kinda shit keeps
making America great again
and again and again.
Take a breath…ok,
back to the speeding tickets.
I used to have a girl
that rode along with me.
She told me about this app
that could tell you
what was coming a long ways
down the road. Solved
my speeding ticket problem
just like that.
She was so pretty and cool,
but nothing an app
could help you with
and she knew all kinds a things
I didn’t.
November 17, 2019
I’m writing this
in my car. Sometimes
while I’m parked
and sometimes
while I’m driving.
Time is, as I mentioned,
of the essence.
I’m writing this
from one of the two
little black dots
at the end of a graph
from Mother Jones. That
graph starts in 1981
and ends in this parking lot.
That graph has two lines
and it looks like a mall
at closing time.
One guy on the escalator
going up and 99 people
on the escalator going down.
The way the points lie
on that graph isn’t an accident.
It took a long time, a lot
of money and planning
and a bunch of elections
to get them that way.
I’m writing this in my car
and I’m writing this
from the little black dot
at the end of a graph.
November 17, 2019
It’s getting kind of duskish,
but, I pull back into the lot
thinking maybe I’ll get
one more and then call it.
There’s a guy next to me
in a blue car. He’s definitely
waiting, too, and it looks like
he’s all up in his
iPhone Notes like I am.
So I’m like:
“Whatcha got going there?
Writin’?”
“Yep”
“Whatcha writin’?”
“Novel”
“Oh yeah, me too. Yours got arc?”
“Huh?”
“You know, is there a spiritual
progression taking place? Things
moving along to somewhere?”
“Yeah, it’s got arc. It’s got arc for
days. Arc’s not a problem. It’s just,
I don’t know, I feel like it’s literal
and I’m not really hearing the
music, ya know?”
“Hmm, no, not really. I’m hearing
the music…I can rhapsodize and
shit. I just, I got no arc over here,
like…at all.”
“Well, maybe we can work
something out.”
“You mean like a swap? Work a
trade? Like Strangers on a Train or
whatever?”
“Yeah, something like that. Music
for arc.”
“So, your novel…you trying to
seduce somebody or just people
in general, or what? Who’s your
target audience? Any way you can
throw in a 20?”
“Yeah, somebody in particular. It’s
like that, ya know?
She’s, ah, anyway…yeah maybe
on the 20, lemme see how I do
over the next couple days.”
“Cool, well can’t you just text her
or something. Something brief, or
is it beyond that?”
“Yeah, it’s way beyond all that.”
“Well, brother, I hate to tell you,
but by the time you finish that
novel, with or without music, she’s
liable to have moved on. And then
you’re gonna have to hope to sell
the movie rights and by then she’s
got a kid and you gotta bank on
her being divorced.”
“I know, but, dude this parking
lot…Jesus. What the fuck are you
gonna do, right?”
“No, I, I feel ya. But I think what
you probably need for your project
is some short, ambiguously pretty
bullshit.
Something allusive, with a nice ending.
Leave her blushing a little, but confused
about why, because she has no idea what
the fuck you’re talking about. You know
what I’m sayin’.”
“And then I’m lookin’ at her like,
‘Baby, you and I both know
what I’m saying here.’”
“Exactly. Shit, my bell just went
off. What time do you usually get up here?”
“About 8:30. Wanna meet back up?”
“Sure. Sounds good. What’s your
name, bro?”
“My real name or my pen name?”
“I’ll just look for your car.”
“Night.”
“Night.”
Motherfucker already has arc and
a pen name. I gotta be here by 7.
November 17, 2019
An idea, a writer, too much time
…that shit’s toxic.
That is not the recipe
for success.
Do not let it sit
in an SUV all day
in the sun.
Do not put it all
in a coke bottle
and shake it up.
Do not cook that shit up
all night in a motel room
on Youngerman Circle.
Do not douse it with a bunch
of broke-ass and heartbreak
and Jack Daniels.
that shit is combustible.
Your life will turn into
a Superfund site.
You ever tried bringing
a girl home
to a Superfund site?
Both of you just sitting there
on the couch
in your yellow hazmat suits,
trying to make conversation?
I will tell you, you cannot
charm your way out
of that situation.
I will tell you, you can put on
Pulaski at Night
or Into the Mystic
or whatever you want
and it won’t make
a damn bit of difference.
I will tell you, you
can order in
chicken and waffles
from the Metro Diner
because you know
that’s what she likes,
but, that shit is going
exactly nowhere.
I will tell you
a hazmat suit,
even one in her color,
even one altered
to flatter her figure,
will. not. ever.
lend itself
to intimacy.
I will tell you
that you, son,
are fucked.
November 18, 2019
You can’t help but think
about the phrase
“Available Balance,” these days.
It just keeps popping up.
