More Useful Knowledge

Did you know that small children fit well inside trash cans? In fact they practically beg themselves in. Makes for a nice transportation device. They come out smallish for a reason, right?









...strange that our species has ever survived this long.

Let 'em Have it Boys!

I'll let you in on a little bounce of secretism. This man looks like he could use a punch in the lunch. But I could really use about an half pound of cheese right now. I would smother all sorts of jive in it. No smoke. No frizz. Just cheese. What you can't do with the stuff? I don't really know. But it's not what you know of not but what you know of that gets you around from town to town. So really... while you're there just remember and bring me back some if you would be so kind.

Teleske's Hill

Sometimes I walk out on my newly shaped walk and just long for some movement off to the right as I bring out the quickly fading remnants of my homework to through over the edge, an edge that isn't there anymore. Sometimes I want to feel the place shake, just knowing that maybe some cop just ran into the place. Sometimes the air is thick as pea soup and you can't really walk through it but just slowly osmose. Sometimes it smells like lucky. Sometimes like green death. Sometimes all I want is a pizza in the park in the dark. Sometimes I can't help but think that everyone needs to take a break from it every once in a while. Sometimes I just want to come home to see that someone else has. Sometimes everything you wanted played can be, at the right time, even if that time is by necessity wrong. Sometimes thievery can be better described as strategic rearranging. Sometimes you don't even have to ask and you get free crazy bread. Sometimes brown can be so brown.

Sometimes gray enhances colors more than white could wish to. Sometimes you're lucky enough to find it butt freezing cold outside. Sometimes water flows. Sometimes it ebbs. Sometimes a label is all you need to turn a man into a rock. Sometimes flour and fog might as well be the same thing. Sometimes Nam was more fun than you could wish to have. Sometimes bales just move on their own. Sometimes a late night building something rarely used is more than you could ask for. Sometimes rope comes in 50 foot sections. Sometimes blacker is better. Sometimes you have to bail. Sometimes there's no way to go but black. Sometimes if you have a cow, you might as well ride it. Sometimes the plane is yours. Sometimes what you really do want is what you really do get. Sometimes the puzzle is only 9 pieces of fiberboard. Sometimes magnets are magic. Sometimes small spaces can be so big. Sometimes all you need is a lighter and an axe. Sometimes there couldn't be more stars if you asked for them. Sometimes three's company. Sometimes pool is all you need. Sometimes Mr. Tercel lives. Sometimes your feet can't take you far enough. Sometimes if you had anymore time on your hands you'd be an architect. Sometimes spacing makes things more palatable. Sometimes there really is a storm brewing.

Sometimes if you survive you can go sledding tomorrow. Sometimes it takes five hours for the sun to set. Sometimes you get a smile. Sometimes people know the inside from the out. Sometimes you can please everyone. Sometimes it's just you and a rock and the moon. Sometimes the grass is there. Sometimes lightning is dry. Sometimes you run out of time. Every now and then you just know again.

Blood Ball

These times I and the posse wonder, often aloud, if there is any hope for right. Hope for righteousness. Could we really never recreate a broken man? I for one believe we can. Better. Faster. Stronger.
Unbreakable. But when? Is the future dark on into the night and the day only for no later glimpse? Hold that thought. Just for a moment. ...Now let it go.

Will righteousness return? You can bet all your marbles on that. Either way, if something isn't done soon, you're gonna lose them in the end.

Fourteen and Twenty

Did you know she got married? Yeah she did. I thought maybe after the clouds settled there'd still be a little chicken cordon bleu left over but man was I wrong. It's all gone. All of it. So now that I've gotten somewhat used to the new terminals of ology (which I can't believe actually happens not to be a word) I shall now shed light on things of import. Some people came to a party. It was about 4 degrees in the fahrenheit scale of degradation. There was a mass amount of picturing. Some long nights were spent wiping down the mirrors and mixing the hubbub but in between it all I think I found a few moments with my peeps. A promise is a promise is a promise is a turkey. And we all know where turkeys go. So watch yourself. Oh, and if they were here I would. So a moment of silencia if you please.

It Never Happened

November 15. 1987. There is snow on the ground. Friends? There is nothing here. Thinking back I really can't say that the first thing that comes to mind are improvements or even carriages. No. The horses have left, the surrey dismantled, the frame demolished. You think you can bring it back? You think that maybe there is a chance to call? Oh my friend you do not understand. There are no clouds here. The sun is always shining. Look at this. This is what you waited for.This is what you spent your time on. No bear is caught... nor fish retrieved in a mouth. Of all the idiocy. To expect an end unsupported by means and forgotten by the masses. Still the smell is in the air. Olfactory cannot erase nor forget it. Vividry calls back the head and the tail. Then there, in the quiet, something interrupts. The first crime of the day. Always an accident of the times. Still the fog cannot cover nor the wind push past the weakness that did so fully engulf. No... there were times. There were days. Days forgotten, like a class in the morning. Unchanging, racing around an indoor track. Oversullied and never washen. To stand as a marker of doom to the farers. You're off the map now. Believe though that the map never did cover even the state. A few roads here, a pond there, but when a city is only made up of its roads, what then can be said of it? How does it differ from any other? 10:18. It came. Just like any other, not entering from the east by ways highly unknown nor cared for but inhabited. Think not that something has come to this land. Nay, not even destruction. Absolution. Grab your calculator, aim your gun, and forget about the whole thing.

