Taking what life throws at me one pitch at a time
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In the world I was born into
There were rules handed down
From all the people around
No moaning
No crying
No sniveling
Toughen up
Suck it up
Pick yourself up
No blood
No broken bone
No doctor needed
Shake it off
Walk it off
Don’t be a big baby
Nobody likes a whiner
Were they
Was I
Was the world
Off it’s rocker
Or on it?
The sun rises and I PORT into my fancy binary ciphering machine for my morning imPORT input stream. Download all the compiled dreams and extraneous bytes of the nonsense my fleshy skull soft drive gleaned through it’s sensor array the day before and collate that which may be imPORTant and that which can be ignored, with the disclaimer and knowledge that I do so at my own peril. When on the lookout PORT side it’s usually the starboard side that gets you. After exPORT I gather my PORTable combo cipher / adding machine and wander out to the PORT of Chicago for my morning sortie.
1. Spirit in the Sky Sky Pilot
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2. MacArthur Park West coast panic in needle park
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3. A Whiter Shade of Pale Chroma Appropriation
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4. Crocodile Rock Chance the Snapper
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5. Run Don’t Walk
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6. Don’t it make your brown eyes blue Quotidian Morning Constitutional Achieved
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7. Heaven can wait because the devil left the porch light on
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8. One night in Bangkok will require a cup with that athletic supporter
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9. I know him so well but I didn’t know about his mother
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10. Here comes the Sun. This message brought to you by the Vampiric Defense League
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I jumped on my high horse
Trustee, favorite fine mount
Pointed at others errant course
A regular self righteous fount
While spouting a toxic slurry
Full of media puke talking pouts
Full of flair and a fine flurry
Of shrill Banshee like shouts
Wallowing in my faux tone age
Having patience with no virtue
Spilling my sepia life rage
Leaving the taste of burnt roux
For all to rumble and gumbo about
Dinah Moe Hum was the first thing that jumped to my mind
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Now for those who call humbug; the second flash was, “She’s a humdinger. Folk singer.”
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Humming right along here….
BTW. I’m not just humming, I’m resonance tuning
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Hey! I’m vibrating here!
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Then there were the humbucker pickups on my good old Gibson SG
Believe me when I played no one hummed along, but I got penty requests to play, “Far Away.”
Ha. I was still so loud I rarely got far enough away.
Such is my humdrum life.
I think I am all hummed out. So I’ll mumble my way out
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1. Wedge Looks like a pair of tighty whities, pulled back over your scalp and forehead, with the front pulled over your chin. Improvised from traditional wedgie.
2. Mohican The last hair style you will ever wear
3. French Plait Looks like you’re wearing a serving of stinky cheese, snails, and wine on your head.
4. Pageboy Makes you look like Mr Philip Morris’s little friend
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5. Bouffant Aunt Bee’s real last name and precursor to her invention of the beehive hairstyle
6. Pixie Where the dandruff flakes fall like the dust of the fae
7. Bob Looks the same from the front to the back, aka Palindrome Cut
8. Crew Cut Wear only when you’re down with the crew crew talking ’bout the Mu Mu
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9. Buzz cut What to wear when you go to the moon and live in low gravity for infinity and beyond.
10. Bunches aka Cornucopia, Carmen MIranda’s horn of plenty turned over on your head.
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A Scroll Threw Life 