Every time you go to the ATM.
Every time you see your therapist.
Every time you squint at the ATM
after seeing your therapist.
As long as you see “Available
Balance” you know you’re ok.
You know there’s a balance
you can avail yourself of.
Now, the word “Overdrawn,” as it is
designed to do,
will tip your ass
right on over.
That would be your “Antonym,”
more or less,
and every “Antonym,”
as you know from your
bank statement,
comes with a fee.
I was listening to a podcast
and they said a good way
to keep an “Available Balance”
and avoid “Antonym” fees
is through the power
of “Compound Interest.”
I grasp the concept,
but I can’t say I have
any personal experience
with “Compound Interest.”
I am, however, well-acquainted
with “Compound Fracture.”
It happened at the corner of
Would You Look at this Motherfucker
and Use Your Fucking Blinker.
Most insurers consider
a “Compound Fracture”
to be a “Pre-existing Condition,”
especially if ya bone
still stickin’ out ya leg.
I probably don’t need
to spell out the effect
a “Compound Fracture”
can have on your
“Available Balance,”
but, we can stop by
the ATM if you want to.
November 18, 2019
10. (there was no 10 posted)
Like I was saying
in the Prologue,
I’m not what you’d call
risk-averse, at least
when it comes to money
or women. But, being
risk-averse is a trait,
I figure, and like some traits
it can be learned
and unlearned.
Actually, I guess
there’s a bit of debate
about that, but,
for the sake of tuition fees
we’re gonna assume
people can change.
Anyway, I’m developing
a 12-week course
to help me, and others
like me, learn
to take less chances.
The first six-week session
will take place
at a table simulating
the Final Table
at the World Series of Poker.
The subject will be heads-up
against the instructor.
The subject and the instructor
will both be all-in
and the winner of the hand
will, theoretically, stand to win
ten-million dollars. The loser
will receive a tote-bag,
a used tote-bag, well-used,
with the logo of delivery service
screen-printed on the side.
The subject will be holding trip aces
and the instructor will be drawing
to an inside straight. Only
the River Card will remain.
The instructor will need
a 3 to win.
The dealer, the subject’s mother,
will reveal the River Card
and it will be a 3. The dealer
will then slap the living shit
out of the subject. The subject
will then say, “You’re right, ma,
you were right all along.”
The exercise will be repeated
up to 10 times a day
over the six-week period
or until the subject
gets it through
his thick fucking skull.
There is a waiver involved.
During the second
six-week term
the subject will be provided
with a pre-programmed
cellphone and a 12-pack.
The phone will only have access
to the Instant Messenger app
and the Instagram
page of the ex-girlfriend
of the subject’s choosing.
The moderator, the subject’s
mother, will then hand the subject
the phone and a beer.
The instructor will then observe
and record how many beers
the subject is capable of consuming
until he feels compelled
to check his ex-girlfriend’s
Instagram page, observe
the photos of her
and her new boyfriend
vacationing off the coast
of Dubai on a trimaran,
and text her begging
her to come back to him.
The moderator will then
slap the living shit
out of the subject.
The exercise will be repeated
until the conclusion
of the six-week term
or until the subject
is capable of finishing
the entire 12-pack without
either checking his ex’s
Instagram page and/or
texting her.
Sallie Mae has agreed
to make available
a student loan package
with very favorable terms
and the board of Facebook
has generously agreed
to provide a $500 grant
for interested students.
As an added incentive,
the good people
at Bud Light Platinum
will contribute
to the cost of rehab,
if necessary.
State licensing is,
as of this date,
pending.
November 18, 2019
I want to call.
I want to call you.
I want to call you Scarlett.
I want to call you, Scarlett.
I can’t call you, Scarlett.
I can’t call you Scarlett.
I can’t call you.
I can’t call.
I just spent a bunch of money
to get the shit
slapped out of me
and now I’ve graduated
and I’ve got loans
to pay and I’ve moved
beyond desire. But,
nobody said
I can’t come over
to your place
and call you Scarlett.
And nobody certainly ever said
I can’t wake up and look at you
and whisper, “Scarlett.”
Nobody ever said
anything like that
except you.
November 19, 2019
Ok, a run like this
is where you make it
on mileage. It’s
a long way down
Painted Oak Drive
to Distant Moon Circle.
With any luck at all
it’s not even our moon.
It’s a far more distant moon
circling a far more distant
planet.
November 19, 2019
This isn’t the kind of thing
you can do forever, you
know that, so
you gotta invest a little
in your future.
I try to keep it to two
$5 scratch-offs a day.
Work that into your budget.
Get the ones with the Bonus
Box, if you want.
That’s not a bad play, but,
what you want to avoid
are the ones
that have a crossword
or a word-scramble
or some shit like that.
