I feel that I am brilliant or utterly stupid regarding the following: Emotions.
What the hell@#$%^&*(? What are they for? God in his infinite wisdom gave us these things, these "feelings." What was he thinking?
Take anger. Everybody's always talking about how it's ok to feel it, but you gotta be careful about acting on it. In other words, don't act on it. Plan first. Revenge or assassination, which has 2 asses in it. Seriously though, anger. When is this a desireable thing? Ok it's good that we were pissed at King George and his minions, 'cause without that anger we wouldn't have had The Greatest Nation on Earth. Greece.
Sorry, I can't get serious about anger. It's a total waste of time. And it hurts. And if you say well it teaches you lessons, surely I could learn them without the pain of anger. Or fear. Or desire. Or disorientation/dissociation. Or love.
Is love even a feeling? I loved that chocolate ice cream the other night. But that love wasn't a feeling, was it? It just was pleasure. Pleasure. Now there's a feeling I could get into. But if I had the choice, I'd go Borg as it were. The pleasure is just not worth the pain, anger, fear, rage, envy, frustration, exhaustion, psychedelic god-knowledge.
Some of these are feelings right?
You feel me?
I'm for flatline. And I don't care if nothing gets accomplished. Beethoven's 1st is his best anyway. And so was Willis Alan Ramsey's. And St. Francis and St. Augustine and Talmudic scholars and Rumi were all way smarter than anybody living today.
And I just don't picture any of them feeling at all. Except Willis of course. 'Cause I know him.
If this line of thought bothers you, I am sorry. But not remorseful.
There's a word for this version of me. That word is sociopath. But it is not a word often if ever applied to me. Many people call me friend, good guy, christian man, honest, hard-working, reliable. Some idiots call me brilliant, but they're just joshing.
Actually I am a sociopath. And I am skipping down a so-so path. And I will get to the end.
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Saturday, December 22, 2007
change
Change is hard, espcially if there are coins involved. Paper money, less hard. But there may be paper cuts if the money is crisp enough and if you are an idiot.
What do you call someone who chooses the evening of the 21st of December to say "I'm about to hire a hit on you." ?
Easy. You call that person Wife.
Some pleasure can and will be derived from this situation, but it will have nothing to do with the Rolling Stones tune "Moving On," which, though vintage Stones, sucks. There will certainly be lots of learning. And I may take on some of the characteristics of that albino guy in the Da Vinci Code. You know, he was profoundly religious. And he self flagellated. Rock. Talk about Hard!
I was writing nice poems there for a couple of days.
Here's my Christmas poem:
A FINGER IN THE UPDIKE
The old Polish dentist
His shoulders hunched over
Suspecting foul play,
But wrong Dr. K, the play
Was fair and sweet between
Your daughter and me.
We didn’t have sex til New York
And the subway was dirty too.
I think of my father
Laying in supplies for the winter,
I think it was colder and folks hibernated.
Bernie drank a lot, the way I’ve told it.
Whether or not an alcoholic.
But I loved those trips to the State Store
With the Pennsylvania shield on the door
The keystone state
And if you need proof, well that’s just the
Alcohol content
Times 2.
Not divided by 2, boy.
As it often was.
He drank with a friend of an evening,
Discussed Freud, Marx, China, and possibly,
When I was not in the room,
Women.
Or homosexuality.
By age 23 I knew more about sex than he did.
He held forth:
"Sex is highly over-rated."
Bernie was not from Shillington (Updike’s town), but close.
Reading.
And he was a reader and a
“Writer of letters.”
Sometimes he typed, more often wrote by hand,
A neat blockish alphabet.
Point was,
He never wrote a book,
Though he seemed to want to.
A man with potential for loneliness, but no follow-through.
His great consolation and joy,
Those trips to the State Store
From which we emerged into the cold December air
With 2 or even
3 boxes of Canadian Club blended whiskey, Gilbey’s gin
and vodka.
And he and I were both happy
Laying in those supplies.
What do you call someone who chooses the evening of the 21st of December to say "I'm about to hire a hit on you." ?
Easy. You call that person Wife.
Some pleasure can and will be derived from this situation, but it will have nothing to do with the Rolling Stones tune "Moving On," which, though vintage Stones, sucks. There will certainly be lots of learning. And I may take on some of the characteristics of that albino guy in the Da Vinci Code. You know, he was profoundly religious. And he self flagellated. Rock. Talk about Hard!
I was writing nice poems there for a couple of days.
Here's my Christmas poem:
A FINGER IN THE UPDIKE
The old Polish dentist
His shoulders hunched over
Suspecting foul play,
But wrong Dr. K, the play
Was fair and sweet between
Your daughter and me.
We didn’t have sex til New York
And the subway was dirty too.
I think of my father
Laying in supplies for the winter,
I think it was colder and folks hibernated.
Bernie drank a lot, the way I’ve told it.
Whether or not an alcoholic.
But I loved those trips to the State Store
With the Pennsylvania shield on the door
The keystone state
And if you need proof, well that’s just the
Alcohol content
Times 2.
Not divided by 2, boy.
As it often was.
He drank with a friend of an evening,
Discussed Freud, Marx, China, and possibly,
When I was not in the room,
Women.
Or homosexuality.
By age 23 I knew more about sex than he did.
He held forth:
"Sex is highly over-rated."
Bernie was not from Shillington (Updike’s town), but close.
Reading.
And he was a reader and a
“Writer of letters.”
Sometimes he typed, more often wrote by hand,
A neat blockish alphabet.
Point was,
He never wrote a book,
Though he seemed to want to.
A man with potential for loneliness, but no follow-through.
His great consolation and joy,
Those trips to the State Store
From which we emerged into the cold December air
With 2 or even
3 boxes of Canadian Club blended whiskey, Gilbey’s gin
and vodka.
And he and I were both happy
Laying in those supplies.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Ring
ring.........brrring.........ring............
ok fine, don't answer that -- but since caller ID is ubiquitous now you'll likely call back.
see this ring? iz round!
I took my wedding ring off earlier today, but I couldn't keep my eye on it continuously, and I checked later and there it was back on my ring finger. Damn! Little bugger. My thought is to have some minor surgery done to my tongue and have it implanted there. That way it would be less obvious that I am married. You see.
The government will always know though. They have my tax return. And they pass it around and read it over and over for laughs. It's a riot. Our company CPA told me it was my CPA's job to monitor the situa quarterly and determine amounts due.
