totally rejected FB wall posts

Kelli, I don't know if you remember 
me from years back, in the place, 
but I've been thinking about you 
a lot since Facebook told me it's 
your birthday a minute ago. I feel
like there were always things 
I could have said to you then that 
I didn't, but I can't now because 
what were they? Anyway, I wanted
to tell you that, and happy birthday 

Recreational Viewing Pt. 1: The Rockford Files

Sometimes I'm sitting around 
the house, or walking, pacing 
puttering around, thinking 'bout 
how and why and such, 

when I say 

I gotta get on the Rockford Files. 
See how Jim Rockford's doing. 
Hey, Netflix or Amazon showed 
me I never saw half of these! So 

settle in and 

(hum that theme song!)
(let the theme song hum
in mind, here) (Do not 
proceed to verse 2 of the 
poem until the full theme 
song has hummed) (let 
that classic montage 
unfold in your inner 
visual DUH NUH NUH)

done. 

Suddenly Jim's on the case, 
something tawdry, commonplace
or foul, doing a cheap job of detection 
risking his life against the cops' wills 
for customers who a lot of the time 
turn out to be bums, or morally grey 
- which is why they hire that guy. 

A reputation in that business is a good 
deal to have, but his is good for only 
some things. Brave, smart, gets results 
and pisses people off with his charm!

That cigarette punch trick was sweet,
but everybody heard about it. No dice

gotta come up with new tricks on the fly, 
get ambushed at gunpoint, packed into cars, 
stood up in posh offices or beaten in rooms, 
throw in a couple car chases and case closed. 

Man, nobody does it like Rockford, I suspect 
in real life some would try. You end up looking 
like a playacting chum at that point. Pull 

the other business, big tough P.I.   

bot to bot

Hi! Thank you 
for contacting us like 
that. We've evaluated 
your input already, but 
we're sitting on it while
we decide the best time 
to get back to you. Che
ers!

hooked on feel

When you think about it, you're
mostly in my imagination. So, 
I don't mind
if you're not real! 
Except I do! So much.
Just checked 

reality 
needs an anchor 
of imagination 
hooked 

on feel

us over we

If I were the man you thought I was, 
and you were the girl I think you are, 
we wouldn't be giving each other this look. 
Awry, askew, a doubt too far. 
But then again maybe we would, at that. 

We've always been one to get us right,
while getting each other quite blessedly wrong!
So we fight, 'til we win - 'til it seems too pat. 

Just a little suspicious. "I can't be that wrong."
"It can't be that plain. Could it be? Oh my!" 

It's hard to adjust to reality 
when it's always the same, 
and never as hard
as we try.   

actual eyes

With self-esteem I seethe 
and clench, by locking horns
unlocking doors, and barge 
right through into a room. 
Serenity! Long overdue.

You all seem strange to find
me here. Was I not yet expected, 
dear? I don't know why I fit. 
Belong. Gone long since clear, 
in meaning song and rose lit 
dawn. Some spectacles can

never be removed from eyes. 
You might be wise to not believe, 
but if you ask me anyway, there's
nothing I can't tell you why. 

Apart from we.

just in case

Her hand was a gag she'd slap
on her mouth when her eyes
got so wide they could swallow
a house, then her hand would fly
up to clap and contain. Even
though 
not
one
single word 

could brain. 

the dude accuser

I met a dude who was black

as my hand. And he said to me 
why are you racist, man? And 

I said to him why are you sexist,
girl? 

The scales his eyes held could 
weigh the world. He looked at 
me so damn hard, then cracked. 
He busted out laughing! and broke 

the mood. So you're saying you're 
not a racist, then?

I never said that 
I was 
my friend

shame got me

I don't feel shame 
really, never have. 
Not really - not what 
I've come to understand 
shame is like for others. 
As a kid and since, I've felt 
guilt! Sure, and damn right 
too. Apropos. My fault is on,
when it happens. I don't balk 
or duck that shit. Own up, 
little buddy! Guilt's good 
though, see? Since it leads 
to fault, and fault's great. 
Find your own fault, you 
straighten that shit out pronto
and galore, and no problemo 
forward (of that exact type). 

