Leeward

Wanted a notice. Something a little more than normal. Warranted given the distance and fairly level terrain between. It's colder now though, inside brings me chills. Not dark but unwanted nonetheless. Oh indeed my friend. Those are the times. The times when fear may not be unwarranted and hope may be in season. A sketch here, a draft there. They all bring back and forget the things upon the mind. Though they too of themselves are forgotten.

And what then? What is this all in light? I pray it be a blossom and not a glacier of blue; stoic, looming and constant. The one I know. The other, would. And clear through the ice may find no less occasion than unsettles on the mind. It happened, not happens. Both lies and to that end defiles.

The Road to Hell

I haven't forgotten you. I may have come close. That edge back there a few miles was pretty distracting I will admit. It was. But I haven't forgotten. And I don't intend on doing so anytime soon.

Has it Been So Long?

Sitting underneath the way in the dimming light you'd think that every passer by might notice what has come to be so tangebly obvious to you. So pressing on your mind. No. Further more on your soul. The spirit. The body. Neither can release from it.  A compression of all that is you. Confined and at bay. The ability to talk without speaking. To listen out what will be said. No chance for freedom. No brush with success. Hoping to live. Just once. A moment longer than could be imagined. But a moment none the less. Like the sun, but the moon. Far better in fact, as you are probably familiar with.

You know what I want? A day. Just one day. Nothing else will matter and all will be now. Here. This is no errant wish or flock. Hold the sinking back, the wrench in your works. Stop looking for a red sky. Stop with the endless queries. The listlessness. The lifely commute. Oh to show you what was and could be. To make it all.

To be what is.

The Moon

There are those who try. There are those who don't. There are those who have their own. And there are those who have yours. There are those who want. There are those who share. There are those who know it. And there are those who care not for it. And there are those who must show. There are those who just feel it. There are the quiet and the meek. There are the boisterous and cut. There are many. And then there is you.

Dear Jane

You can think that this is a letter of some sort of apology if you will. But well, you can take that as you may, if you may. It;s all you seem to want anyway. Attention. More than I or any man with any character would give. Not much for pets any way. I don't want to own one. That isn't what I'm in the mood for. Nor hope I that it ever will be. You miss who I am if you think you can push me into it. I just want to eat my cheerios in peace. And you can eat yours. Dori proved my point. And then somehow, I feel sad for you. Never getting what you want because you don't have the patience for it. But sometime, it will be seen in you. When you're too tired to keep pushing it like you do. To tired to keep playing or pretending and you just stop and let yourself be who you are. Which possibly is the real reason I like you best asleep. So give yourself a chance. It'll come.

Edit

And flake. You say you've got it right? No. No you just lie.        ...              sad that.  that that which you want most you completely falsify on. not a word.     Just on.   and on...       Forgotten? No. I can't say so. In the back on my head? Round some large pile of books? Yes. Conversing with the devil. No juncture. No conglomeration. Amalgamate and protrusions. It. Stops.

cold.           

and baring. Should never have washed that sweatshirt. Just on and on. I fear that too is gone. And what a loss. No threepeat. No second chance daisies. The avalanche awash and none to recover. Animation makes it seem so real. so easy.   A portion of the fear to take my head. Guide it. Like you? No. A shadow and a post. All could follow. Then what?   Then forget what once was. That end has come. And one. Let that be enough. We could pick a house to live in but never ever move. We chain up our bikes and replace our shoes. But the fall has come. And like so many times before it will stay only a little while, making you think it has brought you a friend by the time you are ready to receive it. Both sides cheat. Simple as that. And so continue on, no fire, no flight. Forgotten of ourselves.

Should?