I told her "You're talkin to him," and she said "I don't want to hear about that." Thing is (you diligent revenuer you), I'm always completely candid, forthright, and honest in regard to federal tax owed. And I pay. Seriously though, off the record, I suspect TurboTax is causing me to overpay. Hence her comment ?
And now, I've got something for you.....an opera you can't refuse. Rigoletto maybe.
Better yet something from Wagner's Ring trilogy. The Frying Dutch Oven.
Next year I plan to write some anthemic music for jews harp and melodica. Reminiscent of the 1812 overture played by recorders and pop guns (doing the cannon part). And some dance music with no beat whatsoever. And some retro feelgood music played on Uzbeki horns (the old ones that only play 3 different notes, unless you're a virtuoso and can hit that 4th high one.)
Tomorrow....the story of the human feces in the back yard aka "Does Bear roll in shit in the woods?" (has a nice ring to it)
ok fine, don't answer that -- but since caller ID is ubiquitous now you'll likely call back.
see this ring? iz round!
I took my wedding ring off earlier today, but I couldn't keep my eye on it continuously, and I checked later and there it was back on my ring finger. Damn! Little bugger. My thought is to have some minor surgery done to my tongue and have it implanted there. That way it would be less obvious that I am married. You see.
The government will always know though. They have my tax return. And they pass it around and read it over and over for laughs. It's a riot. Our company CPA told me it was my CPA's job to monitor the situa quarterly and determine amounts due.
I told her "You're talkin to him," and she said "I don't want to hear about that." Thing is (you diligent revenuer you), I'm always completely candid, forthright, and honest in regard to federal tax owed. And I pay. Seriously though, off the record, I suspect TurboTax is causing me to overpay. Hence her comment ?
And now, I've got something for you.....an opera you can't refuse. Rigoletto maybe.
Better yet something from Wagner's Ring trilogy. The Frying Dutch Oven.
Next year I plan to write some anthemic music for jews harp and melodica. Reminiscent of the 1812 overture played by recorders and pop guns (doing the cannon part). And some dance music with no beat whatsoever. And some retro feelgood music played on Uzbeki horns (the old ones that only play 3 different notes, unless you're a virtuoso and can hit that 4th high one.)
Tomorrow....the story of the human feces in the back yard aka "Does Bear roll in shit in the woods?" (has a nice ring to it)
Friday, October 26, 2007
Lying
Lying down is good. Lying in wait may be alright. But just plain lying is not. Really not. Sucks. Some Hasid or other said that when lying was considered as vile a sin as adultery, the messiah would come. Or some other real good thing would happen. I'm considering becoming Jewish. I'm feeling a call -- to the Pale. Is that what it's called? May try to relearn that Hebrew alephbet, while I develop my own version of Jerusalem Ridge. (the Bill Monroe tune so rocked by Casey Driessen)
There are obvious ways of lying. The most obvious: saying false things. Asserting that which is not the case.
I think there are other ways of lying. What do you think?
The program requires honesty. Often I hear that's honesty with self. But sinning of any kind presents problems for recovering folks. That's why I try not to kill rodents or lie to them or commit adultery with them.
I also find that if I can avoid my friends, I don't have to lie to them either.
When people are really drunk, though, I think it's probably OK to lie to them, since they probably won't remember it.
I lied to some drunk people just the other day. I said "I really think you should let me drive you home," when actually the last thing in the world I wanted to do was drive them home.
There are obvious ways of lying. The most obvious: saying false things. Asserting that which is not the case.
I think there are other ways of lying. What do you think?
The program requires honesty. Often I hear that's honesty with self. But sinning of any kind presents problems for recovering folks. That's why I try not to kill rodents or lie to them or commit adultery with them.
I also find that if I can avoid my friends, I don't have to lie to them either.
When people are really drunk, though, I think it's probably OK to lie to them, since they probably won't remember it.
I lied to some drunk people just the other day. I said "I really think you should let me drive you home," when actually the last thing in the world I wanted to do was drive them home.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Saturday, October 20, 2007
I wax philosophical for the last Time
It is said, and with good reason, you can’t change the past. But look, I just did! What was a mere thought, then in the present, is now part of the past. And now what was the future is past, passed.
Yesterday’s Chinese buffet has passed, is past.
The past is a constantly growing bag of tricks.
For some, a constant source of regret, even agony. But dude, don’t dwell on that stuff! There’s all kinds of new past stuff happening all the time.
The fleas I picked off Oscar this afternoon, past. The picking, past! The sunset, oh it was going to be a beauty, past. The daughters, also beauties, passing. The beauty, changing, frozen occasionally in photographs, in memory. Eventually past. Eventually even forgotten. The memories, past.
All of life passes, all of existence passes. God does not (by definition). But I wonder….what will He do for entertainment after I’m not around to pass the time with Him?
Who will make him smacky macky? Who will guard the secret correct changes to Sweet Lorraine? Hmmmm?
This is all sophism, pilpil is the Yiddish word. Drivel. Whatever.
I would have you consider the nature of Time. Our greatest enemy, our greatest friend. But really neither, because it doesn’t care. “Care.” It ticks. Tocks. Another blues stinger done gone, etc etc.
I’m not so much talking about death, though, as I am about life. It is no wonder that the very religious often advertise eternal life. Or multiple lives. We do get do overs. Over and over. And we usually need them. Plenty of them. Thankfully, our errors pass, the damage passes too, eventually. And the next error and the next damage. And the glory is His. And the smacky macky too.
Yesterday’s Chinese buffet has passed, is past.
The past is a constantly growing bag of tricks.
For some, a constant source of regret, even agony. But dude, don’t dwell on that stuff! There’s all kinds of new past stuff happening all the time.
The fleas I picked off Oscar this afternoon, past. The picking, past! The sunset, oh it was going to be a beauty, past. The daughters, also beauties, passing. The beauty, changing, frozen occasionally in photographs, in memory. Eventually past. Eventually even forgotten. The memories, past.
All of life passes, all of existence passes. God does not (by definition). But I wonder….what will He do for entertainment after I’m not around to pass the time with Him?
Who will make him smacky macky? Who will guard the secret correct changes to Sweet Lorraine? Hmmmm?
This is all sophism, pilpil is the Yiddish word. Drivel. Whatever.
I would have you consider the nature of Time. Our greatest enemy, our greatest friend. But really neither, because it doesn’t care. “Care.” It ticks. Tocks. Another blues stinger done gone, etc etc.