Really?

You know those days that start out with a little turbulence and then you realize that what you thought was turbulence was really a space sized giraffe lizard that has grabbed the plane and has every reason and intention to eat it, even when planes and their passengers are not life sustaining. What are your last thoughts? ...I was guessing this would happen today...

On walking up to the place of my servitude this yester morning I was carrying a delicate piece of equipment that I have been working on, off and on, for the last few months as a project for the department of astronomy. It happens to be somewhat sensitive to changes in humidity as certain devices tend to be. So the night before I happened to be up until the time when the wee hours have grown back into their bigger brethren working on a rig to protect this thing in transport. And wouldn't you know it, things made in the dusk of your consciousness always tend to be less stable than ever intention can provide for. Thus as it went I took off early in order that I might have time to overcome any unforeseen obstacles between me and the work house of slaves. On walking I noticed that in one part of the dimly lit sidewalk was a lake where once a path had been. I decided to back track a ways and go around it to avoid risk of doom. Smart. I thought so. But as it turns out there happens to be, in the place where I live, a sort of warm conflict between pedestrians and drivers. The peds try their hardest to assert their claim on every space of land possible (especially if paved) with every desire that their transportation needs and schedules be met and be met in full immediance . Drivers, in great detest of such wanton disregard to the large and in charge, have the tendency to rack up a great many kill points by driving in auto mode thus maximizing their overall efficiency (ie. being allowed to do things like enter great conversation, apply make-up, blow dry hair and even write the occasional term paper) while 'getting rid' of a few idiots here and there. I degress.

In full knowledge of these power plays I meaned on walking the street only as far as the walk was flooded. However a car spotted me and not understanding my situation veered close enough so as to knock the apparatus I was holding out of balance. In a quick and rather deft maneuver I threw my body under the falling device to nullify the effects of its fall. However, no sooner had I initiated the command than another larger automotive came and deciding to finish the job. Full bore he side swiped me. In slow motion I saw one hundred and thirty seven man hours fall from unsustainable heights to the depths of the lake of disaster from a likewise falling and, yes, badly rotating frame of reference.

I lay there for a second staring out of one good eye right at my creation. There. On the ground. The rig badly beaten and marred. Slowly I crept up to to the scene to ascertain if all was lost. As I did so the heavens began to precipitate the sleet of hades. Carefully using my body as a shield from the now pervading elements as I peered inside the soaking protective layer. The system was flooded but otherwise undamaged. I picked up the element and desperately ran it to the nearest cover of a tree to try to drain what water had gotten past the defenses. As I scrambled to save the hopeless I quickly glanced up to see a man on the corner staring at me. He just stood there. Soaked. In the elements. Unmoved. I paused a second at his apathetic appearance. I momentarily put down the instrument and stood to receive his words. Slowly he opened his mouth. "Things can always get worse."

And then I heard a crash through the tree. I turned to look as the oak fell from the sky crushing all signs of hope I had in my cold little heart.

Ahhh you say. The proverbial kick to the broken visage. But really what do you do when pinned under a tree in full view of its destruction on your life. Honestly? I thought to myself at that time two things. ...Take me now... ...I wonder if they serve fruit cocktails at the hospital on Thursdays? I'm perfectly fond of a fruit cocktail...

Death of a Rattwok

One day. Observed.

Scores of mothers. ...and counting.

The crazed fly but can land here if they like.

Got this. Read this. Know this. Write this.

My home away from home away from home away from home.

There are those who would believe that I have nothing better to do with my time than watch and expound the spinning heavens. They would be right.

...more than several times I have found myself having spaghetti with sausage, chicken, cow beef, radishes or some other meat shoved down my starving pipes.

One for each pack. And not in vain. There are those who throw. There are those who miss peds when they through. There are those who do not.

If you can't catch it then you probably shouldn't and well... lucky enough I don't. Neither do you. Oftenly.

I have an axe in my closet. I use it. They use it. And thanks for it for I shall never be another man's complete sucker.

Beatings are severe. Healing is slow. Tolerance is high. Death is not imminent.

I can fail. You can fail. We can fail together.

Juxtaposition. Locking on.

Long. Wrong. Pockets though? Oh yeah. Bring em on.

It may take thirty to yield six but the day is always what the day is wont. As it ought.

All day. And all night.

1.9GHz still gets picked up most days and nights all across the country.

Indiana Jones scripts of prognoses.


...so thanks

Necessary Past Times

A serious question... have you ever been driving down the road and wanted to swerve and hit the person in the oncoming lane or even just wanted to nudge your way past the cars in lanes one and two because... well because technically there is room there? Now I know what you're thinking... the man must be out of his gourd but let me rebut.