First off, that word. Just look at it. And keep looking at it 'til you see what I see. Now, I don't know if that's possible. My eyes being the, what the folks in town call, marijuana blue but I think that at least this once that oughtn't get in the way. And really it can't be that hard. In fact if my suspicions and fears are correct, someone from the hills has seen it already. But why suspice and fear, driven of malice's capricion? A sight to behold. A prize unknowing. Liberated. And so as in word, deed. I know not. I did. And do. And wonder if I ever will. But seeing and hearing are indeed two different things. The one does not comprise the other. Nor do they form the same. So again I say it be so. Take me as you will. Know me and that will be enough. So, yes, Mr. Anderson, the answer to your question is yes. Yes, I did well.

That Would Have Been After

Which is nice I suppose. I would hope. If all would have been understood and not assumed. One of my favorite moments in fact. Nothing big. Just what I had hoped for. Which if all of it were taken together, is so little and yet so much to ask. Like that old elephant. Much so.

If not that, then what? Shot in the back for nothing? Shot in the back is sad enough. The places. The things. And one. Well Alexis, that indeed is the only question left. And funny enough I can see him asking it that way. Water to your cement. Water to your hot iron. Piece by piece itself will protract to one great whole. And what then shall be found but that what was ready to be given away for its flawed design, when tuned is priceless.

Peasantry

You can fear the bear. That's ok. No one blames you. No one thinks that's ridiculous. No one would dare to question your motivations. And certainly not your fears. At least not with its mouth wide open chasing you. But put that bear in a patch of blueberries ever so far away, photographed by Ector's telescopic lens on the cover of Quilting Semi-annual and you will be hounded and driven. By quilters. What. Do. They. Know. Miles away behind the safety of halftone inks. They weren't there. Their chest wasn't on the verge of collapsing in their throat. They pity the fool, yet know nothing of pity for they know not the fool. But you do. Oh yes. You've got a hold on that at least.  ...some of the time. Case in point. All you asked was the question. And look what that got you.

Leave the phone on the hook. It'll only get you in trouble.

Frothy

Think of something. Something you'd like to do. Something you've wanted to do for quite some time. You've thought about it. There. Now require that you add a cup of sugar when all you've got is an old oak stump.

Yeah, it's kind of like that.

Hopelessness to the Hopeful

I hope you haven't taken this wrong, though I imagine you have. It frigids the soul. Both in fact. Don't see that? I apologize. But there is a 24 oz on my plate and I don't think it's moving anywhere in time or space with a half mass buscuit on the end of a stick. Stick-a-jello. Trade mark it if you will. But in the sun I will say better is found than in the box. How I missed that? Jefferson's vile green weed. It's a bowl. And here we are. A stark reminder that you wouldn't really like in. You could just as well put back your beer if that was on the top of your tens. It wasn't in your favor. It wasn't intended in your favor. It mightn't that sway. And how to say this kindly...? If the flame spare not that in season then how ever the seasoned? Activation energy isn't relevant off the order.

Oh and one last word of caution, while we're on the subject, you who could possibly in bad lighting mistake this... don't.
Horton testifies.

17

What's my favorite thing to do you ask? ...chop down trees. The taller the better. If you found where on earth these things could lead to you'd understand it's not a house being built or the construction of a book. A fire and revolution. Once and again. The Red Spot that won't be taken away. Only to be lost when out of sight. And after the sun, the moon. The moon. More easily outshined. More easily hidden. Depending on the phase, too forgotten.By surprisingly many. A headline and a cot. But Marty you've seen this one before. Unless I not mistaken you'll see it again. If only that letter would be read. But you fail then to see, missing what wasn't present. Sin indeed. What never was related was never too written. And in failing to let the pour cure the whole dam wash downstream. Symptoms of a plague beset. Beset now open the whole. What has become of your hours? Not two months or a day, just seventeen.

Happy Really

We can find betimes that what comes easy may be what really is inside us. If we define our life like that we will find ourselves more often condemned than justified. But think of someone you know. Does their ease or their strain define them. And we must remember, we are not creatures of inertia, we are of action. Ease is not a load. Strain is not a condition. What we push for defines us. A tensor really. That is you. And that is me. It's as simple as music or the post. Look harder? No. That will not save anyone. calm. clean. and there lost in the simple foreground. The flats. But maybe you had to be there. No, I think you should have been there. We would have had some fun.

