Taking what life throws at me one pitch at a time
daily I view
fabricated realities
alternate universes
diverging converging
timeline merging
tapestry of screen time
disbelieved believing
spun from whole cloth
fruit of the loom
brought to you by loons
highly unlikely exposition
narratives from nattering
decanted denominational
decrypted dominated cryptic
negative nincompoop nabobs
woven into a threadbare fabric
with a smattering of snew
What's snew?
I don't know.
What's snew with you.
1. Widow Twanky.
An honorific she earned after her husband Cranky Twanky passed.
2. Buttons.
Things you have to push to find out what they really do.
3. Cinders.
Burn your cinders to the bone, what do you get? Boney Cinders
4. The Beast.
Something we all must try to keep at bay
5. Gru.
A thing we all need to grow some of to hide away for a rainy day
6. Cruella de Vil
Hunter Thompson's big car of choice for some fear and loathing duty in Las Vegas
7. The Fairy Godmother
Maternal Changeling terrorizing children
8. Abanazar.
When you don't have enough to qualify as Abundanza
9. Carabosse
The last railroad car on The Bosses train
10. King/Queen Rat.
The big cheeses at the local Rodent Club
Hominids being
Horrible to one another has no
Hole in human history
Honestly it's
Horrendous
How we've treated one another
Holiday exceptions
Honestly only sometimes
Honored
Ho Ho Ho
So I wrote a haiku this morning to a Bluesky #vss365 prompt of #yearn as I am wont to do daily.
It went like this:
It always seems that
No matter how hard I #yearn
Affection is spurned
A comment made on that post brought to mind this song by Loudon Wainwright, III
“Unrequited To The Nth Degree”
Oh, when I die and it won’t be long
Hey, you’re gonna be sorry that you treated me wrong
Yeah, you’re gonna be sorry that you treated me bad
Hey, and if there’s an after life I’ll gloat and I’ll be glad
Might be a plane crash, or some sort of OD
Hey, there’s going to be a photograph with my obituary
You’re gonna see it and you’ll cry
You’re gonna wanna wear black
Hey, I’ll be dead but you can bet your life, I’m gonna get you back
I’m tired of being left up on your shelf
I might not wait around, might kill myself
Not only would you miss me, but you’d feel guilty to
Oh, I’d be dead but it’d be too late the joke would be on you
Ha ha ha ha, ho ho ho ho
Chuckle chuckle chuckle chuckle
Snigger snigger snigger snigger
Guffaw guffaw guffaw
Yuk yuk yuk yuk
Ha ha ha ha…
So you better take warning, start treating me good
Start doing the things that I think you should
And you better not pout and no you better not cry
The grim reaper is a-comin’ to town and I just might die
This song reinforces many things for me.
From irrational exuberance to unreasonable expectations.
From pining for personages out of my league, while not noticing those that would have been a better fit.
Personal life
Professional life
Business life
Financial life
Spiritual life
This song also affirms my observations on codependency:
When I die your life will pass before my eyes.
🛩Meanwhile, Keep Em Flying 🛩
"I wonder if it's true that a buttered slice of toast always lands buttered side down?" She leered back at me over the breakfast table and winked. "Wanna find out?" People our age had no business behaving that way, but we put that mornings inspiration to the test for a spell. Someday I'll Google that question. But I did not then and I will not now. Some mysteries of the universe are left to be explored over and over again. The buttering of the toast can be wonderful and messy. Surprising and surpassing expectations. Not a chore, but a delight. Whether morning or night, my little toaster would often pop up when least expected, delivering a surface for that delicious spread. Toast is fine. But Biscuit was different. Since I've never heard of a buttered biscuit theory I can only imagine you never can know which side a buttered biscuit will land on; so you just have to roll around for bit. Or a bite. Or a bit of a bite. That was the way of the Biscuit.
Biscuit Bolero
Now please pass the toast and for heavens sake be careful.
1. Why did the chicken cross the road?
Because a flyover did not eggsxist
2. Why are eggs oval in shape?
Because if they were square it would be an eggsistential threat
3. Who said Humpty Dumpty was an egg?
Upon advice of my attorney I take the fifth eggmenment
4. What is fumigate?
What will be needed once our coop's eggosystem crashes in on itself
5. What is a wuss?
Wet cloth used to wipe the eggxtra yoke off your puss
6. What is a spotter?
One with eggstremely sharp eyesight
7. What is the speed of light?
Eggstrodinarily fast wave and particle scramble to fly the coop
8. What is a hangover?
The price of overtly eggregious consumption
9. What is a grammy?
What you get with eggsentialy 28.3495 ounceys
10.What is lycra?
It's all about how you lycra your eggs
I loitered in that corridor the whole school year, nonchalantly leaning against my locker in between periods 4 and 5; while not so discreetly watching her. Noting every nuance of her garments which changed daily without ever repeating. I was hypnotized by the cut of her strut. No, not strut; the glide in her stride.
She clearly worked hard to ignore me. Still I convinced myself she was sneaking a peek my way with a sort of stifled psychic acknowledgment. I reciprocated with my patented teenage gaze and smirk. Was I stalking in a crowded school hallway?
I only ever saw her at that spot at that time because I thought regimented consistency of school schedules served up that gawking opportunity. Nor did I ever follow her, though fleeting possible sightings at other locations in the school were not unheard of whispers to my eyes. But I never spied her at large out on the free range world.
Something about her didn’t track right; until the last day of the school year when I found the memorial plaque beside the school trophy cabinet. I wasn’t stalking her, she was a ghost haunting me.
Linear timelines
A spirit of fierce aspect
Lurks in the middle
Of a made up beginning
To imaginary end
🕰🕰🕰🕰🕰🕰🕰🕰🕰
Sometimes when riffing
Between high notes and low notes
We need a grace note
🕰🕰🕰🕰🕰🕰🕰🕰🕰
Time to face the fact
Social media is the
Antithesis of
Archaic admonishment
To mind your own damn business
🕰🕰🕰🕰🕰🕰🕰🕰🕰
For immediate release:
Proud recipient a Small Lifetime Achievement Medal
in 2025 Extreme Existence Mismanagement Games
Time to update my résumé
Keep it stupid simple
Oops
I got it backassward again
I believe I will supsup it out
If I follow my stream
Of unconsciousness
Though it may be
A circuitous route
If I step into a river once
Then repeat process
It's never the same river twice
That's me following my snout
Sensing the bait before me
Compelling me to click it out
Stop the processing
I recall it all now
Keep it simple stupid
So come on
KIck it out
My nostalgia for infinity
Took a long time to get here
Even longer to disappear
In the rear view mirror
A Scroll Threw Life 