They start to seem like
a lot of work
after a while. I mean, yeah,
we all want a million dollars,
but, come on.
November 19, 2019
I’ve got a limp going
with my left foot.
I like it. It gives me
a little roll coming
across a parking lot
or whatever. I think
it takes some of the soft
off me. I mean,
you and I know
I got bit by my own dog,
sitting in the backyard,
drinking coffee, trying
to write a little
and render you in peace,
but, the other ladies don’t
have to. I can story it up,
now. I coulda got this shit
kickin’ some bitch’s
door in, or in a street-fight,
resisting arrest, sparring
MMA. I mean, they’ll see
the soft before too long,
like you did. And they’ll know
what to do with it,
like you did. But, for a minute?
Coming across a parking lot
with a little roll or whatever?
Shit, anything’s possible.
November 19, 2019
This gig can be quaint
in a way. You feel
like the milkman must’ve felt
back in the day. Part
of the community and all that.
You start to see the same
customers over and over.
I never forget a name
or a front door
and, definitely, not a face.
I wonder what the milkman
used to see, back in the day,
when a customer opened
their door.
I wonder if they saw
a bunch of shit
packed in boxes
and almost no furniture.
I wonder if they heard
similar stories: I raised
my two sons by myself.
I’ve got multiple sclerosis
and I can’t get out.
My wi-fi only works
half the time
because of the government….
You’re probably wondering
why I ordered all this bleach.
I’ll tell you, come on in.
“No, I’m good, Mr. Gherdes.
Gotta move on
to the next stop, you know.”
I actually did
drop a bunch of milk
and cereal at a church
day-care down on E. 19th Street.
Those ladies were doing their best
from what I could tell.
I never forget walking
over worn-out carpet,
between walls covered with
little, purple
hand-prints and faded
bright colors. Makes
you feel like part
of the community
and all that. Some people
deserve milk, they do,
and they deserve
kind people
to pour it for them.
November 20, 2019
I made up a code
for us, so we could keep
the texts short
when we were both out
running. Safety first,
then coffee (mu@sb?)
if we were both
(nc) near Collins and
(bd) between deliveries.
It got a lot more elaborate
as time went on.
It had to. I’d give you
more examples, but, you’d need
an Enigma Machine.
Once in a while,
I still broadcast our code
out into the vast emptiness
of her number.
I’m a satellite
facing the wrong way.
“Bong, bong, bong,”
as Lou Reed would say.
November 21, 2019
My overhead I try
to spend locally.
That’s just good policy,
I think. Don’t give
your money to the Circle K
or the Shell.
They won’t miss it.
Your tank of gas will be
nothing more than
a rounding error
to those people, trust me.
My boiled peanuts,
lottery tickets, beer,
Skittles, smokes,
and what-have-you,
I get them all
from the Korean family
that runs the little store
up on Stockton Street.
The mother always has
a crock-pot full of whatever
sitting on a table
off to the side. Damn,
it’s so good and so free.
November 21, 2019
I’ve got a history
of running off.
Mostly on tabs,
but, I’ll run off
on a Thursday
just as quick.
Pour me on and I’ll run
off the pancakes,
across the counter,
and onto the floor.
I didn’t used to.
I used to be solid, but
then I got a history.
If I’m not in the room
and my smokes
are still on the table
odds are
I’m coming back.
If I don’t, then consider it
a victory.
Enjoy the spoils,
smoke the smokes,
and write a history
I won’t be back to read.
Thursday, November 21, 2019
If it got so bad
I forgot about you,
then you know,
how bad it got.
November 21, 2019
21. (there was no 21 posted)
Come August, I felt like I’d earned
a vacation. Like, for real…
that’s the way I think.
“I’ve done the absolute
minimum a guy can do
and now I’m beat
and it’s time
for a vacation.”
I don’t know if she thought
she’d earned a vacation or not,
but, she’d been running
around with me
for months, so I definitely felt
like she was due,
or I hoped she would be soon.
That’s a whole ‘nother story,
and we’ll get to it.
Anyway, you don’t need
a travel-agent,
if any of them still exist,
to plan your shit for you.
I’m good at running off
with no intention
of coming back.
We’ve established that.
But, what I’m even better at
is finding places
to go…amazing places,
and amazing places
to stop along the way.
And, at the end of your vacation,
and this is not
some kind of a pitch, I also
have a sterling reputation
for dropping people
back off at the same address
they started from. If
that’s what they want.
I’d say about 75% do
and the other 25% say
something along
the lines of, “Any street
in Montgomery will do,” or,
“Yeah, right here. No you know
what? Just keep driving
until I tell you to stop.”
And I keep driving and driving
until they tell me to stop.