Lost in Inflection

It could be a confession of adoration or the most indigent thing you ever said. The problem is, as much as I wish you'd pick the first, you will inevitably pick the latter when I'm hoping you'll think about it one more time.

Carry On My Wayward [sʌn]

The sun burned me yesterday. Not as bad as in the past. Nor as badly as it has many others. In the past. Always the past. Starkars sun. No one ever thinks of its future. The glory it holds. Just wait 'till it runs out of gas. Things will be different then. Like you never really knew it. Not the boring run of the mill every day jive you see now all happy and ready for california. No. It'll get big. Huge really and encompass just about all you can really imagine before, if we're lucky, and I tend to think we are excessively lucky, it'll go supernova. Make some real jazz... the jazz you can't make in this life. The  jazz other jazz is made out of. Burn your face off kind of regular old jazz.

Still, here we are now. I'm not a real fan. Often on the other side of its fandom. But fellow there's potential. So as much as I dislike seeing how it shines most days and some nights you might say, for lets be honest , all the moon is is just a poor mirrored reflection of the sun, I will tell you the truth... I still find myself staring at the sun sometimes, just anticipating reality.

Hold On to Your Butts

I'm gonna try something.

Ventalation

It was there a second ago. Gone now. Vegans. A yes that was what I was looking for. I love them. They are great peoples. Especially of the short sort but it begs the question... where does this even come from? Is any one born vegan? No, or they would die. Mildly vegetarian? No one I've ever met. Does this give me a good case? Absolutely. However, I do find it of interest that children complain of eating their vegetables. Now both words come from the same teutonic meaning undigestable. Honestly. People knew these things even as far back as the early five hundreds BC. We note as well that it was not until mankind got bored with a surplus of food that they started turning toward eating vegetables along with common staples and fruit.  People like variation. Isn't that interesting. We become so tired of eating what's good that we turn to eating dirt to spice things up. We should listen more to children as they are the basis of our kind. They have not yet been programmed. If they think veggies are bad for you.... then they likely are. So don't you try to make me eat that green stuffs. I have decided to avoid it. Until I decide otherwise no amount of coaxing will change my righteous ways. Don't tell me it's good for me or that I'll like it if I try it. It has never worked. And in truth, if you keep it up I'll likely end up avoiding you as well as the vegetables.

Don't believe the truth? Look it up. That's a sure bet.

Hypothetically Speaking

If you had more time I wonder to myself if you'd be any different. My parentals think not. At least half of them half the time. Which is like a quarter, but honestly that's kind of hard to do. Unless you're going to take a step back to vernal and baker. and somewhere else. It's been a while. I argue yes. And sometimes must laugh that the big BK isn't around to wake me up in the morning with some ridiculous comment about the girl sitting in front of him in class. It may not be sterling silver but if you lose things behind your stove that often maybe you should just get rid of it. Unless you use it as some manner of wartime barricade. Then sally ho. And leave your boots at the door, there's no snow so you shanty need them. That, enters a world. ...full of brazened giants and possibly an apocalyptic yesterday. But if you'd care to pass the grey poupon, which does in fact exist, surprising I know, then we can just let Jeeves have the day off. He likes to sing in the shower. And we just might have ourselves a winner.

But outside of that? I couldn't really tell you. Still, the strawberry twister was quite nice. You can fill in the blank later.

Who's Jumping Ship?

Sometimes you get called a second time early. Sometimes somebody needs a calculator at just minutes after you dueled off insomnia. Sometimes you get called out. Sometimes the birds are back. Sometimes you wonder how the walls keep following you. Sometimes it's nice to be followed. Sometimes you get called a third time, and you aren't in readiness. Sometimes you wish people'd forget about jupiter and check something more like mars or neptune first. Sometimes you wish you'd get called again. Sometimes you want to see how close to Jones things really are. Sometimes kashmir. Sometimes your friend's minds make you smile. Sometimes you forget all the people you need to thank for the fact that there is green grass. Sometimes...  sometimes they just do.