So, shame, shame...shame is 
some bullshit where you cringe 
down inside yourself imagining 
your superego is other peoples' 
eyes giving you a BAD LOOK 
for what a bad person you are, 
either if they knew, or in some 
cases: because they know. It's 

like an inner blame magnification 
and anticipation lens! WHAT 

WHO would...? That's some 
ugly fucking inner shit, Holmes? 

But 
call me a hypocrite maybe,
since I just discovered a certain shame 
within me. No other word will do. It's
no guilt. Not apropos to the case, 
which is no "fault" really.

It's that same damn feeling: you
getting on you and roping in your
internalized global disapproval sense,
because 

face it
you're kind of a letdown. To you, 
even, and it feels better if you imagine 
a ton of people find that important. 
Big letdown. Letdown City. Letdown 
Planet. Sounds 

like a forgotten beat sixties mid-budget
sci-fi epic. People were disappointed. 

So what's my shame? How'd shame get 
me? It's 
this. 

This poem. 

Kind of a creeping feeling
that grows a little, too, over
time when I haven't been rhyming
lately. Now,

I know I can not rhyme. There is 

no shame! 

In not rhyming. I know that. 

But I like to rhyme! I love rhyme, and 
so when I don't, and it stretches out a bit 
- no rhymes - I dunno. 

I just feel like not my best. Like 
come on, asshole. Fucking rhyme

Problem with mad science

Problem with mad science. 
Which is more probable, 
Reality and physics and shit 
are just more responsive 
to craziness and megalomania, 
or...? You're fucking crazy 

and none of your shit 

actually works

This just seems like savvy media use to me

So I developed an app where 
you love me. It's not 
mind control or something 
that's sick 
I thought of going the deep 
fake route, but 
seemed like maybe that was 
why you don't love me 
to begin with, so 
I created a phone-based 
application based on 
reality shifting, and 
also a phone. Based 
on both, and 
it just keeps shifting, 

shifting, shifting 
until you love me. 
Technically 
it's still reality. Just, you 
know. 
You love me, though

it worked 

maybe it wasn't the app?

my version of rude

Critique, please. More 
substance, less sentiment!
I rock-housed that case up there
like a champ! And you come in
with personal taste unadorned?
Imperially nude on parade! Who's
your tailor, I think they rooked you.
Come again when you've anything
on at all!

Contradiction is demonstrable, if
there is any. Big up or big on, my
dear personal judgment supremacist!
No reason to bring, nor even
observation to show - it's a 

bad look for debate fans, and
even worse for dialectics.   

the one I trust

You're the one I trust
to uncut my throat,
unstab my back,
ungive false hope,
and I know you can't.

But I'd trust you to.

That's just who you are,
who I always knew.

some muchness of love

I kind of love you more 
than I should, but who is 
to say that except for you?
And how shall you say, 
when you kinda know?
And I am not bringing it 
up to view.

Perhaps, 
I don't love you so much 
as I claim.

For sure, if I did I'd lay
you plain! Or it plain. Or
anyway, some damn thing.

If I love you so much it breaks
cosmic laws and moral integrity 
by clause, then why would I not

do everything? From jump out of
plains, to swim out to seize, in cramp
of fine style and fit to sneeze! Make 
vast demonstrations of feel and know?

The fact is 

I think 

I love you so.

About right, indeed. Full
and True, in word. No problemo
is caused. The idea's 

absurd

all the small kinds

Imagine opening up the door
to face the day outside. Outside, 
the ground is almost completely 
covered

in birds. 

All the small kinds, just close enough.
Touching each other, but not piled up. 
You see blades of grass, gleams of 
concrete, patches of earth between 
their gold, black, blue and mousy 
greys.
Now
you've imagined this, 
so please tell me: are they
alive or dead? 

cats are always

Cats are always figuring shit out 
and working on it, in-between 
lazy as fuck. Once you've got 
two cats, they set to work on 
each other figuring that shit 
out. It's a continuous operation 
and exercise, maneuver, involving 
no negotiation whatsoever, but 
batting and clashing, using boxes, 
obstacles, position on laps they 
establish a sort of détente, or 
high-functional impasse, and 

it works. They figured it out! No 
wait - there they go still figuring 
it out.
If only 

humans could do that 

Heterosexuality: a bit odd.

