We spend much time bubbling, waxing, and relaxing. And we know it. The time, it keeps bulldozing. And it rips up tiny, barely new trees in its path. Those trees are small and virgin. Small enough to make a child's pool stick. They coulda grew up tall and thick to be telephone posts; now just childrens pool sticks.
 I don't own a gun, but I want to buy one to blow out the tires of that bulldozer and stop it in its path. I also want one so I can get myself real dirty and sweaty and put streaks of red food coloring on my ripped, white cardigan then go down to the docks and yell tormented things then throw the gun into the river. And cry. And then take a long shower.

Time never passes. It only exists to create existential blog posts.

Creating and knowing your own....the ultimate hand-in-hand. Putting it out for others is even more.

Panic and Javelin

The decomposed earth
And it's wiley buttercup fortunes have escaped
It's awake and stirred
And the connecting plane tickets are printed and shipped
Overnight gauranteed

The things                                Are easily,
we do to    ~~~~~~~~> and even easier,
ourselves                                 forgotten   

         

In the end, above all else, we are.

Which is less hip? Saying "air conditioning" instead of "A.C" ? Or. Saying "text messaging" instead of "texting" ?
Orrr...bringing up your "Sony Walkman CD Player" in conversation while listening to your Sony Walkman CD Player ? Trust me, I'm at fault for all three, so don't be bashful...

Rhyming words and cattle herds and third-place placards and birds, black birds, blue birds, red birds, swords (if you say it in a kind of depressed, Ohio/Michigan/Nelly (the musician) accent...sirrrrds), big ole chewy milky cottage cheese curds, Slavic Serbs, gerbs (gerbels), turb(ulence), slurb (a more powerful, determined, slurp), churb (a more powerful, determined chirp), bird churbs....
....I've realized my urd sound has become urb. Oh turd(urb)s

Going against my own grain; wheat as it may be, I'm into barley and it might be the only way out

Secrets of the Above Ground Octopus

The gelled water had a ready-made metal mold
The kind you find hanging around the outdoorsman's factory
It was strewn with gladiator buttresses and heavy concrete
And it took on opposite shaped osmosis

The octopus didn't lie about the mold
It followed the directions for the water, the lime-colored water
Insert only ounces

And as it sat it thought, "Pleasures have a way of working backwards"
And the card castle stood flimsy but strong
Supported by the glue of the concrete. And a ripped ribbon

If we got to know the F keys at the top of the keyboard better we would see they are unique, fun, and at times, compelling. True, they kind of do their own thing, sometimes completely separated from the central, more often used, part of the keyboard, but that doesn't mean they aren't special and should be left to themselves (a good comparison would be Australians...).  They have bright, interesting personas and life stories that rival that of the | or the ` . They like going to the circus, Bon Jovi, and to have a cold one at the end of the day. They put money on the lottery, forget to wash their hands after going to the bathroom when they're in a rush, and use too many plastic grocery bags. They're like us and we should invite them to the block party at the end of the month. Giving them a chance is the least we could do...

I once told someone, as I chugged down Orange Crush, "All you need is an orange to make orange juice. Nothing more".

They called me then a hippocrite, because I was drinking the fizzcoction.

I said, "Exactly".

Riding my own horse of course isn't as safe of course, but that horse of course is the only one I have to ride the course.

Sometimes we wait so long for things to happen
   Letting things happen is even more a virtue
     Because it's never challenging to breath
        And the worst of the vultures died
           Without the relapse we hide
               Now I sit here waiting
                 For this multi-lined
                     Downward
                       Triangle
                         To end
                                                      : )
                     

  

If you made a big glove out of marshmallows then wore the glove and held it over a fire it would just be so neat...

Always it was and is everywhere and everyone.

I figure, I hit my head on a chandelier after carelessly standing up and not looking about once every few months. It happens to a lot of us. So conservatively, say, 3 times a year at once every four months. Multiply 3 by how many years left you might expect to live. For me, I expect to hit my head 147 more times.

Crippled and Sweet

All of the above equals a joker
And all of the midlines equal a pointer
Pointing for a sore future
It's only bitter and crippled and sweet
But that's all it is