Recently is Such a Funny Word

Truth is, it's you. ...I think... Because they didn't cut it. You'd think they should have... cause really, they should have... but they didn't. And this we see becomes the real problem, the weakness. Flag pole sitting. It's pointless and really no fun but I just can't get enough. I've sure you've seen that. If you haven't then we haven't been out to lunch enough times. It kind of ruins lunch and makes the rest of the day bitter in the mouth. But up there the sky is so... not... the same. And come to think of it, maybe you should jump on them lunched beans as we just recently acquired a keep. Unless rice is your style, because I don't care who says it, the two are not one.

Eight Days Out

It was on a day all quiet as night
That I thought I would take a fair walk off the site
The sun was all shining with blue birds in song
I hadn't a care, not a thing could be wrong

I passed the old gard'ner, my way out of bounds
'Stay out from the west, they's en-trapment grounds'
Of what called my self? Of goods, buys and wears?
'Of something like that, but more somethin' like bears'

Well, I'm not a bear nor its shape nor its like
I have ancestry from the first honest reich
I've got kinship galore, three hundred so dozen
And not one of those kin a distant bear cousin'

'All the same,' said the man, 'if you go let me say
It was nice to have known you on such a fine day'
'He's out of his gourd, I thought, making fun
He's too old and he's been too-long out in the sun

When in thought I was stopped by an young passer-by
My-friend, take care where you walk, -here is why
Stay off from the way, stay off from the path
It's tenaciously deadly, yourself do the math

This day, at 10:20 we lost Eddy Brock
He was sitting, just sitting, by the path on a rock'
'What ho? Did it jump up and bite the poor kid?'
'As bear traps do oft, yes this bear trap it did.

Five others were taken in stretchers from there
Last week as they're mauled in the traps of the bear
Then on into march were lost thirty six
As they cleared up the path of weather downed sticks'

'You're crazy my friend. But fine, I'll just go
And take my out to-wards the mead-ow'
Not too far adjunct from that "paved place O'death"
I met yet another, a jaunt from the heathe

'What on earth are you doing?' cried the woman in terror
'Turn out of this place, you must be in error
I've-been standing here for ninety two days
All sick with the croop where the deer come to graze

This place is not safe, especi'lly for saps
Not wary of bear-catching-deer catching traps'
'I don't seen an one' 'Oh come now you fool!
What good is an en-visaged bear-trapping tool?'

'Why don't you go home to a place warm and dry
If you stay, trapped or not, you'll probably die
Wait. I'll help you get out. I'll give you a lift.'
'And get us both killed! Please leave me adrift!

I know you can't see them all hid in the grass
But you cannot imagine the ones you now pass
Let me alone, get out of this way
Remember yourself and live out this day'

So alas, I will say, I left the poor dame
I don't even think that I asked her her name
I made a b-line for the heathe and the shrubs
Stepping large strides but looking like Bubs

Upon reaching the bush, then did-I hesitate
Some bum will pop up and warn me of my fate
There I waited,             and waited, there wasn't a noise
So I took took a step forward with new gathered poise

Then 'Pssst' came the sound from an underlain bush
'Don't take one more step or your leg will be mush
All mangled and gnarled inside of that steel
You'll be left to die, yes, a worm ridden meal'

That's a pleasant hello, I thought to myself
Especially come from an half naked elf
The guy must have lived in these bushes for years
He smells of grey cheese and de-corned cobben ears

So I took a step further, still on in the bush
When he tackled me down with a vio-lent push
'You will not believe the horrors I've seen'
He whispered, 'The bodies rot ripe with gangrene

'Get the duece off of me you crazened corned creep'
I yelled as I jumped-up and ran further deep
On into the brush with its yew and scrub oak
I had to escape from that fomenting bloke

Of a sudden I stopped in my tracks all afraid
What-if the next step was the last that I made?
I cannot escape what I cannot see
I've no metal detector or specter-al chi

And shivers began to crawl up my spine
When I realized myself standing next to a pine
And pine upon pine were next to pines on
I perceived that myself had from the bush gone

'Clever you are,' good sir you are right
But who said it I thought no one is in sight
'Up here' said this lad from a high lofted bow
'But where, in jive's name, will you to yourself now?'

