Taking what life throws at me one pitch at a time
early winter dusk mythos has the voice of a fashion model who is taken to drink and turning tricks. nothing beats a real myth bourne of chilly north winds blow sweeping rationality away from the glow of the warmth around the hearth authentic in its cloying heat keeping passion kindled through the drafty night
Anything that closes Can open again Like chapters of history That emotional cauldon Blowing it's lid Boiling over it's rim Roiling content conglomerate Filled with blood and riddles As we drive our cartwheels Over hectares of the bones Of those that have gone before With foolish finishing beliefs That a chapter has closed Only to gaze into the abyss Brutally pried open again By our ignorance and bliss Inhumanities calling card To this earth we inhabit
Not having things I
don’t want that others tell me
I should want is fact.
My gratitude for what I
do have is no mere mirage.
Life is full of many peaks and valleys. One thing that has helped me traverse those highs and lows is the knowledge Firesign Theater gifted me back when I was just a little sprout in Indiana. That was the truth bomb of Everything You Know Is Wrong. My mother was a Bozoette in high school, so I must go where the Bozos go. Naturally I got on the bus with Chairman Barney and we went to the future. That’s when I found out that We Are All Bozos On This Bus. Unfortunately Uh Clem was doing maintenance on the future that day. Not only were the clones out of hand in the future, but the Holygrams were as well. But we inflated our shoes, stepped on the moving yellow line, and took the tour to the Hall of Presidents. But when we violated robots rules of order: Don’t Crush that Dwarf, Hand Me Pliers we were all asked to leave the future immediately. Enough clowning around. Now that a hole has been dug deep enough for everybody to jump into it I’m off to see the Gypsy Fortuneteller. So squeeze the wheeze all you want because it no longer hurts me. But I never lose sight of the highest of peaks even from down here in this hole with all of us Bozos. Honk. Honk.
↹
It started with a fever
Fifty years ago or so
Raged at a fevers pitch
Seared to an embers core
An extended fever dream
A fiery consuming ditch
Dug through my epoch seam
As years passed unseen
Gave way to nightly sweats
Low grade daylight fever flight
Fancies flooded daylight hours
Then one day not so long ago
Half century fever broke
Shattered what was within
Shattered all that was without
Leaving only dreams of night
Displayed for none to see
To straddle my flâneur days
A gentleman of leisure
If you please
Sleeping in many days
Baby sleep and fever free
↹
Underwhere
I mumbled
While practicing
My thousand yard stare
Overthere
What
Why are they always a pair
Who
Underwhere
No
Underwear
Oh
I didn’t care
Even if they have a tear
From being caught in my snare
Because
Underwear presupposes
Overwear
Since I knew I had a spare
I supposed I could wear
My underwear over my underwear
Inventing overwear
Overwhere
No
Overwear
Pointless perhaps
High fashion for others
But I still won’t share
Because the fare
Is just not fair
Now back to playing Commando Bear
♩♪♩♬ ♬♩♪♩
When everybody
Becomes a thrill seeker then
Nobody is thrilled
Nothing special Nothing gained
Cheap thrills Cause the thrill is gone
♩♪♩♬ ♬♩♪♩
Clocks askew as I
No matter how hard I try
With money to buy
Seem to steal on a whim
All my daylight savings time
ᕦ༼ ~ •́ ₒ •̀ ~ ༽ᕤ
I find myself living in the cosmic combo platter of prompts that feed directly up the flapdoodle flagpole that is my stream of consciousness. Trying to make sense of the chaos that is the firehose of information of all flavors while sorting through what may be plausible as opposed to implausible makes me realize that my inputs are like this mess of cables on this utility pole flowing with flapdoodle opinions to the internets while becoming the material basis for many immaterial opinions posing as expository ejaculations of noisy nonsense, twaddle, and other wu wu waste management emissaries that are well outside my immediate sphere of influence. Now that I have expunged my flapdoodle foliage into the stream I will devour a heaping helping of flapjacks with a good portion of thick syrupy material on top.
ᕦ༼ ~ •́ ₒ •̀ ~ ༽ᕤ
My taste in music can be described as eclectic. As a matter of fact that pretty well describes my taste in just about everything. That being said, in regards to bands specifically; I would be hard pressed to single out bands I hate. It is equally difficult to single out bands I love. There is a wide variety and genre of songs I love, done by various and varied bands in many styles. But there are songs done by bands I like that I grew sick of due to the endless play rotation on AM radio stations.
♩♪♩♬ ♬♩♪♩
Now with streaming music and a well placed subscription I am given the random access algorithm that I have been waiting for my whole life. Good for me. Bad for bands livelihoods. But I keep finding new music and music from past eras that I missed. I keep discovering many old bands that are new to me but old and passe to others. Best of all I am no longer stuck with an album or CD with only one or two songs I like.
♩♪♩♬ ♬♩♪♩
Now with a few keystrokes it seems I can find even the most obscure band or artist from the distant past, so I can joyously relive the memories or wonder what the heck I was thinking at the time. Either way they sure don’t make em like that any more.
♩♪♩♬ ♬♩♪♩
For good or for bad, here we are.
♩♪♩♬ ♬♩♪♩
A Scroll Threw Life 