When all else files about you, remember, um, whatever you can remember about 

     "what's better" conundra.....n'est-ce pas?

What's better?............

Butter or A parking lot

Friends or Fiends 

Gruesome details or Grew just a single tail 

Feeling or Eating 

Eating or Spitting 

Working or Therapy 

saving the world or saving the whirl

Bread or Toast 

Being well-bred or Being, well, toast 

Funded or Founded 

Group sex or Cauliflower

What's that Smell? or I can't feel my hands

What's that smell? or Who is that smell ?

Indigenous or Just silly 

Big fat and juicy or Just juicy 

interstate or intestate 

Shrodingers cat or Shrodingers magazine subscription 

The end of the world as we know it or as we don't know it at all 

All my passwords or All my children 

All my children or "All my Children" 

Changing your will or Changing God's Will 

Joe Biden or Beethoven 

Donald Trump or Blondie 

Giving up or Taking down

A bass bow or a bass beau

sugary or surgery

somehow not as good as they were 10 years ago, are they.  But what is?   Ice cream, maybe.   and less of it please!  I will never give up, and I'm pretty sure I will never euthanize myself, because, ironically, the  youth in my family (what's the youth?) would be sad.  they would.  Plus, I'm not actually depressed.  Although I am a bit shorter, in stature.   Stature case, I say, and move on down de lion.  More likely I will set slowly in the West, because real estate in the East is out of reach, as well as out of sight, mind, and Texas.   Thank God Texas is still cool, not literally.    "Hottest year ever."   Turn off your sensors!   Won't matter where your son rises.

the past or the future

that is the question.

  

STATUE, Robert?

It doesn't do

any good

unless you follow

the erections

with devotion to the Hero.

Southern generals,

generally speaking,

did not have heros,

no Philly subs,

altho they straddled

their steeds (instead)

and presumably in

or near Chambersburg

Some filly or other

straddled Lee,

JEB Stuart,

or Stonewall J.

who was later a country star--

In a country that approached, 

not perfection,

but, politically,

correctness--

we pulled down all the statues

of the offensive men

(You seceded first!

but, yet, did not succeed at all).

So, down you come

even if you were

shot in the back by

your own men--

Friendly fire

on a cold knight

 

Breathe

We take a breath
and breathe!
But take a life, it's killing,
... murder, Ma
What do we take when we
Deathe?
They (all) say
"You can't take it with you."
not without a to-go bag.
it's messy, Missy

Breath be not proud
"for your ties are too loud."
an even (not odd)
couplet
written in the
last century -
the last completed century,
Donne now.

I would give my life for my century
in a hearbeat.

poetry and/or extinction

extinction is called that
because it really stinks
or
or
it used to be a tinction,
but reconsidered

I read that bits of organic gunk
were spread around much of our
so large system by
the big asteroid event
66 million years ago
give or take

Do people really believe this?
only if they are moved
by the movie
or rent the movie
shred it
like steve or
jeff beckons
or (slave name) jimi

I, me, I am a slave
to notes
of no particular distinction
I smell like an old man
because I am one
and saddle-y
when I die
I will
briefly
smell even worse

a dictionary for the new millenium

Mill an yum!

I think a new dictionary is in order.  At least a glossary.
Today's term:  use
derivative: usage, useage (sic), used, usual, us

They want to use somebody's work.  They will pay for the right.  Not unusual atoll.  What they will buy is the right to use the work, aka "use rights."  "Usage," in contrast, is always meta.  Always about WORDS and how they are employed.  "Common usage" is what I mean.  Odd, there is no "Un-common usage." but there is uncommon use.
If you take this lunatic ranting and use it to sell wicker, that's a use,  Not a usage (or useage, sp, no)
No such thing as usage rights.  Although it is clearly part of what language is that I can use any word I want, correctly /incorrectly ... whatevs!.  There is no real penalty for messing up.  Other than looking dumb.  There's no vocab jail.  Yet.   No bed-wetter's prison either.  Damp!

It's not unusual to want to be used.  I learned it first from a Truffaut film.  Everyone wants to be used.  Opposite of useless, which no one wants.   I try to keep moving.  That way, no one can be sure I'm of no use.

I could use a little help.   Mean it.  My therapist goes just so far.  He gave me succulents, some with pricks.  Next week's term:   Pricks

cookies

I have never been caught with my hand in the cookie jar.  Would have, but do not have such a jar.  If I want cookies, by God...!  The other kind, the kind you generate by visiting this page, are infinitely sweeter.  Those web cookies help the Amazon Primers and Vulgar Grads in digital Silicon Valleys all over the world to know, without a doubt, that I thought about pickup trucks for 1 minute 32 seconds yesterday.  And that I want a black one.  Not 4WD.

Wicker chairs too.  A lot wicker.   And teak oil.  Which contracts to T'oil.

So, we all leave this trail of desire called 'Cookies.'  And the cookie monsters aka Al Gore rhythms in stuffy dig it all closet cubicles seek quasi benignly to grant our outermost wishes.  Sex, not love.  Recipes AND meals.  The presents, not the pasts.  New arms and legs, and no head.

I am told it's all about followers.   And heaven help us when they actually catch us!
More sugar!  doh!

Joining the other Humans

It's like there's fee for joining up - the opposite of a signing bonus.

Currently, still, I live in the country.  Alone/  Sort of alone.   But here in the country, there are now more mustangs (Fords), and man they must stang! And there are young boarders on their skate boards.  And quiet streets full of emptiness like death.   Retirees plugging in at the RV park.  Or parking at the fire plug.
No one joins me.  But it's not the country anymore.  Not for them anyway.

My old house was moved out here, to the middle of Egypt, in 1973 - the year I crossed the Mason and Dixon line for good - and ill.
And then slowly, but then with greater and greater speed and thickness,  the masses - replete with jobs and children in prisons made by the Independent School District and home entertainment centers - cluster nearby, talking about me just up the Nile from them.  And wishing they could live in my house, on my few acres;  to which all the deer and the antelope and the rattlers and opossums and rats and mice and bugs and smaller bugs and wasps ....  have flocked.     Since the new houses are 6 per acre, you see.  Or 7 for luck.   It's so quiet in those neighborhoods!

I mostly avoid them.  When I don't, it's usually okay.  Which has led me to think -   "I shall leave Egypt forever and join folks in the old home town," which has grown into a pulsing deathstar of booming modern hubub.   (That's Austin, TX to you)

So, yeah, there's a fee.   $Half a Million.  Inexorably.     I am to be a neighbor among neighbors.  And I will be well-liked by one or two.  And my favorite city haunts will be increasingly haunted by me, on foot even.   And my grandsons will visit, on holidays.  And my soul will not extinguish, and I will sometimes not be sad.

Hurry!  Supplies are going fast!