'Well in honest to be I haven't a clue'
'The forest ain't safe' '...And that's something new?
I ought have stayed home with the cats and the sheep
And read a good book or had a nice sleep.'

'But you don't like sleep, and you don't read books
And you're here in the forest, 'least that's how it looks
Now you could stay here or you could go on
But go-back you can't do,' he said with a yawn

'So where do I go where the traps no more are?
Do I leave from the west to a place east and far?
How should-I guard myself from these death laden traps?
Should I eat lighter lunches, take shorter naps?'

'Good sir, you will find that none of that goes
Nor can-you rub a lamp or just follow your nose
The traps will get you, whether rusty or cute
Whilst eating at lunch or playing a flute

They're out on the cliffs and the sand washen dunes
Amidst the shipwrecks full of Spanish Doubloons
Upon the escarpment in hand-holden cracks
But rarely alone, they oft come in packs

When you are not ready, when you think you are
In the bright of the sun, in the dim of the star
Though a problem I've found, they're more oft in the dark
No night will be one as a walk in the park

Those too you will find are more littered than clean
Which itself is quite clever and itself, quite mean
But the dark like I said makes the jazz hard to see
Which is why cometh dusk, I'm up in this tree

You must learn to see them through bushes and bogs
Beneath tall grown grasses and masses of logs
But now it is dark and sleep comes my way
I hope you're still limbed at the coming of day'

And then with a snore he fell into dream
'Cool.'
I hope you wake up when I'm trapped and I scream.
Then with a loud sigh I let out a breath
Which now could be seen in the shiver of death

Myself it is time that you make up your mind
Do-you stay here through night or walk around blind?
And in doing so get yourself caught out there
In the jaws of the mouth of the trap of the bear

No.
No, I will go home for this day is mine
I'll not be awash by their false dakine
Their fears won't be mine nor what they suppose
I'll have my own fears and fight my own foes

So then with a grin I turned and I ran
Full speed and full tilt like some dude with a plan
Bear traps, I thought, now what could be stranger.
When I stopped. Don't know why. But just in-time for danger.

For then there I saw it, down out past the thatches
An rusty ol' iron with what up an bear catches

Get My Head in the Game?

You may have noticed me warming the bench today. Call it what you will, it is some manner of chair. And honestly it fascinated and fascinates me how well some people can do it. As if everyone can fit. No, as if they can have any chair they like. They forget their place. The entire chair/sitter interaction is taken out of context. You can in reality only fit so many people on a chair. A few more on a couch. Countless on a bench. The warmer is there for the people playing. He is a place holder. That is all. Ironically what he forgets after finding his calling and election in warming every chair known to man is that of the fact that in reality he is not a preparatory place holder, he is in fact just that. None will replace him. They have their spot. The only difference is that he...  he will never have a chair with his name on it. Bench warming is his career, not play time. His life is not a FIFO but a priority stack.

Bloody? Yes, Bloody.

I'm not ready. And I can't quite get this right. If you'd just... just a little higher. Oh mother of Pete. Meriwether and William. Really? Thinking about it won't save you. All you want is sleep but your blankets are still half gnarled at the foot of your bed wrapped in some manner of rolled noodle soup. Say the air's too hot? Heck, say you got a ground hog in your shorts and you need to find a way to Crab Cake Land before it closes. Third Friday freebees you know. They won't believe you anyway. Fine. Fine. Suppose so. What then? Another ten dollars out your pocket? For what? Another twenty? You can't explain it away. The beaver lodge. Impressive? Yes, but unless you really believe all that jazz that there is no difference between physics and english then don't give me any crap that they know math. They don't. You know it. I know it.