I’m not so much talking about death, though, as I am about life. It is no wonder that the very religious often advertise eternal life. Or multiple lives. We do get do overs. Over and over. And we usually need them. Plenty of them. Thankfully, our errors pass, the damage passes too, eventually. And the next error and the next damage. And the glory is His. And the smacky macky too.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
violents are blue
Rain could be precipitous
Rubies could be precious
Well, red.
Gorgons occur after the blood is cleaned up
From the crime seen
Yesterday afternoon
Just before the cowed burst
From the quietly angry
Child.
Children could be borne
But not for long
And vascectomies
Are not for ever
No
They’re for your spouse.
Mood river,
Don’t be crossed with me
I will give you a big stick
And you can row
All day and all night
Til Cerberus dies
Or moves from the sub burbs
to the
Newly gentrified part of town
Somewhere north of another direction.
Ignorth south, lease west.
That’s what my real tear sez.
But advice from me
Is the last thing you want.
You have just enough
Vices of your own.
Perhaps I could get a grip.
tomorrow
I would return it fersure.
Rubies could be precious
Well, red.
Gorgons occur after the blood is cleaned up
From the crime seen
Yesterday afternoon
Just before the cowed burst
From the quietly angry
Child.
Children could be borne
But not for long
And vascectomies
Are not for ever
No
They’re for your spouse.
Mood river,
Don’t be crossed with me
I will give you a big stick
And you can row
All day and all night
Til Cerberus dies
Or moves from the sub burbs
to the
Newly gentrified part of town
Somewhere north of another direction.
Ignorth south, lease west.
That’s what my real tear sez.
But advice from me
Is the last thing you want.
You have just enough
Vices of your own.
Perhaps I could get a grip.
tomorrow
I would return it fersure.
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
bedtime story in Cognito
First, a few meaningless statements:
1. Every human being is worthwhile.
2. My dog understands me.
3. My brother understands me.
These are not false statements. They're Meaningless. The proof is that their negations are absurd -- not false.
Check it: No human being is worthwhile. Or even: I saw a human at the farmers market who was not worthwhile.
Silly, huh?
or My dog does not understand me. Here however is a similar but meaningful statement -- and a true one: My dog does not understand me when I say "Je t'aime beaucoup mon petit." When I say "Treat." of course all the dogs "understand" something by that. On this I tend to be a behaviorist though. They go to where the treat should be. If this is understanding, so be it. Not much to it though.
or even the negation of 3.-- My brother doesn't understand me. Now this is not the Russell/Strawson/whoever problem (that I actually have no brother). The problem is that people just don't understand other people. Not really. They can guess. And we do guess.
From the things that are real in our lives:
Fun, fear, money (much misunderstood and oft maligned yet real), music, dance, tax documents. eyeballs, genitals.
My mother does not understand me. It is too big of an undertaking for her. Actually I was her undertaker. I scattered her (purported) ashes (It was Georgia, 2001)...I think lust and chemicals are fairly real too, and tempos are very real to me. And I can build meaning out of these things. Little meanings. Faster, slower, dragging, rushing.
Once upon a time there was a hairy beast who lived in the woods on top of lots of limestone with barkers and lizards.
There was a pool, but no one ever swam in it on purpose. Only by accident. Every single day, the sun rose behind the trees and eventually over the pool. Then later it set and things got dark. No matter how many times the sun did its routine, the hairy beast could not understand it. Though he would have been shocked had the routine been suddenly altered. There also might be worldwide panic. Maybe there already is.
Electronic French devices speak hourly in the beast's house. Someday maybe these devices will swim in the pool. The beast works for a living, enjoys his work, enjoys his co-workers, but they don't understand him. They would say they care about him, some would say "deeply", but that only works when they actually take the next step and care for him. This may or may not be what co-workers are supposed to do. And the whole discussion is vague at best. However: The beast does his best to care for the people in his life. But he doesn't understand them, and he has resolved not to waste too much energy trying to. Since he figured out that there can be no such understanding.
And that it will take his long wonderful life for him to not even come close to understanding himself. He can try to like himself. Perhaps starting in D major and working around the circle of fifths. Accidentally. In this, meaning.
1. Every human being is worthwhile.
2. My dog understands me.
3. My brother understands me.
These are not false statements. They're Meaningless. The proof is that their negations are absurd -- not false.
Check it: No human being is worthwhile. Or even: I saw a human at the farmers market who was not worthwhile.
Silly, huh?
or My dog does not understand me. Here however is a similar but meaningful statement -- and a true one: My dog does not understand me when I say "Je t'aime beaucoup mon petit." When I say "Treat." of course all the dogs "understand" something by that. On this I tend to be a behaviorist though. They go to where the treat should be. If this is understanding, so be it. Not much to it though.
or even the negation of 3.-- My brother doesn't understand me. Now this is not the Russell/Strawson/whoever problem (that I actually have no brother). The problem is that people just don't understand other people. Not really. They can guess. And we do guess.
From the things that are real in our lives:
Fun, fear, money (much misunderstood and oft maligned yet real), music, dance, tax documents. eyeballs, genitals.
My mother does not understand me. It is too big of an undertaking for her. Actually I was her undertaker. I scattered her (purported) ashes (It was Georgia, 2001)...I think lust and chemicals are fairly real too, and tempos are very real to me. And I can build meaning out of these things. Little meanings. Faster, slower, dragging, rushing.
Once upon a time there was a hairy beast who lived in the woods on top of lots of limestone with barkers and lizards.
There was a pool, but no one ever swam in it on purpose. Only by accident. Every single day, the sun rose behind the trees and eventually over the pool. Then later it set and things got dark. No matter how many times the sun did its routine, the hairy beast could not understand it. Though he would have been shocked had the routine been suddenly altered. There also might be worldwide panic. Maybe there already is.
Electronic French devices speak hourly in the beast's house. Someday maybe these devices will swim in the pool. The beast works for a living, enjoys his work, enjoys his co-workers, but they don't understand him. They would say they care about him, some would say "deeply", but that only works when they actually take the next step and care for him. This may or may not be what co-workers are supposed to do. And the whole discussion is vague at best. However: The beast does his best to care for the people in his life. But he doesn't understand them, and he has resolved not to waste too much energy trying to. Since he figured out that there can be no such understanding.
And that it will take his long wonderful life for him to not even come close to understanding himself. He can try to like himself. Perhaps starting in D major and working around the circle of fifths. Accidentally. In this, meaning.