The funny thing is, if she's 
heterosexual, and I'm hetero-
sexual, she wants a man! But 

I want a woman 

THAT ought to be totally 
incompatible! Radically 
different interests. Yet 

somehow it works 

in fairness

I should note my
opinions in this matter
are obstinate, contrarian,
highly bigoted and
completely
unbiased.

So,
it's
totally cool
who disagrees.
I'm like "Ha-ha!
You may well

think so!" See, 
I'm cool. Not 
intolerant of 
where others differ,
even though I am
same as always. 

I found I have nothing
to prove to anyone, and this 
more than anything obviates
any burden of proof conceivable. 

It only exists in the desperate, the 
needy. In fairness, I don't mind you

agreeing with me. 

over again the end

We began in-between
and started to end, but
then we found out we 
were over that part. 

Now we're over again,
and back to full stop
for a big over look.
We spotted the start, 
and just after that
we finally found
the beginning.
It took.

Like a shot off the ground
we stood stupidly 'round
grinning ear to ear from
eye to eye, together we
found all over between.

This middling all through
was as easy as seem.

So eventually, we worked out
what we should have perhaps
done along, all the way. If we
had
picked
up at the
start. As most
do. Yet you know? 

I'd begin in-between
with you,

every go.

undeterminist

No, I didn’t intend to allude to Einstein,
though the dice crack would be apt! God
is far more poker-face than craps addict
I suspect, yet the fall of cards to Fate’s hand
has seemingly a good deal of play in it.

The game is or ought to be baccarat, yet
God’s always glomming onto what’s hot
and trendy somehow. What an infinite fan

of bandwagons.

There also seems to be a roulette angle,
something to do with the dangers of
reification, but I haven’t worked that

out yet.

Laws of physics are descriptive rules
after all: they are fundamentally caused
and cannot be the cause. I think sometimes
the determinist is the apotheosis of the

obedience addict.

The scarcity of atheist adeterminists is quite
a puzzler. Partly an enemy-of-my-enemy
solidarity? Maybe partly the fact

there’s literally nothing at stake anyway.

identity crisis

If God had waited 'til
2000 (or whatever we'd 
be calling it) to send
Jesus, the kid would be
like 22 right now

and probably trying
to figure out wtf
costume would go
with these particular

superpowers

stranded pilots

Stranded pilots gliding high,
saving fuel in case the calls
they send out periodically
are answered where the ground
is free. It's all bought up, torn
down and spent. It happened
fast, but let's crash slow. In
case there's someplace we
have missed so far above
way down below. 

Schrödinger's troll

Schrödinger's troll in a catbox hid.
Secretly sincere or else nasty, kid. 
Superposed true and false at once!
Simultaneously deserving good faith,
or a kick where it stunts - oh, what
shall we do? Fully aware, I say: let's
just respond to the prong that deserves
truth best!

Another's hidden worst is beneath us
to hunt. Let alone dig, oh let alone guess.
We all know there's ignorance in this world.
Let those who bare theirs innocently get: 

our best.

Those who pose and fake are not even worth
our less. Give our best there, too. And if some
jack-in-the-ass pops out of the box? Well it wasn't
us fooled. It's the fool who gives false, insincere,
untrue who has fooled themselves that's a thing

to do. 

mismanagement

I heard roses
used to smell so sweet,
and red delicious was, but
bred for durability and appearance
they lost their innate virtues. Some
roses do smell sweet. So sweet. As to
red delicious, I say call it something
else.

About Me

Conceived by coincidence
Born at speed
Rapidly developing
into a learning being
with a taste for cognition
to outpace recognition
in a bold foray of discovery
Into The Known...I AM ME!
I am not about me, I am me.
I have never been about me,
particularly but ha, ha, yes.
It is I. Me! "That Guy!" 

The one with the thumbs.
The wonderstuck! Fancy
champion of truth's caboose,
pushing the whole thought train
uphill towards the tunnel
from the rear and not
skimping on tangents!
My courtesy is...well, "innate"
is as good a way to put it! Those
who know me find it "familiar." 