Suit yourself, maybe only I know it.       But I know it. Does that matter a bean? Well, sadly for the both of us, not really. You can take your kids to the ocean the entire week, even make a sand castle...        ...hmmm a castle. Perfect really. So what now? Well, from what I hear tell there be an stampede in the gorge and I'm sure it'd be safer if you take on the gangs entirety by youself. I mean they'll only attack one at a time. The director will make sure of that. And I'm sure you underestimate thinking you couldn't take on more than ten. So how's 'bout we just stay in our separate corners. Cause at least one thing I know, I don't fly like a butterfly. And if it's a horse? Winchester, all bets are off. We're off to the future then. Strange thing is I don't recognize it. There's a smile on all the faces and also like the past, it's missing a Sacagawea coin. Jam Dane Dames. They can find their own way. Or yours. They'll think it's the same. Or maybe it's rosemary.

All a farce? Sure. Believe what you bloody want to.

National Bear Trap Awareness Day

It may be in the bushes or out in the grass. Placed with care next to your blueberries bushes. There may even be some manner of salmon dangling above it. Make no mistake. It is piled in so much plain site you'll probably lose it.
So careful where you step, if you're lucky you'll only lose a leg.

Follow Through

Imagine a time back before the advent of band wars when that law wasn't so well understood. It only takes once. Or should anyway. But now that you're here you can finally see how deceptive one little white flag can be. And as they raise up all around you...  well. Then if you aren't careful it'll be gotten off by a squirrel 'cause you're too dang concerned about shankin it to the fishes, who honestly are likely busy with the man fitted with cement shoes. Not that you shouldn't mind the carp-goldfish hybrids but if that's all you can see then even #247 won't save your carcass. You have to know the drop. Really know it. As nice as the rest of eternity looks, all of that is a facade. A distraction.

And then some.

The Hydrophobe

Why, you ask?     why...   somethings are better off at most as hints and allegations. Things like, -careful, that knife is sharp- or -canada's a country?- among other less caustics. You know jive that just... propagates. Not for the silver let-us-never-call-it-a-charger, but there's a he-eck of a lot more in there than you see. Funny we should always think the glass as half full. I believe the real problem is a complete imperception of the corning. Battle in your mind between dawn and ivory for the rest of your life and your failure will be complete. Even if you do come to a correct answer. They don't need more than a few dandelions where they're off to. Jazz son, they don't even know it yet but they don't need an one. So maybe the sun on a groundhog isn't such a bad thing. We both hate it...     ...just for very different reasons.

Beware of Pride, Boy

Oh I try my friend. Betimes. I find that is what makes this old grand master play the harmonica a little more like the popper, at least a tid-bity more than I can hope he might on any given day in the 22nd week. ...nearing the end of the 21st, of course, and on into the 22nd. And as for those who have their lives awash in the stars? I do say, they may as well read your palm as an bit of paper caught up thirteen months in the sea. Mind the fishes, you know. The area to them is a thing entirely different. It may look impressive...       ...but maybe that's QM working its magic. Fore to the end, I know not whether the steak is edible nor perchancy, but it smells good and is quite nice to look at.

Whose Bonnie?

As you walk out beyond the meadow on the path, you come to a small wooded area. While continuing through the woods on the path you come to an obstruction of some kind. Describe it.

It's a bunny.

A bunny?

Yes. A small pinkish fuzzy rabbit.

Can you describe what the rabbit is doing? How is it obstructing your path?

Well... it's pink and it's fuzzy.

Interesting.

Very, I'm sure.

Can you tell me anything else about this rabbit?