Saturday, September 29, 2007
$20 and fancy borg posturing
I was going to say: " I've got a twenty dollar bill for the first commenter to correctly identify what the following are:
Snowshoes, Tom and Jerry, Say Old Man, Sally Johnson, Tugboat, Apple Blossom and Done Gone"-- But I'm not gonna do that, because now we have Google and anyone can google these strings of symbols and come up with the right answer.
So simple now to do so many things, due to the deep and wide power of the internet and of computers in general. Lots of silly boring stuff is done with a click of the mouse now, right? That's what pooters are for, right?
Not all vays......
Oddly two hotshots, flown in from San Fran I think, with laptops were unable to come anywhere near mixing a single vocal mic and a piano mic in a hotshot new restaurant in N Austin last night. They messed with the settings for 4 hours. In the last hour we graduated from a low rumbling noise (a low D flattish thing) finally to a more recognizable high end feedback. It was awesome. Don't eat there. The people were un-beautiful, however VI they may be thought to P. The shrimp were less than awesome, though huge. I scampered quickly once the gig was over.
When will folks in service industries realize that the paradigm for service is sexual prostitution? The hooker MUST ask right off "So what is it I can do that you will like." And make the offer have some verisimilitude. Not that I would know anything about that. First hand I mean. And when the service situation is a large party, the goal is to make EVERYBODY smile.
Even the lowly piano player. I smiled on my way out.
Other fiddle tune names of note: Hotfoot, Whoa Mule, General Garfield's March
The list is endless. A lot of people say they all sound the same, and indeed they would have last night at that party. Low and D flattish.
Snowshoes, Tom and Jerry, Say Old Man, Sally Johnson, Tugboat, Apple Blossom and Done Gone"-- But I'm not gonna do that, because now we have Google and anyone can google these strings of symbols and come up with the right answer.
So simple now to do so many things, due to the deep and wide power of the internet and of computers in general. Lots of silly boring stuff is done with a click of the mouse now, right? That's what pooters are for, right?
Not all vays......
Oddly two hotshots, flown in from San Fran I think, with laptops were unable to come anywhere near mixing a single vocal mic and a piano mic in a hotshot new restaurant in N Austin last night. They messed with the settings for 4 hours. In the last hour we graduated from a low rumbling noise (a low D flattish thing) finally to a more recognizable high end feedback. It was awesome. Don't eat there. The people were un-beautiful, however VI they may be thought to P. The shrimp were less than awesome, though huge. I scampered quickly once the gig was over.
When will folks in service industries realize that the paradigm for service is sexual prostitution? The hooker MUST ask right off "So what is it I can do that you will like." And make the offer have some verisimilitude. Not that I would know anything about that. First hand I mean. And when the service situation is a large party, the goal is to make EVERYBODY smile.
Even the lowly piano player. I smiled on my way out.
Other fiddle tune names of note: Hotfoot, Whoa Mule, General Garfield's March
The list is endless. A lot of people say they all sound the same, and indeed they would have last night at that party. Low and D flattish.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
In Ertia
We all know that expression: “I think she’s just a couple quarts low…” There are others. Similar. I can’t think of any. “Not playing with a full deck.” That’s one.
I drove from Buda to Las Vegas NM today. It was hell getting out of Austin. I actually turned around a mile out of Bee Caves to try another way (290). Still made it here in 11 hours.
And when I stopped for gas on the north side of Lubbock, I checked the oil. There was none on the stick. ! I added 2 quarts. Then there was some on the stick. Thing is, the car was rockin down the road just smooth as the breeze. Other than the xmas lite-like display of dash indicators, that old luxury sedan (it’s NOT old for a Volvo) does a fine job. And the display is nice if you like xmas.
We never know if we’re a quart or two low unless we check. And we have to have a functional dipstick. And we pretty much have to STOP DRIVING in order to check.
And in some realms, on some subjects, THERE ARE NO DIPSTICKS and THERE IS NO ACCEPTABLE FLUID LEVEL. There is just life, joyous, happy, free, I have a headache and funerals are getting numerous.
I just checked my face out in a mirror. Should have used a dipstick. Frightening.
The kid in the Golden Corral (perfectly done broccoli you doubters) in Abilene asked me if I was a senior citizen. I asked “What the f___ is that supposed to mean?” “60, I think” sez he. “No, I’m not 60, Mr TARD!” Actually all of this was very cordial, and I note that the cost of the GC buffet is 2 bucks lower in Abilene than in Austin. And I’m just 2 years shy of 60…
Are we sensing a 2 less/2 low theme developing here? No.
Jen called me on the cell a few miles futher up 84 to thank me for everything, so I kicked the cruise off and got a ticket from a lady cop who learned Faded Love from Bob Wills’ son. Is this possible?
Both insurance cards were expired. I will send the judge money. Probably about $200.
We never know. Really. We just do the best we can. And we do so by definition.
A criminal who makes a decision to commit a crime is doing the best he can. He looked in the mirror. There was no dipstick. He robbed the bank. Then he bought a car.
Later he spent time in a correctional institution.
God was watching over him.
Even when he hanged himself or whatever. I remind you, perfect broccoli -- In Abilene, on a buffet on senior citizens day.
2 much.
Pulled into this motel where Ez and I stayed 6 years ago, and the same old bearded NM guy said yup they had one room left, a smoking queen. I remarked that some guys would kill for one of those. The guy took my 60 bucks.
His free wireless internet is a couple bars low.
Guess I’ll go away now. Might come back later.
If you love somebody, cherish them. Do not test them. Hold them. Kiss them. They are probably reliable old sedans.
I drove from Buda to Las Vegas NM today. It was hell getting out of Austin. I actually turned around a mile out of Bee Caves to try another way (290). Still made it here in 11 hours.
And when I stopped for gas on the north side of Lubbock, I checked the oil. There was none on the stick. ! I added 2 quarts. Then there was some on the stick. Thing is, the car was rockin down the road just smooth as the breeze. Other than the xmas lite-like display of dash indicators, that old luxury sedan (it’s NOT old for a Volvo) does a fine job. And the display is nice if you like xmas.
We never know if we’re a quart or two low unless we check. And we have to have a functional dipstick. And we pretty much have to STOP DRIVING in order to check.
And in some realms, on some subjects, THERE ARE NO DIPSTICKS and THERE IS NO ACCEPTABLE FLUID LEVEL. There is just life, joyous, happy, free, I have a headache and funerals are getting numerous.
I just checked my face out in a mirror. Should have used a dipstick. Frightening.