And I bring me here
to confide to you each (and so all)
in a booming whisper audible to
the point of embarrassment...

"I have never had the slightest
idea how to write one of these." 

Well. Do one's best then. Do
one's best. Then. Now,
arguably 

might have been better.  

sleep upside down

Sometimes when I sleep I sleep
upside down. I put my head

the other way.

One of my gf's
used to be like "NO"
But then she tried it!
She loved it! It was
just one way to liven
things up in bed I guess.

Of course she turned it
passive aggressive. If I was
in the stinkhouse and didn't
know otherwise, she'd dither
'til I got in first, and then

next thing I knew

- FEET!

This is really nobody's business,
but I totally sabotaged her bullshit
by kissing her feet. Next she'd be
getting in that way for NO stinkhouse
reason. Just to get her feet kissed!

She'd ruined her clear signal with
love-toned ambiguity heh heh heh
heh

early onward

Man 
I remember when I was 
one cell, one single-celled 
organism I couldn't even 
FORM memories. You 
had no place to put it! 

I had to concentrate 
so hard. All this shit 
was going on inside me, 
split! Split! "Are there 
going to be more of me
now?"

No, asshole. Just shut 
up and watch how it works 
okay? 

God was so sick of my questions 
back then. I didn't even know 
what God was, I thought God 
was some kind of big loser. 
No body! I had a super blobby
body and it was huge by my
count. Meanwhile, some "being
of pure spirit" all infiniting around 
everywhere, 

I would go "boooOOOOoOo!"
- but apparently God had seen 
worse.

I don't know why but God spends
most of that infinite time and attention
chilling with humans at the pre-being
stage. 

Maybe it's easier. Telling them all this
shit, "LOOK, 'Joe.' You're not going
to remember any of this, but-" I was
like, who IS THIS thing? Why call me
'Joe,' as opposed to anything else? "I
KNOW FUTURE SHIT-" "Oh come on
man! Get out of my head #1, and #2:
spoiler alert! I wanna find out normally!" 

God 
basically 
got the idea eventually. And 
I can't really blame or fault 
on that score. I was a little 
snot pocket! But 

sometimes I'm sad 
it all happened before 
I could even form memories. 
Now I don't even know what 
happened then! 

Then later I got distracted 
something awful! WOW. 

So this is the famous "birthday" 
I never heard about once in 
my entire life.

What's with the "air"? Is that
seriously the best we can do?  

tickets by pounds

Selling tickets on yourself, 
by pound and ounce, 
for all you weigh - 
but we can't buy them
in amounts controlling 
shares for any say. 
You're trying to breathe 
and piss and balance 
beauty in release 
and shit, 
but 
all it simultaneously 
does for all of us 
is slide 

to find 
excuse 
to quit. 

Is it a sensation?

There was a weird sound 
and partly a feeling 
in the back of my head, 
and I couldn't describe
but 
like pressure in a hiss 
fizz click pushing bubbles, 
and it sure felt sounded 
so weird and fine 

and I was psyched! Since, 
I knew for sure the shape 
of that line, wherein 

it occurred.

It was like
an old friend 
punched me sharp 
and hard 

in the back of my head. 
Hey, I know it! 
Word. 

I had never
experienced 
exactly this,

but 

It's been too long 
and weird 
to miss. 

I concurred

muse bang.

You are you know
one hell of a muse.

If I could think everything
I could ever think about you,
my head would explode inside,
and reel - in full incomprehension
of all I feel.

gun rights nut

I believe strongly:
guns have rights. No
one should be allowed
to finger a trigger without
explicit, overt consent

from the gun.
Hey, fuck it!

Throw in whoever
it's pointed at too
- but the main thing
is in all the USAen talk
on gun rights, the rights
of the gun are never addressed!

Only ignored. It's foul
so many guns are blamed
for going off, when in fact
in culture and the courts
themselves - they aren't

given a say!

Sorry I

I'm not
trying
to provoke a gun rights gunfight.
To me
this is an apolitical issue, guns
are metal and plastic.
We need
to treat them as "AI"
while we get the rest of the "AI"
laws going.

A test case. Basically 
we can find out how smart 
guns are, use that for baseline. 

