A Dead Horse, Beaten

Because you find that shaken isn't vigorous enough. And letting it sit there in osmosis is too dang slow. And you can't really fold one in. They weight too much.

So tell me how to do it?

Five Promises

The Lord wants more of us than I think we imagine sometimes. We like to imagine things being only sort of difficult, sort of unfair, sort of tempting, sort of not what we expected. But He is not trying to make us into good people. No. His vision is far more. He wants us as He is. He is not content with good people. That was never His goal in our design. What are we willing to give up? How long are we willing to stand? Is it really this we want? Be not deceived, this is no sauna. No lava hot springs. No shake 'n bake. This is real. The fire that purges. That purifies.

September Again

Like a fly to the paper. Film rolls gone bad. Very bad. And you think a flight is going to be cheap? Well not a month later. That is sure. And can be proven in a matter of minutes. So what then? Bail out this halloween as well? Why does Halloween always get the bum deal? Kids stealing your pumpkins and your candy. For such a nice time of year, it's a real shame and honestly just plain mean. Brought. Sucka.

The Beat

It's in chest. Some kind of ... errata waiting to be revved. And yeah a respin could be costly and maybe ... maybe the sun won't drop a shadow like that again. Amazing the diffusion at 93 million miles. Give or take a quark. So yeah. You can try and fade into a bush. And wake up and stay with the dream. Or you can see it for that it is. What it is...   And forget the ruckus upstairs. Always moving ovens. Don't wait for it. Make it.

Premise

Once a rock. Turned into a badge. Attempted Othello. And for what? You may see the rain right as it comes upon you. You may even catch it in your eye. But you won't know how long it'll stay. Nor yet if it brings you any tea and crumpets.  ...               fear is an unruly devil. Make you believe that you believe. But just brush strokes and lines of heat. And therein lies the frailty. Smoke. Mirrors. And miles of painted desert. That you leave the ocean. That you clock yourself docile on a rock. That you pull the cabbage by the head. As a ship indeed.

But not all is unreal my friend. Not all is of supposition, distraction, and unguided missiles. No. Heresy today is indeed truth tomorrow. But if you can't make it tomorrow, you may never know. Put down the torch. Pull out some mallows. And come, show your self a little patience.

Non-Pseudo Cousinry

They're amazing really. All very different. All bloody amazing. Not like others, you know. Really not at all. Barely known and yet, blood. So close to your hopes. Connected. A times the hip. Attacking from both sides. Sitting in the library. Road trips. Playing the guitar.  Hiding in a cubby. Climbing to your death. Scaring the masses. Running down toads. Pulling trucks. Single letters. I'm not sure they make quivers for crossbows. Course, the chittlins wouldn't appreciate that, but the best there is. Faults. Flaws. Doubts. Losses. Smart remarks. Yes. But they are mine. And of them I am proud.

The pseudo too.

Into the West

If you follow the street to the right, it may amaze you were it will take you. Invisibility cloaks. Lost digits. Dragons. A dream of everyone. But they aren't real. Not what is out there. Not what is intended. Not what you can control. There are gifts. Ways to live. Things to forgive. Unfinished? Inconsistent? Sure. Does it really come as a surprise? No, you're thinking of it wrong again. Does it really come as a surprise?... When was the last time you had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich? So, you can cry September mirror. That you can do. Or even mourgeless codnuggets, for that matter. But what does what get but in a sea of distillery. Faking all and drowning you in the end. No, hop out and get you some warm dry clothes.

Rest Assured

You can't very well have one without the other. T'isn't fair really. And so you do end up spending some late nights. And some of those require a lot from you. But some of them end aimlessly wandering and admiring all around you. And some of them end with frisbee in the parking jam. Let's not be buying so many high priced goods. Worth nothing in weight nor in packaging. Pretty as the day is long. Rotten as the depths of hell.  No. There are things better. I have seen them. And again. So hear Florence. Give someone out of place a shot. Listen. And good.

There is beauty.

Keane One

Only probable as far as I know. Like other things. Like stromping around in pair O'Steelers. And you'll love the sound but you really must take care what you do with these things. They aren't Einstein in a magic elevator. It doesn't matter who started it, it all ends in the face. So you sit a while, take a little pep talk from your dark adviser and pop it in again to see who's really up. But you've missed something, son. You can call it a game, but this life is all you've got. So ok, ransack the apartment for your crystal statue. The guarantee that you want you won't find. But the one you fear will likely greet you in the end. Put away your guns. Bolt down your knives. Throw on some mittens and grab a cup of cocoa. You'll never know if all you do is seek yours.

Momentum

Give me a chance. I'll come back up to speed.

Two Fortnights

In the Brig. Solitary. Not even ratts. A damp anechoic chamber. Hard tack and water. The crime? Benedict's. Like I like my eggs. Not like the aardvark. Especially when spelled correctly. The longest in a half decade in town. In so many ways. And the chalk on the walls and the beard on your face and the mold in your shoes and fact that you've seen no light, heard no voice, felt no warmth, ate no fill, smelled nothing but fear... all point to one thing. Time to escape. And again. And again. Until there is not dirt in the whole of England to fill the holes you've dug with your favorite lucky spoon.

One Moon

Yeah, maybe. It's not that the box is trashy, no. It's just not big enough. No wonder it needs cleaning all the time. My mom. Again. And so with that what? Nothing. Inspiration. Then of what? Better beached than on a line. So then what? Pretend that Christmas didn't come? Or no, better yet, realize it did and that the safari was really looking for animals and not meteorites. Fancy that surprise. And dreams? Frosted pudding pops. Colored gold. With rainbow centers. Tell me dear sir, if there is no fare for the moon, can I wait here under your roof? Both ways. And to the side of the cliff. Rolling under trucks. A right? To change phase? No. None. Zilch. To look it in the mouth. Glue. Pretend you say? No. Full of holes. Straight as an arrow. Flown from the knock. The sun. In Mesa. Under a palm tree. With a brook going by. But not yours.
What is the problem?

Censured

Another thought. Put in my place. Knowing little of bounds and borders and fences.  No I've drunk my own guild. Like swimming in the ocean. You can't always stay afloat. You'll find that  three quarters is less helpful at times than you'd like it to be. But you can choose to keep coming up for air. And yes. Your timing in that decision will be horrible at times.  But there is only one other option. If you listen to the pain in your chest, so eventually will the rest of you.