The kid in the Golden Corral (perfectly done broccoli you doubters) in Abilene asked me if I was a senior citizen. I asked “What the f___ is that supposed to mean?” “60, I think” sez he. “No, I’m not 60, Mr TARD!” Actually all of this was very cordial, and I note that the cost of the GC buffet is 2 bucks lower in Abilene than in Austin. And I’m just 2 years shy of 60…
Are we sensing a 2 less/2 low theme developing here? No.
Jen called me on the cell a few miles futher up 84 to thank me for everything, so I kicked the cruise off and got a ticket from a lady cop who learned Faded Love from Bob Wills’ son. Is this possible?
Both insurance cards were expired. I will send the judge money. Probably about $200.
We never know. Really. We just do the best we can. And we do so by definition.
A criminal who makes a decision to commit a crime is doing the best he can. He looked in the mirror. There was no dipstick. He robbed the bank. Then he bought a car.
Later he spent time in a correctional institution.
God was watching over him.
Even when he hanged himself or whatever. I remind you, perfect broccoli -- In Abilene, on a buffet on senior citizens day.
2 much.
Pulled into this motel where Ez and I stayed 6 years ago, and the same old bearded NM guy said yup they had one room left, a smoking queen. I remarked that some guys would kill for one of those. The guy took my 60 bucks.
His free wireless internet is a couple bars low.
Guess I’ll go away now. Might come back later.
If you love somebody, cherish them. Do not test them. Hold them. Kiss them. They are probably reliable old sedans.
Friday, September 14, 2007
Wicked Peed Ya
Marriage is an interpersonal relationship with governmental, social, or religious recognition, usually intimate and sexual, and often created as a contract, or through civil process. Civil marriage is the legal concept of marriage.
The most frequently occurring form of marriage unites a man and a woman as husband and wife.
The reasons people marry vary, but usually include one or more of the following: legal, social and economic stability; the formation of a family unit; procreation and the education and nurturing of children; legitimizing sexual relations; public declaration of love
In the criminal law, theft (also known as stealing) is the illegal taking of another person's property without that person's freely-given consent. As a term, it is used as shorthand for all major crimes against property, encompassing offences such as burglary, embezzlement, larceny, looting, robbery, mugging, trespassing, shoplifting, intrusion, fraud (theft by deception) and sometimes criminal conversion.
Someone who carries out an act of or makes a career of theft is known as a "thief"
Love is a constellation of emotions and experiences related to a sense of strong affection or profound oneness. The meaning of love varies relative to context. Romantic love is seen as an ineffable feeling of intense attraction shared in passionate or intimate attraction and intimate interpersonal and sexual relationship
Supper is the name for the evening meal in some dialects of English - ordinarily the last meal of the day, usually the meal that comes after dinner.
The term is derived from the French souper, which is still used for this meal in Canadian French and sometimes in Belgian French. It is related to soup. It is also related to the German word for soup, Suppe
Alone can refer to:
▪ Solitude
▪ Alone (2007 film), a 2007 Thai horror film
The most frequently occurring form of marriage unites a man and a woman as husband and wife.
The reasons people marry vary, but usually include one or more of the following: legal, social and economic stability; the formation of a family unit; procreation and the education and nurturing of children; legitimizing sexual relations; public declaration of love
In the criminal law, theft (also known as stealing) is the illegal taking of another person's property without that person's freely-given consent. As a term, it is used as shorthand for all major crimes against property, encompassing offences such as burglary, embezzlement, larceny, looting, robbery, mugging, trespassing, shoplifting, intrusion, fraud (theft by deception) and sometimes criminal conversion.
Someone who carries out an act of or makes a career of theft is known as a "thief"
Love is a constellation of emotions and experiences related to a sense of strong affection or profound oneness. The meaning of love varies relative to context. Romantic love is seen as an ineffable feeling of intense attraction shared in passionate or intimate attraction and intimate interpersonal and sexual relationship
Supper is the name for the evening meal in some dialects of English - ordinarily the last meal of the day, usually the meal that comes after dinner.
The term is derived from the French souper, which is still used for this meal in Canadian French and sometimes in Belgian French. It is related to soup. It is also related to the German word for soup, Suppe
Alone can refer to:
▪ Solitude
▪ Alone (2007 film), a 2007 Thai horror film
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Titanic
Just a quick post to let my many readers know I'm considering dismantling this blog. I am full of crap most of the time, plus my writing has not been so good lately. So.....
if I don't get a clamour of "Noooooooooooooo!," I'm gonna end this silly portion (nook, cranny, crevice) of my life on September 14, 2007.
Thereafter you can contact my thought world via telephone.
yours,
the management
if I don't get a clamour of "Noooooooooooooo!," I'm gonna end this silly portion (nook, cranny, crevice) of my life on September 14, 2007.
Thereafter you can contact my thought world via telephone.
yours,
the management
Monday, September 10, 2007
Love vrs. Death
I admire, love, my yoga teacher. She never fails to pull me up and over a bit -- where I feel I need to go. And I feel better always,
But the last two times, she has referred to the inevitablity of death. And the uniqueness. That Death is the only really certain thing. Count on it.
But no. Death is illusion. It is wrapped in a shroud of Time. It is translucent and alternately dark and light. I am fond of saying "I have never died, it is unprecedented!" Death is the end of something perhaps. But it is not the end of Life....It is suspect, unclear, nebulous. Thusfar, there has always been life after each death.
Love is certain and continuous. And the feeling of love is the unique truth. I can give love with no thought that it be returned, that anything be returned to me. I can love and be lonely, and be filled. With love.
I am so tired now, but all my loved ones are welcome to my renewable energy. It will be back. No need even to ask. I won't pay your rent, but I will listen if you have a story or a question. If you have a vision, I will hope to see it too. And I require nothing, though I may be occasionally weak and sad, needy then. It passes. You are perfect and I love you. And I look forward to seeing you again soon.
But I will not die if I do not. I will see a car, a flower, a scorpion. All beautiful and loveable.
The silly book about "habits of higly effective people" paints them as unconditional lovers. I'm goin with that.
And some tea. And I do not have to be effective. Not right now. I can even make mistakes, but never in love I think.
All humans are love at their core.
Not bullshit. Not ones and zeros.
But the last two times, she has referred to the inevitablity of death. And the uniqueness. That Death is the only really certain thing. Count on it.
But no. Death is illusion. It is wrapped in a shroud of Time. It is translucent and alternately dark and light. I am fond of saying "I have never died, it is unprecedented!" Death is the end of something perhaps. But it is not the end of Life....It is suspect, unclear, nebulous. Thusfar, there has always been life after each death.