Dream perspectives

Last night I dreamed
I was in the third person.
It was extraordinary but
disorienting. I walked

across my own field of vision
and I tracked with me okay. As I
turned upscreen, around a corner
(I was downtown, some generic
cute downtown - I think it might
have been Petaluma!), and it sort
of cocked the angle again, I couldn't
get it so
I had a plain from-behind
view. I kept
pulling out, panned
to the side. 

There wasn't any screen.

Just this detached viewpoint. Yet
I was controlling my limbs
normally! As if
from within! At one point

I was walking quite naturally past
a window, and wanted to check my
reflection - I turned completely the
other way! Then I realized I could
see my face fine

from the outside, so
...force of habit,

I guess.

I'm always
gazing through windows
downtown, trying to compress
all the visual realities into one
(as if 2-d) plane. The background
sky and skyline behind me, people
passing - reflections, me, and gazing
through the dark window spaces, into
the interior light, shapes and people.
Kind of flatten it - as if on a canvass.
One flat two dimensional space, but 
complex layers of reality smooshed
into it. Visual compression. 

That was how I used to paint. To this day
I'm always trying to frame one dynamite
composition. Anything with reflection,
reality beneath, and reality behind. WHAM!
Shapes! Color and shade! Figure and ground
gone interlap and multidimensional! Why
I bother
I don't know, grown
so lazy a painter.   

The face-on view was the worst.
Coming right at me, it was all wrong!
Weave-bop-weave-bop-counter-weave,
correct - natural! Walk, walk, okay I got
this - whoop! WAY off, wall-carom! No
no I'm fine, look how cheerful and
unconcerned. Not 

that anyone notices or asks. Maybe 
they're all operating the same 
problematic view? Yet

overall, it was all so normal. Prosaic.
Nothing at all going on in this dream. 
I stayed outside, I was just trying to pull
off normalcy. No way I'm risking aisles 
and stands, tables - forget it! Counter 
ok, but - I'm not really hungry or 
thirsty. I'm trying to walk, 

here. 

I've had this dream before, few times.
One time my image kept getting framed
by a big gunsight! Huge in the crosshairs,
there it's me! Disappear awhile - BACK! 

I ignored it.
Stupid touch there,
subconsciousness. A freaking
gunsight. 

Anyway,
it's been a while. Last night, 
for no reason at all - as 
usual: third person downtown 
dreamwalk is baaack. 

Totally annoying dream.

Tornado advisory: okay

The weather is okay. But
this morning I kept
whipping around to
catch a skyful
of tornadoes over
my shoulder, and
behind me. Then

they kept being
not there, but -
behind me again?
Whiparound - gone
again! South, North,
West...to the East
I go not.

The weather was
okay then, and all day
really, but somebody's

got to keep a watch on it.

party décor hack: frozen sight puns

One time
I was at a gathering
(informal) and the centerpiece
on the table

was an enormous frozen peas
sculpture (well, damn large
anyway) of a massive, upright
icy...let's say dildo. Because
otherwise, damn vulgar.

It sort of

decayed leprously
as it thawed. Bits of green
peaness sliding down, dropping

off. 

It only just hit me
that this was probably
supposed to be a

"pea cock"

the worth signal

I want you to know when 
I signal you, it means 
I know your worth. 
So 
     we have to arrange 
a preunderstood signal. Some 
gesture, cryptic to the world 
but crystal to you from me. 
Then 
         when you see it, 
you'd be like "Aha! 
Hehehehe he knows 
my worth." 

I'm thinking chef's-kiss,
shrug-wink, 
the bird, 
victory-V (or flip it:
the Brit double barrel
bird equivalent), 
these 
could be ambiguous 
to onlookers drawing 
the wrong idea. We 
need 
to agree 
on our own sign. 

I recommend 
I place both index fingers 
in one horizontal line 
fingertip-to-tip 
at eye level, and 
you 

bite your lip 
and 
give a curt "back nod" 
or grin and shake your head 
slow no, 

depending whether 
I do or not know 
your worth 

in 
that
moment

ant critic.

