Still Thinking?

So you've got grape, cherry, and strawberry. You want eldridge panayo but they're fresh out. As always. So what do you do? mix and match? settle for the cherry? or keep pretending that grape is indeed your flavor of choice? -it certainly isn't strawberry, though that jazz seems to be everywhere. So you think about it as it all melts before you. The big problem is you're probably forgetting that they're all some pear derivative. Just ask the people who made it. Really. Ask them. And as you wait for your decision to surface you miss out on how funny it is that you're dying for the bean but they're all pear anyway. Why? Because they don't all taste the same to you.

Step Off

Stop. Think about what you're into. There may be some other way. I know they say there isn't. Looking out though you get the chance to think that somehow there's more than whites and yellows down there. The line is drawn but the masses are indistinguishable. Out here though? None of that exists. Nothing really at all. At least you may think so. But opposite the view? The world is still hanging around waiting to see what'll come around next. Not that they bought stock. And they're probably betting away. You forget though. You're not an AB. So take the step.

And My Axe

Just walking along on the road. Finding small pebbles in my shoes. Dusts of time covering my feet. Would you like to fish? What the devil for? ...and watch yours too. Just come along with me and we'll find Bob's happy little trees out there. For the catching. Alone. Or in pairs.  There's something in the woods. Not happy. It's probably human. Probably in its third month. Probably wanting a bit of cheddar.  So shoot all you like and I'll keep pretending that my swinging is doing something. It's monday after all.

Shutting Down

I don't think you quite understand. It wasn't good. It wasn't even slightly ok. I should have been benched, demoted to water-boy or inconspicuous icon. Maybe even ra-ra in apprentation. You see the problem, then, in being the self appointed majordomo... when there're no more putts there's only one way to slice it.

Shock to your team and mine... everybody's lost but me.

About Bloody Time

What exactly are you supposed to do with 31 people? You can't let 'em go free. Chaos sounds nice betimes but it's not really the way of sound proper. So what then? Expand the boundaries. Buy new batteries. Flexation. It can in fact be done. And when it is you'll find that what was not now is. The best part being that in due time, which happens to be right around the corner, you'll learn to fly right. Past the three and into the end. But you have to want it. Not intense my friends.

Transpassable.

Shouldn't You Be Somewhere?

Flare. That's all it is. A good deal of flare. Who doesn't like flare?

Wrong question. Throw a shouldn't in there. Resend. Now the worlds of the possibilities are at yous finger tipsies. And you can thank single ladies for that one. A moment...

So, this time, I understand your stance, but as proof still shows...  I likely never will. So, the answer comes a negatory. And if you're ok with that then by golly Jeppersson so am I. ...as well as if not.

Talk to Me Jimmy

4 am. Up. And around. Round about. Then I feel the rain come on down. All up in my face. But I guess it appears I wasn't the only one. No, with six balls left on the table there's a lot to chew on. I mean really you've got twice the points of the next contender but that can't set you a ease. Or does it? You aren't even breathing hard anymore. Not even after dragging all those bodies. Interesting that. There's one for everyone. The problem is that they all might not get theirs. And here we find ourselves again. Only now we're years younger. But still concerned with fast pitch. All I can say is that you ought to grab yourself a sandwich. That'll get you through when the water turns cold and everyone else is running in the rain. Which then turns to snow.

All For the Want of a Shoe

 It's not the rain or the wind. It isn't the ice and snow. It's not event the hardened floor. Not the jarring forces nor the lack of thought. Not the opposition or bad positions. It all comes down to a little thing we call lack of proper outfitting.

That and  ...a couple of other small minor details.

You Tell Me

Take a good look at this picture. A good look. And you wonder why last week was a sham. Disheveled at its best. Better in fact. There's no mystery. No rocks left unturned. Just all the evidence in a bag. Exhibit A. The day of the launder tells all you know. Maybe that's why it takes so jam long.  So ask your self. How well do you really know me?

Just Like Everthing Else

In all honesty. And in addition it really does seem to figure. Not much unlike that fateful april that really seemed like september. It might have been june. You know what? Let me tell it to you in a story. There once was a guy... an man shall we say, that went out fishing. Fishing for fish. He thought that there were not enough fish. He thought he was in the desert. He thought that. And his boat was big. It had the word Incubus on the side. He thought it rather fitting for the given the season and the stock in the sea. He had no dog. He drove a boat. His first mate had been dead these seven years after a run in with Helios and his nimble friends. As guy launched out his platoon he thought a merry of himself... 'self, what rightly goods thou hast'n.' 'Aye' came the response. It worked him ill that aye was always all that echoed back. And he was jumping in the trees and jumping in the trees. That's funny story.

And it died.

You Take Me Wrong

It's not this one. It's that one. The other one. Only one.

You missed the boat methinks. It was headed for England and now here you are thinking we're off to Amsterdam. You forget. I am traveling alone. Just one carry on. No firearms, no gels. My right hand man can confirm that if you like. Or even if you don't. I'll find a plenty when I come forward. I'm not going to need a boat from Cork either way. So dry dock it would you? I love you but just listen when I tell you I don't like the chickens. Call it a mutual misunderstanding if you suits yours. And fella, box that green shirt for a bit. It'll sell better. Ask the kid. What in between sessions she'll be sure to tell you what's really out there. Maybe. And maybe again it's of no consequence but one thing is sure I do believe...

Try Me Again?

Because I'm not quite sure if I heard you right. Is that what you really meant to be saying? And if indeed it was as in deed it was then pray tell, what did you mean? Call me lost. Call me crazy. But if I'm not mistaken there were three oranges in that box. Three. Not five minus two. Not seven plus a half added to a full cord mod two doubled. Three. Well, you see, birds can swim...    and fish do fly. But if you'd like me to be a lemming, I'll try. Just for a day.

And In So Doing Choose Neither

We think we understand. We think we see. We think we are right. It turns out ...well, that sometimes we do, sometimes we can, sometimes we are. But if you premise for a moment that those times are in great number... I think you may just think again. You lost your way, then found your way, then found your way lost. How quaint. And just as you've been told, it isn't the map it's the orienteering. Frankly Scarlet you suck at it. There happens to be nothing left to lose.