...ok I have nothing to rebut

But if you were there and no one could get hurt would you do it? And before you say no remember you, like I, have raced go carts or bumper cars or bumper boats or put the bumpers up while bowling. If you haven't then really... get it done. But speaking of football and the joys found in playing it (cause honestly watching? I tro not), have you ever wanted to tackle something? Another person? Another person on a bike? Another person in a car... How much more fun would life be if you say... tackled people to say hello? Or to get your food from the drive through you had to jump your car over lava and rotating blades while throwing the change in the coin box and at the same time grabbing your jazz. At the very least americans might get a bit thinner and law suits against old McDonald would be a little more founded.

Really though... I recommend you find the joy in tackling things. Take this baby zebra for example. More fun than you can shake a stick at.

Smells of Victory

I think of DeBere's when I think of my hat
And sothels and botches or something like that
But when you me asked of what is your shirt
I couldn't help think of something but dirt

It's brown and it's sticky (when added to glue)
And has a spice flavor inside of your stew
If left out the door for time in its own
To find it you'll need-to-know where the wind's blown

And think of the trees which can't speak for themselves
Which harbor oft times the chickens and elves
They couldn't stand tall if not for the dirt
And might as well to some small lichen revert

It's good too for things that come in late May
That seem the be crawling round every which way
But thinking a while on-its rich properties
We might think upon what it does in the seas

It settles down slow unless washed up on shore
Which when washed up its like a dude from the Corps
He's in for a while where he's alien
And wishes to float back to where he hence'd been

Cause soil has feelings as few people know
As can be quick seen if you dig in the snow
But that's not the story we're thinking upon
All frozen and hard there on your front lawn

For something I think that's pretty well... quirky
Is dirt likes to make things really quite mirky
And don't you be fooled that it's only in water
That happened one time to an helpless old otter

He-thought he was swimming still inside the lake
But his self was ashore quite far out for a break
Yet this mirk that he saw while up out on the ground
Confused him..... he died thinking he'd drownd

Now that's not to say that dirt is a killer
As that could give rise to some new action thriller
It's kindof inert and it doesn't do much
Except sit there and look or something or such

So like I was saying mirk gravitates
To more than just water or Salah's bad dates
So play in the dirt.. but with full respect
Of its powers to set or destroy or protect

What else don't you know about this pleasant stuff?
When hot it will burn you. I think that's enough.

Flat Notes in Reason

It's middle past mid week. The clothes are on the line. The cat's hung out to dry. I can't really say there's much of a way past the man on the right except for to go left. Left's not what it used to be though, all crampled and jabberecized as we find it. Not causal? I'll show you knot causal. Take the side lain beef and give it a whirl. Cause you can't have it all. And it all can't have you. So remember the second part and sleep through the first. Sometimes you just gots to eat. Sometimes you is Big Time. Then when all that is in the world and holy to your moly, you up and find that pink is not your color and fur is not your first choice in footwear. A word? I believe we've had enough. ...but say on. And on. Wilst we... you know what? The bones be achin' for burning. Of course, I guess you could just take a ride in an MRI or check your self into some kind of solarium or something, but I don't think now is really the time. Let me check.

Nope.

H room? What the jazz is that? And how do I get there? And to what is this fork for? Can it be colored pink? Oh I wonder. As I wander. Yet don't stop to think as you do so. You'ven't the time. That's our lot. Number 357. Just off the docks and into hobbles and drawers of kids from here to San Juan himself. So grab yourself a horsey, strap in the lunch and prepare yourself for a ride through the seventh last grimace of Grommet. You know very well he'll be waiting for you in his wrong trousers. ...or at very least he ought to be. Which in course I too... must away.

Salvation From Above

Only pansies get cold. And you know what? They miss out on some of life's greatest joys. Really. I mean when was the last time that you ran into someone and they said 'so, the other day I was walking through the heat of death and I could feel my insides melting to the core as my brain turned to slosh, but that was rather quite wonderful because the reality of it is that I was able to cook an egg on my head for lunch. I love the heat!' Yeah. Me too. It's like a warm blanket. Of death. ...that you can't escape for any vacationary period nor delay through noon. Too cold for play? Never. Get up and be a man ....or even a woman. Holy Moses!

Oh, and one other thing. If warm is better, answer this. When was the last time it rained 3 feet so you could jump in the precipitation without leaving the premises with a parasite or some manner if dead rat in your teeth? Summer's for suckers. Spring's for lovers. Fall's for receptionists and winter? Well... sadly it appears that's only for people like myself.

I just took a poll.



Try it some time. You'll know you're alive.

Unscheduled Schism

There are two great warring parties. One is really pretty sweet jazz and the other is well... less than average. Of course the real question then comes ... well what kind of warring parties are you preferable to anyway? Burn and pillage? March and pillage? Chant and pillage? Rumble and pillage? Or are just plain pillagers your cup of joe?

...well as you ponder on that, add this to the soup... when is a shroom really a shroom? When it looks like one, or just when it smells like one? And in bringing that up let me tell you one thing. There are two bad times of the year. Every year. No more. No less. Remember though that however hard you try hide a mountain under a mound of dirt in an open field you'll still be able to find it with a gravimeter. Of this you can be sure. He's still there boys.