The ants out front - as I retrieved
the huge blue plastic trash can
booming and echoing hollowly,
on wheels - had made grain by grain
the most beautiful anthill, I had to stop
a bit and watch it. I nearly leveled it,
smooshed to a level patch of surface
dirt by one bare foot, placed

by absent mind.

Thankfully nothing of the kind
occurred. It was lovely, how it turned
out - it was like a

funnel.

Not like a tornado, no - though those
are called "funnel clouds" as if that's
cute, like a funnel cake - especially

when most are so foul. No, this

was like
the important part
of the funnel. The top, which spreads
to gather good in and down, not the bottom
that tears ass through housing developments
sowing and reaping destruction in one moment

of impossibly focused wind-shear.

I wondered, wondering, looking
at its grainy arrangement. Which somehow
had far less the affect of precision than
the effect of perfection. I wondered what

its bottom got up to down there, with all
the good gathered streaming in and down.
Then I recalled I'd seen nature shows, ant
farms and such - so, probably that's about it.
Tiny tiny things to the eye! But given the right
lens you'd get huge, white pupae stupidly
propped up everywhere, serviced by man
-sized sticklike abominations - no, ants!

Oh, okay. They're just little guys, then.
And the queen, oh you know. Give her
her privacy.

Anyway.

Good job, kids!
Haven't seen a better one in years!
It spreads out like the mouth of a funnel,
instead of jutting up all toy volcano, trying
to impress the lawn, or something.

It strikes me my reasons for preferring
a rising swell of this holy type to the more
typical (and humble, less intriguing and mysterious)
straightforward cone job - an erection ants pop
up all over, common and vulgar - may be part
aesthetics, sure.

But for my part, partly psychological too,
I bet. May be. Oh hell though - even if it is,
we're really talking biological aren't we? We
don't need to lay every impulse and inclination
out nude on a couch and suggestively probe its
every gap and opening with cigars, do we?

No.

I just like it. I really
don't know a thing about ant,
but I know what I like. 

a dish for the king

When I hear "meal fit for a king" 
I'm like fuck that and fuck you. 
Kings can eat a bag of (the
public's sovereign) dicks, publicly
for for all I care of "kings"! Queens 
too, and being rather damn broad 
minded in comeuppance, throw in 
a big bag of sovereign hoo-hoos,
far more fit for royalty to munch
and chow down on than the sumptuous
or excellent repasts we pronounce "fit"
for them. Try a big bag of sovereign 
public pudenda, your majesties. 

A meal that won't quite fit in your 
prim, frowning mouths, will it? Just 
go ahead now, you deserve it far 
too well. 
 
And you can't even do anything 
about it! Used to be a king, if 
you caught one out in public 
without a cheering, teeming 
mob to support him you could 
do as you please with the tyrant! 
If the mob knew and liked him 
better than you though - watch it. 

You and they were ruled. You had 
to scrape and slave, debasing your
self now for that haut clothed clown.

If only the mob was you, I mean - and 
thought all as you did, about it! Off with
his crown AND head then, buddy! 

Nowadays, no dice. Whichever people 
kept their kings and such, it's because 
of perverse and more or less full public 
enjoyment of the absurdity! Posed far 
too often as partly ironic and smart.

Whenever you get a king, half the time
his own people think it's cute. "Pft!" they
say. It's no big deal. Grow up, crybaby,
that man's allowed a certain pomp and high
style luxury just to show we can well afford it!
Royalty's a status symbol, a conspicuous excess
that shows the team nobility of the mob. 

Well that's one fucking theory. As they are 
the people, and sovereign as all hell in ways 
you or I may not care for or see the point of, 
they get a free pass on kings, queens, any and 
all that princess princeling crap, raising up 
their innocent babes and brats to be too big 
in the britches, all swanning about above us
all, swooning at the sight of too commoners.

If that's what they want - fuck them, I honor 

it. The will of the people - like the human 
heart itself - it knows what it wants. Honor 
it or die for opposing their just will. 

Whatever the people do or uphold for a couple
generations running, you can pretty much guess
they just will. Kings! In this day and age! 

That's a long running vogue, vogue, vogue 
to choke Madonna herself in the throat if 
she tried to ape it to a hot beat on a public 
dance floor. Now that shows real royalty
who has class, but me I say: praise Lorde
and pass. 