Love is certain and continuous. And the feeling of love is the unique truth. I can give love with no thought that it be returned, that anything be returned to me. I can love and be lonely, and be filled. With love.
I am so tired now, but all my loved ones are welcome to my renewable energy. It will be back. No need even to ask. I won't pay your rent, but I will listen if you have a story or a question. If you have a vision, I will hope to see it too. And I require nothing, though I may be occasionally weak and sad, needy then. It passes. You are perfect and I love you. And I look forward to seeing you again soon.
But I will not die if I do not. I will see a car, a flower, a scorpion. All beautiful and loveable.
The silly book about "habits of higly effective people" paints them as unconditional lovers. I'm goin with that.
And some tea. And I do not have to be effective. Not right now. I can even make mistakes, but never in love I think.
All humans are love at their core.
Not bullshit. Not ones and zeros.
Friday, September 7, 2007
Rant for my teacher
Secret “work” journal, as in Step work? Or (other extreme) deleterious bulimia. Or just chit-chat. Or just chit.
Things that are good or would make me better.
Speaking Spanish.
Being content if not downright grateful to feel serene/human/happy just to be breathing.
Being reliably motivated without pharmacy visits. And by something other than Fear of failure.
Motivated: To work. To practice. To write. To “help others.” (that nebulous phantasmic God does it anyway dimwit thing).
dfzOk33yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuyyjujh[‘]
122f,QA65QB 0N-/’P:
That was written by Zohey (as in Franny and....), aka Miley, Aka Tazza, Devil Girl, Snooze Hound.
The reality. Days are strange. I need help. I am ill. Nothing really really satisifies me. What a great week at work! And now I am celebrating by eating bread and butter. Stale bread but not rancid butter. Par-tay!!!!!!
Perhaps. Just perhaps there are some worthwhile satisfying things, potential such things:
Sex: ? messy, messy, and somewhat messy.
Nice food. Silly and time consuming.
A hockey game. Loud.
Nose picking. Dangerous, bloody.
Driving fast. So what.
“Being there for others.” That old chestnut…accompanied by the other: you can’t give away what you don’t have.
I am supposed to just be satisfied with sobriety today, and do a little work towards self-love and build a relationship with Gawd (who loves me unconditionally) and figure out what I REALLY WANT from the steps of AA, and why I seem to so want to hurt myself and those I love. But I'm not doing much today, and I'm lonesome and a bit pissy....However...>>!
Contrary to popular talk, I do not have an anger problem. I’m quite normal with anger. Competitive, yes. Approval seeking, yes. Angry. O sure, a little.
But no more than you are. Probably quite a bit less.
Because of my philosophy training. I take the long view.
Rage problem, another matter, but I have been working on it, improving for a long time. I haven’t hit anybody or thrown anything for years now.
I usually pause when agitated.
Just please, when will the obsession be removed? When will I stop missing my friends. The little leprechaun friends?
I have stopped intermittently. They don’t care.
They still like ME! So what though. They have bad taste. Walk, a personality, talk, a personality....etc. And no, not.
Blog blog blog.
Too many deaths, too many suicides. Think I’ll stay up all night and watch the dogs be weird. Zo likes me for some reason. Maybe it’s ‘cause I’m f__in’ cool.
Things that are good or would make me better.
Speaking Spanish.
Being content if not downright grateful to feel serene/human/happy just to be breathing.
Being reliably motivated without pharmacy visits. And by something other than Fear of failure.
Motivated: To work. To practice. To write. To “help others.” (that nebulous phantasmic God does it anyway dimwit thing).
dfzOk33yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuyyjujh[‘]
122f,QA65QB 0N-/’P:
That was written by Zohey (as in Franny and....), aka Miley, Aka Tazza, Devil Girl, Snooze Hound.
The reality. Days are strange. I need help. I am ill. Nothing really really satisifies me. What a great week at work! And now I am celebrating by eating bread and butter. Stale bread but not rancid butter. Par-tay!!!!!!
Perhaps. Just perhaps there are some worthwhile satisfying things, potential such things:
Sex: ? messy, messy, and somewhat messy.
Nice food. Silly and time consuming.
A hockey game. Loud.
Nose picking. Dangerous, bloody.
Driving fast. So what.
“Being there for others.” That old chestnut…accompanied by the other: you can’t give away what you don’t have.
I am supposed to just be satisfied with sobriety today, and do a little work towards self-love and build a relationship with Gawd (who loves me unconditionally) and figure out what I REALLY WANT from the steps of AA, and why I seem to so want to hurt myself and those I love. But I'm not doing much today, and I'm lonesome and a bit pissy....However...>>!
Contrary to popular talk, I do not have an anger problem. I’m quite normal with anger. Competitive, yes. Approval seeking, yes. Angry. O sure, a little.
But no more than you are. Probably quite a bit less.
Because of my philosophy training. I take the long view.
Rage problem, another matter, but I have been working on it, improving for a long time. I haven’t hit anybody or thrown anything for years now.
I usually pause when agitated.
Just please, when will the obsession be removed? When will I stop missing my friends. The little leprechaun friends?
I have stopped intermittently. They don’t care.
They still like ME! So what though. They have bad taste. Walk, a personality, talk, a personality....etc. And no, not.
Blog blog blog.
Too many deaths, too many suicides. Think I’ll stay up all night and watch the dogs be weird. Zo likes me for some reason. Maybe it’s ‘cause I’m f__in’ cool.
Sunday, September 2, 2007
FYI
further info for yearners
just in case, I want to post this, a url where a demo of the song I wrote can be heard -- nice singer, Dan D, and he did it as a favor for me -- which does not prove he likes me. But he seems like a like-minded guy. A very keen guy, especially for an east texas guy. And I played piano, and I played it in a pristine just-tuned state. The first high c of the intro was the very first note played after the tuning. I think. I actually can't monitor all activity at the studio. Gotta sleep sometime. Especially if I eat some potato chips or fritos:
http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=194226637
(Our Love is Real) whatever that means.
This tune is not innocuous, nor is its intended audience, nor its author. This tune is real.
just in case, I want to post this, a url where a demo of the song I wrote can be heard -- nice singer, Dan D, and he did it as a favor for me -- which does not prove he likes me. But he seems like a like-minded guy. A very keen guy, especially for an east texas guy. And I played piano, and I played it in a pristine just-tuned state. The first high c of the intro was the very first note played after the tuning. I think. I actually can't monitor all activity at the studio. Gotta sleep sometime. Especially if I eat some potato chips or fritos:
http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=194226637
(Our Love is Real) whatever that means.