I've known this furry critter for the past two years or so. Nice rabbit. Tastes less like chicken and more like rabbit. Rabbits aren't in the chicken family you know. Many people misunderstand this which often, in truth, leads to other common snake-chicken, frog-chicken and chicken-chicken misaquaintances. The problem I suppose is the common -I know what it tastes like because I've seen it in the store- conundrum. Closely related to the -I'm an english major- problem. If you'd stop looking at the news about the trees being wasted maybe you be less informed but at less we wouldn't have you talking about it all the time. Which would decrease global warming. And we'd save trees. As we delve further down into the abyss of Allen's mind I am sure to all that we will find a couple of old crumpets that went down the wrong tube. Which, if they detach...         ...is it really that simple? and if so, hows the devil are there so many of us in the breathing shoots? I mean honestly, at least in these parts, it worketh itself not an problem.              Proboscis!   pueblos.  cub scouts.            national honor society and, well, no loss here, the joke of a lifetime. Sorry Buddy 9.
...that about covers it.

Only If You're Color Blind

Few things my friend. Few things are as good as grapefruit. Surprisingly un-grape-esque. Not like other pansy sweet fruit. It's sour. It's cold. It's dark, when eaten late in bad lighting. If that's not reason enough...   here's another. It bes pink. Like a pony.  Only this one's not carrying a polly pocket but one of the four horsemen. Probably Mr. Rogers.

Curl Up and Die?

There is nothing really to complain about as long as you remember a couple of nice things in the woods. The trees are tall. They fall like they mean it.    And what do you mean? Well, as the riff starts one thought begets. Hockey, some manner of blood sport and biking. In that order. Why? Ask billy. And forget what kind of a name that is. Things look up as long as you keep your eyes toward the sky. You needn't bother yourself with all that other jazz around upon the dearth. The weeks come, the weeks go and when they are gone you will miss them, like one misses an orange. Possibly an apple. Depending on the season and what your propellant is.

Oranges disintegrate at speeds well below mach. Sadly. Bar your doors, cover your windows and stick to the woods. Then the world's possibilities of options will unfold to your confined domicile. It's like imagination in isolation. An entire week filled with the best things life can bring. The squirrels come pouring from off the trees and the bunnies shoot out of their woodland hutches all to wish you a happy birthday.

Problem is it's...     not real.

Cut Off

What's there to abscond yourself all about? It happens. Twice. maybe three to five more depending on the month. And so, though they say no news is good news, I'm sure they forgot that your major war correspondent and all of his camera men dying from a blast doesn't mean everyone decided to go home for crumpets. You just got introduced a little more personally to what the shooting's all about. Forget what you think it looks like, I'm smashing. Tap out on that.

Like Elvis and His Mom

It may make you sick or it may make you deliciously happy. The problem is, you really would have to put forth a lot more effort than is horribly necessary to find out which without presently getting there. It's not like flying to the moon or grabbing a wonka bar off the shelf. There is no precedence. No supersedence. Only consequence. And consequences being what they have been, the best you can in all your ways legitimately hope for is both.

Bite down.

Used Again

A funny thing really. The slightest thing can upset it. A crumb of mustard or a bit of an under done potato. And yet it's like a bad penny... combined with a better than realized communal farm; you know, the kind with denzel? I actually do wonder upon the ficklicity of her majesty, for she must of odds be an woman. Quite unlike interest, however, a pleasantry indeed. Like a warm cup of milk and two sugar cubes. Almost as nice as I remember. No. Better. Forgive me, but she's bigger than just your oncy. Even so, and though you may not give a bag of beans, I thank you.

Put On Your Dancing Shoes

The season is back. And some might say with some sort of a sorted vengeance. Of course some say it is no worse than at other times, but then some may really be out past the left field stands concentrating on how well dirt grows upon old rusten coke cans. Dropped by the nobility. talk shows and mob rule. lay it all aside buddy and let me help you find your dad. Because there must be a reason that seven is not as good as eight. It ought and be inherent. and no it isn't the tool itself, the tool is but that. see it for what it is. So I say, come out. Let's see you alive.