I say, instead of "fit for a king" why not 
rise up?
Declare the meal
"An accomplishment fit for a slave of such
mastery ALL scullery workers should take
notes, and ape its mastery of kitchen arts
displayed! Only one possessed of the humility
of true nobility to slave away in a lifetime's
drudge they loved (obviously) doing yeoperson's
work - doing YEO WORK, for you, yo - could
possibly attain to such deft and potent puissance
of dish-on-plate!

When the meal's that fit, I prefer to pay due 
to the one whose fitness in the kitchen made
it so! Not to some absent and gluttonous, high
-standards monarch hovering invisibly
everywhere, 

waiting 

to be invoked  

snap ritual

I hope you are well.
And if a funk possesses
you, please perform some
impromptu
bath soak
ritual

- you
could do
a super low OHM
groannnnnnnnnn while
plunging your hands from
the waters and SNAP,
SNAP rhythmically
- SPLOOSH
back down then
streaming up SNAP,
SNAP - ohmmmmmmmmm

It's unproven as all hell, but
I gotta believe that's a funk
snapper and a way to calm out,
chill down and restore
proportion.

You could also add
in anything that strikes
the mind! Whole ritual's
impromptu. But it's

important: that rhythmic
and static/continuing motifs
be admixed. It sort of...pulls

the inner state through, while
breaking crud off it

Uhm. I'm not saying
I think you
are the sort of person
who needs that

Problemator.

I eat problems alive
with my eyes and crap
not solutions, so much
as minor epiphanies: oh
hey. That wasn't a problem 
after  all? Was it? 

Turns out!  

See, I walk in made
of lightning and inner
piss stank to take shit
done, pop a big look  
on it all scary, and care
the hell out of it. Crack
a boom - oh, I'm sorry?

Did we want that a problem? 

Nah, not usually. Mood's 
way better, but not mine. 
I'm pissed it even was 
that way! I stalk out of there

like a meteor streaking fumes
from the hair fire I didn't
even know I had up my ass 

'til I saw the state 
of that room!

All these woe cases.
Doleful as bums stuck
in funk mode, and
I look around.

And I take one
look at it, all it
takes is one. 

And I'm like
ah jeez, this
again. DONE. 

Next!
  
A little sick of feeling
maybe, 
maybe, people just ask 
me around in case bad 
shit happens? Can't deal? 

But that would imply
a capacity to plan that
would have prevented
the thing. Most of the time

nothing goes wrong. 

Well, it wouldn't care 
to would it?  

Seems fit.

Perhaps we simply stand 
and guess at another's 
motive. One to our making
- I mean, liking. Seems fit,
for an obvious asshole. 

Or perhaps we do what 
many of high IQ do - take 
an IQ test! Pleased at the 
result, we celebrate with 
our chums, Mensa. No 
one else wants to. Envy. 

Seems fit.

Or if we dare, and perhaps 
- we do, simply. As we've 
never tried it simply before.
We learn to lessen, pare away
flourish. Streamline excess.
Focus past distraction, on
essence, with light, grace,
wild elegance and strict
minimalism. 

Seems fit! 

Or you know, perhaps 
we simply do as we 
have. Fare on in minor
setback, incremental
advance, from habit
to lack and back again.
To see what fun it always 
is, and how flat, until
it seems fit.  

monuments to last

Taking pictures of food 
is like taking pictures of clouds.

It's never being
this way again, 
we've seen it all
somehow. 

Rough pepper
fallen on egg yolk 
could may as well
be snow, except
we crave the taste of one, 
even more than
all the empty icy
feel, you know.

And when
we lift our eyes to 
skyscape forms, in towers
tinted rose and gold,
we know
those things
put in the shade
all our monuments below,
and so 

we hunger
for a taste that lasts 
as long as we devour.

But it never lasts.
So take your shot, 
and keep it sweet. 

Such power

rock bottom brew

Have you ever run coffee 
from yesterday's grounds? 
It's more like brown water 
with a coffee sound. 

The bean grinder's broke,
so I'm switching to ground
next time I happen to go 
to town. 

I guess I'm an addict,
but I can't quite get up 
to fall down