This tune is not innocuous, nor is its intended audience, nor its author. This tune is real.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
I wrote this song
well, either nobody is reading, or nobody wants to weigh in on salt problems. I'm gonna post these rough song lyrics mainly so I don't forget 'em. Presumably my buddy Harv will fix 'em later. Or not.
I will be your one your only love
Swear it by the sun, the moon and the stars
High up above.
I think about destiny
That’s what you mean to me,
That’s what I feel,
‘Cause our love is real….
Hard to fall asleep at night it seems,
I hope you think of me and whisper
Baby, Sweet dreams.
The days pass so quickly.
Some healthy, some sickly,
It’s so hard to heal.
But our love is real.
(bridge)
Oh, some people counsel us,
Handing us answers that
Don’t fit the questions at all.
We pay them to tell us
The best way to sell us
The story of just how we fall,
But our love is real………
You can put your heart here in my hand.
Knowing it is safe,
For I am a trustworthy man.
And all of our trials and troubles
Will just seal the deal,
‘Cause our love is real.
I will be your one your only love
Swear it by the sun, the moon and the stars
High up above.
I think about destiny
That’s what you mean to me,
That’s what I feel,
‘Cause our love is real….
Hard to fall asleep at night it seems,
I hope you think of me and whisper
Baby, Sweet dreams.
The days pass so quickly.
Some healthy, some sickly,
It’s so hard to heal.
But our love is real.
(bridge)
Oh, some people counsel us,
Handing us answers that
Don’t fit the questions at all.
We pay them to tell us
The best way to sell us
The story of just how we fall,
But our love is real………
You can put your heart here in my hand.
Knowing it is safe,
For I am a trustworthy man.
And all of our trials and troubles
Will just seal the deal,
‘Cause our love is real.
Monday, August 27, 2007
Salt Intake
In modern pain management with opioids physical dependence is nearly universal. While opiates are essential in the treatment of acute pain, the benefit of this class of medication in chronic pain is not well proven.
Clearly, there are those who would not function well without opiate treatment; on the other hand, many states are noting significant increases in non-intentional deaths related to opiate use. High-quality, long-term studies are needed to better delineate the risks and benefits of chronic opiate use. [useless wikipedia article, damn]
Now, please note, we're not talking addicts here, merely chemically dependent people who accidentally hurt themselves sometimes. ADDICTS are people who are chemically dependent and oblivious to the harm they do themselves and others, or, perhaps, who ingest drugs (toxins) with no regard for health. (If you are so stupid you don't know the meth is hurting your teeth and bones, you're not an addict? maybe?)
There is a second important defining aspect of addiction which is this: the dose increases due to tolerance. Need more to achieve same....uh....effect.
I believe this latter piece of the def. is gonna have to go, because there are many highly habit-forming substances available in and out of pharmacies that do not breed a tolerance, yet they become utterly habitual.
And people ingest them with no regard for their own well-being nor that of others.
Take re-fried beans for example.
Bottom line, nobody knows crap about stuff. And not many people really know where to get it.
I have found that a small bag of potato chips ingested before bed improves my sleep (by reducing trips to the bathroom). Oh NO!! screams the nurse. That will raise your blood pressure! And she's right. Every time I get up at night to pee, my blood pressure elevates, not to mention my sleep is disrupted. Salt is bad for you. Only ingest salt if you are prepared to develop a tolerance. Or if it happens to improve the flavor of your broccoli.
Rules and hearts were made to be broken. If it feels good, do it. Then check carefully to see if you broke anything.
Clearly, there are those who would not function well without opiate treatment; on the other hand, many states are noting significant increases in non-intentional deaths related to opiate use. High-quality, long-term studies are needed to better delineate the risks and benefits of chronic opiate use. [useless wikipedia article, damn]
Now, please note, we're not talking addicts here, merely chemically dependent people who accidentally hurt themselves sometimes. ADDICTS are people who are chemically dependent and oblivious to the harm they do themselves and others, or, perhaps, who ingest drugs (toxins) with no regard for health. (If you are so stupid you don't know the meth is hurting your teeth and bones, you're not an addict? maybe?)
There is a second important defining aspect of addiction which is this: the dose increases due to tolerance. Need more to achieve same....uh....effect.
I believe this latter piece of the def. is gonna have to go, because there are many highly habit-forming substances available in and out of pharmacies that do not breed a tolerance, yet they become utterly habitual.
And people ingest them with no regard for their own well-being nor that of others.
Take re-fried beans for example.
Bottom line, nobody knows crap about stuff. And not many people really know where to get it.
I have found that a small bag of potato chips ingested before bed improves my sleep (by reducing trips to the bathroom). Oh NO!! screams the nurse. That will raise your blood pressure! And she's right. Every time I get up at night to pee, my blood pressure elevates, not to mention my sleep is disrupted. Salt is bad for you. Only ingest salt if you are prepared to develop a tolerance. Or if it happens to improve the flavor of your broccoli.
Rules and hearts were made to be broken. If it feels good, do it. Then check carefully to see if you broke anything.
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Scorpio
Our Maker made us all, in His Infinite Wisdom. But damn, did He actually make the scorpion? What was He Thinkin?
No, I know. God is all knowing without necessarily thinking, etc. etc. I love God, btw. God is Kewl.
But the scorpion! Crap. Again, I'm sure scorpions have their charm, but whenever I interact with one, it dies. Usually dies, or runs away without a tail. Because it is such a huge butt-brain!! It registers threat in every single interaction with other creatures, and then that tail starts goin' --- stingstingstingsting, missed, crap, stingstingsting. Scorpion = aggression.
So anyway, I met a fairly large brown scorpion guy today. He was trying to read the new New Yorker in the mailbox and I tried to grab it from him. Stingstingsting. I didn't realize the poor thing was there right away. He got me in my hairy belly (I wore no shirt, it's 95 out there), then on my right hand. Man, that smarts! thinks I. Then I squashed him swiftly using my right new balance shoe.
Back to God. Back to his Maker goes the little brown scorpion guy, having invested a little aggression and pain in my otherwise fairly passive and pleasant day.
I'm really glad God made me way bigger than the scorpion. Infinite wisdom. And he made me smaller than my car, so I fit in it! So Kewl.
No, I know. God is all knowing without necessarily thinking, etc. etc. I love God, btw. God is Kewl.