I’ve done the numbers
and 3% of the 25%
of the people who thought
they didn’t want to go home,
actually did. 15% have me
circle an apartment complex
until the rental office opens.
And the other 7%?
The ones that said, “right here,”
in the middle of nowhere,
and hopped on out?
I hope they know
the neighborhood, because,
I don’t. Not at night.
November 22, 2019
If you usually
find yourself
regretting what you sought,
then it’s probably
not too early to go ahead
and regret
what it is you’re seeking.
You know, get
a jump on it.
November 24, 2019
Today, parked here,
I ended up with plenty
of time to think
about love and grammar.
I’m a lucky guy in some ways…
what can I tell ya?
I thought about
prescriptive grammar
and then I thought about
her grammar.
I wrote what amounted
to an essay
on prescriptive grammar.
I destroyed the idea from
the ground up,
just for her sake,
and then I swiped
those 40 lines
and clicked delete.
Thank me.
This is a love poem.
I know what I want,
and I know what I want
from a love poem,
and so do you.
When she moved
to Florida she brought
a little accent with her
from West Virginia
or North Carolina, or
whichever. Her
subjects and verbs
didn’t always agree
with one another
and I was fine with that.
In fact, I was more than fine
with that. So, now
whenever I wonder
whether she ever thinks
about our vacation.
Those two days in August,
in Alachua and counties
surrounding.
The unlikely waterfall
we found, the tortoise
that was 50/50
to make it safely across the road,
the green of the country,
in general,
and the donkeys that were
just down-home friendly
and didn’t mind
the paparazzi. Whenever
I wonder if she ever
thinks about the things
we did together
and the things we saw, I don’t.
What I do is I wonder
if she ever thinks about
the things we seen together
and about the things
we done.
November 27, 2019
Christmas is closing in again.
My side lost the war…again.
You have to be, like,
super-thoughtful
when you’re on a budget.
I can be super-thoughtful,
when cornered. I can
find something for $8.99
and wrap it in the comics.
$8.99, and when you
open it your ma will say,
“That boy’s on a budget,
but that boy loves you.”
November 29, 2019
A good playlist
will help you through
the long hours.
I’ve got The Kinks
going now. I love
Waterloo Sunset.
I can listen to it
over and over.
The part where Terry meets Julie,
Waterloo Station, every Friday night?
Ah, gets me every time!
You know who didn’t like
Waterloo Sunset?
Napoleon. By late afternoon
it had to be sinking in.
Striking, the colors.
Tricolors, to be exact, plus
shades of orange
filtered through the smoke.
Any other day he would’ve
thought, “As long as I gaze on
Waterloo Sunset
I am in paradise
and I don’t need no friends…”
November 30, 2019
Never a pause
or a lull
in the conversation.
There never was a lull
or a pause, that I can remember.
It would’ve been ok,
had there been one,
but, there wasn’t.
Not that I can remember. Ever.
And, at the end of every night,
under a blanket
or the Stockton Park sign,
she always had a way of saying “always”
that I think I mistook for “always.”
There was never a pause,
or a lull. Never an opening
in the conversation to ask
about “always,” all
the things it can mean,
and for how long.
December 1, 2019
It only takes about
2 and a half feet of water
to float a car. Once
your car is adrift
there’s no telling where
you’ll end up and your
gas mileage improves.
So, I keep checking
the weather. We need
the rain. We do.
And a lot of it.
Kalispell or Venice,
either is fine. Float
me there. Of course,
there’s an equal chance
I’ll find myself
in Gatlinburg, Myrtle Beach,
or Branson, whenever
the waters decide to recede.
December 1, 2019
“Yo!”
“Hey, man, what’s up? You’re the novelist
I talked to a couple weeks back, right?
How’s it going for you?”
“I’m making a little here and there, you
know.”
“No, I mean the novel. Is it flowing and
shit?”
“I guess. It’s still prosaic as hell, but,
whatever…You got any arc going?”
“Fuck no, I don’t have any arc going. I’m
writing in circles, like I always do.”
“We can fix that. I’m tellin’ you. What’s the
dramatic thing in the beginning that sets
the whole thing off.”
“Sheeee, ah, puts honey on a biscuit.
Then eats the biscuit. Actually, that
happens before the novel starts. It’s told
as a flashback.”
“Ok, hmmm, so what’s in there to grab the
reader’s attention? You know, get them
invested?”
“The way I describe her putting honey on
the biscuit and then eating the biscuit. I go
on about it for about 5 or 6 pages.”
“And, then what happens?”
“The waitress brings her another biscuit.”
“And…”
“And, then she puts honey on the biscuit
and eats the biscuit. But, you know,
differently.”
“Ah, well, there goes my bell. Let me know
how it turns out.”
“Yeah, man, mos def.”
December 2, 2019