But the scorpion! Crap. Again, I'm sure scorpions have their charm, but whenever I interact with one, it dies. Usually dies, or runs away without a tail. Because it is such a huge butt-brain!! It registers threat in every single interaction with other creatures, and then that tail starts goin' --- stingstingstingsting, missed, crap, stingstingsting. Scorpion = aggression.
So anyway, I met a fairly large brown scorpion guy today. He was trying to read the new New Yorker in the mailbox and I tried to grab it from him. Stingstingsting. I didn't realize the poor thing was there right away. He got me in my hairy belly (I wore no shirt, it's 95 out there), then on my right hand. Man, that smarts! thinks I. Then I squashed him swiftly using my right new balance shoe.
Back to God. Back to his Maker goes the little brown scorpion guy, having invested a little aggression and pain in my otherwise fairly passive and pleasant day.
I'm really glad God made me way bigger than the scorpion. Infinite wisdom. And he made me smaller than my car, so I fit in it! So Kewl.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
cranium
Abe Lincoln, a badger (beaver?), and a funny looking guy. Yep, I took Rozerem, and I spent the night with those creatures.
Sometimes I'm not sure I'm asleep. When I realize that in order to understand a certain stance in a philosophical argument I need to first comprehend the special way a man with oily hair is bending exhaust pipes, then I know I'm asleep. When I realize that it's stupid to try to play Mastermind with myself (then why do they call it that?), and it was an excellent birthday present to me (from my daughter) because it requires me to reconnect with the human race, then I'm pretty sure I'm awake. And I go make camomile tea and read. When you think "I must be asleep now, because I am having dreamlike thoughts," you might not be asleep. And of course the thought "I am awake now" is as likely to be a sleeping thought as not. Descartes' worry, and mine. Really I'm just gettin tired of FIGHTING for sleep. It's exhausting, even when I win.
But back to Abe an 'em.... Here it's 3 dogs, but they could well be the Rozerem beasts. The big black one, so sad he's big and scary, hates to be a bother, but he's so big and in the way. Try not to hit him with your stick when he chases your bike -- he's just doing his job dimwit. Then the old shedding dying one (the badger/beaver), white hairs everywhere (look who's talking). Eagle eye. She actually scares me a little, since she kills a lot of her own protein. But she's nice enough when I trip over her when I sleepwalk. And then there's the little brown kidney shaped and sized little thing with the tiny cranium.
No mastermind he. Somebody (another daughter) told me he doesn't have a frontal lobe, but I think she's wrong. I mean, check the ears on this dude, yo! He sleeps with me, sometimes placing his extremely small butt against mine. I hope it's ok -- we're not married. Shit, we're different species!
On second thought, once I get deeper into the Alzheimers I should be able to play Mastermind with myself! Always a sliver lining.
Sometimes I'm not sure I'm asleep. When I realize that in order to understand a certain stance in a philosophical argument I need to first comprehend the special way a man with oily hair is bending exhaust pipes, then I know I'm asleep. When I realize that it's stupid to try to play Mastermind with myself (then why do they call it that?), and it was an excellent birthday present to me (from my daughter) because it requires me to reconnect with the human race, then I'm pretty sure I'm awake. And I go make camomile tea and read. When you think "I must be asleep now, because I am having dreamlike thoughts," you might not be asleep. And of course the thought "I am awake now" is as likely to be a sleeping thought as not. Descartes' worry, and mine. Really I'm just gettin tired of FIGHTING for sleep. It's exhausting, even when I win.
But back to Abe an 'em.... Here it's 3 dogs, but they could well be the Rozerem beasts. The big black one, so sad he's big and scary, hates to be a bother, but he's so big and in the way. Try not to hit him with your stick when he chases your bike -- he's just doing his job dimwit. Then the old shedding dying one (the badger/beaver), white hairs everywhere (look who's talking). Eagle eye. She actually scares me a little, since she kills a lot of her own protein. But she's nice enough when I trip over her when I sleepwalk. And then there's the little brown kidney shaped and sized little thing with the tiny cranium.
No mastermind he. Somebody (another daughter) told me he doesn't have a frontal lobe, but I think she's wrong. I mean, check the ears on this dude, yo! He sleeps with me, sometimes placing his extremely small butt against mine. I hope it's ok -- we're not married. Shit, we're different species!
On second thought, once I get deeper into the Alzheimers I should be able to play Mastermind with myself! Always a sliver lining.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
birthdays are special
because you get older all of a sudden
like from a bad accident or disease
but you don't suddenly get smarter, and usually you don't suddenly die! on your birthday
maybe a comet will buzz by in the night sky
I'm so old now, I won't even look for it
like from a bad accident or disease
but you don't suddenly get smarter, and usually you don't suddenly die! on your birthday
maybe a comet will buzz by in the night sky
I'm so old now, I won't even look for it
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
emptinesst
I've been advised that emptiness, or this emptiness, may be a wonderful openness! (a Buddhist view, for instance, of it)
The house itself is not empty. It is full of .... things. Old dogs and watermelon wine.
Ringo alone appears to be doing well. The dead armadillo in the road was not even cold when I put it in the trash this morning. And IESI Austin removed the trash. Though the weeks of rain have left a scum in the can.
So what's empty? Not my heart. My heart is leaking. It leaks love and rage. Though my blood pressure seems to be normal.
I do have a confession to make. My side is leaking again too. Yuck. The price I pay for being a holy man.
Wholly full of .... emptiness! Infection, anger, and antabuse. Talk about fun. I'm impervious. (Though I admit playing music continues to be 98% rockin.)
When the lightest feather from the tiniest bird falls ever ever so gently into the empty container which held who I thought I was, I think the bottom will fall out. I am wrong, but right now, the bird droppings are way heavy and semi-solid.
The house itself is not empty. It is full of .... things. Old dogs and watermelon wine.
Ringo alone appears to be doing well. The dead armadillo in the road was not even cold when I put it in the trash this morning. And IESI Austin removed the trash. Though the weeks of rain have left a scum in the can.
So what's empty? Not my heart. My heart is leaking. It leaks love and rage. Though my blood pressure seems to be normal.
I do have a confession to make. My side is leaking again too. Yuck. The price I pay for being a holy man.
Wholly full of .... emptiness! Infection, anger, and antabuse. Talk about fun. I'm impervious. (Though I admit playing music continues to be 98% rockin.)
When the lightest feather from the tiniest bird falls ever ever so gently into the empty container which held who I thought I was, I think the bottom will fall out. I am wrong, but right now, the bird droppings are way heavy and semi-solid.
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