|
Parade rest except clasped hands on my flank won't work here Both are needed to start the reason the dick is many guys oldest friend If you think about it, from infancy we hold it and shake it repeatedly every day Familiarity breeds bonding, repetition begats anticipation Cue the Carly Simon song For the 140 thousandth time, dick meet hand, hand meet dick This time I stare at the bubbles from the splash Reflecting back to the streams that Seabiscuit would envy The pinacle of the rise from pants wetter to victor In the who could hold their piss the longest contests Swilling pitchers of beer at the ale house Over the years Today I stand here as a replica of that champion Ever grateful that WWII vintage plumbing still works And the ritual yields a happy outcome Business instead of pleasure That's what friends are for
Third leg added. Previously, put on Earth to love. Anchored Mom's destiny for 50 of her best years. Then found the love that eluded me for too long about a month after Mom. New conclusion that happens in the middle of the above two, I was picked for homeroom as a freshman because the teacher was a laptop gym phys ed woman who knew I was class VP in 7th grade, therefore a boy of experience. If she wasn't a laparoscopy, I could have been the man/boy with Teacher Mary Tourneau. She flirted with me. I, of course, pictured her naked but that's the long chapter. The short one is: being set free, finding freedom, when the spirit is free it is not secured and in motion. Using that freedom to find love, immortality is experienced transcending death. Love is everlasting. Love and death are one. Just saying death is part of life is not enough. There is no end to life when you include death and love is eternal, too. So love = good, death =bad but both are infinite in duration. Yes you still love her even if no longer alive to show her. She'll get it when she goes back over these like I do to refresh. Kawasaki makes your peter hard.
Falls into the category of don't ask, don't tell My keyboard produces words better than my Papermate on a legal pad But the words gather in a different place Where they once elicited soaring bullseyes, the plumeting is a concern They are read but remain like carved billets doux on a tree stump Not quite Betty turned the Page More like where'd the magic go? It's like I dialed the wrong number and I answered it Crimson accolades where art thou? Saw today where Princess Leia worked drunk Like that's a new concept Impairment is the HOV lane on the imagination highway Exception noted for the gibberish recorded when King was offed Otherwise it can be pure cognitive enhancement Lilting the directives from the soul Ensuring homage to the Now I ran in the rain today, a cross between Chester Goode and Jim Kenney on PFT day I used to be a 12 second 100 yard dash guy And I once ran 5 miles in Atlanta with a double dog hangover Doing a Rocky finish ahead of a marathoner named Pugliese But those onions are long digested, replaced by the rind of An ancient mariner too spent to recapture whatever glory Presupposed by those thoughts Instead I digress in willful repose Making laughter in another place Tickled that I'm a believer Love is my co-pilot December 14, 2008 Treasures LOST! Where did all the the post 9/28 gems go? Oh, wait - I messed around at other spots instead of reporting in here. Two effen months of empty here WTF? Alot happened in those 60 some days - train to the Canyon, two movies Changling & Burn After Reading, make that 3 - W! Found out I can no longer say "don't be calling ME gramps, you little shit". Got my closure on the pred treatment, weight's down below 220 and doin' 800 mgs of ibu when the morning aches are ponderous towards well-being. And the love? ah, the love. I take her hand, she takes mine - the feeling never goes away. In two weeks I'll be thanking like crazy for this and all others. Break the bread when others are still looking. Forever hasn't happened yet . . . November 19, 2008
Woke up got out of bed dragged a comb across my head. It's been several weeks now since I do When I'm 64 everyday just to listen to the words. Then one day you don't wake up but she does and her everything is now faded. Just like that. It could be called the ultimate slap by love, like your doggie whom you let yourself love so much and then he dies, but this slap is a thousand times worse. Joanne had the best of all worlds in her man but I know I'm beyond world's best to the best part of us and she will have more stories to tell about me if she can remember them. Too bad these entries are so cryptic and revealing only to me, meaning even they won't be much of a reminder when I'm gone. But this is the main point - we found out that love is the O N L Y thing and we have it. The guys we toasted yesterday out by Mount Charlie might have, too but that cake smear had a payback tone to it. Me & pred renewed just a scooch yesterday, effen shoulders & neck. Today is a good recovery day. Mine forever more. Wisdom is knowing you are nothing 8/8/08 must have happened but it left no footprint nor savage brilliance to reign in here. Now go figure, you go ten beautiful months messin' with the pred and blink-blink ciprofloxacin moves in for a long week and there's another cure to follow. Ain't complainin' nor misbehavin' but I'd like the grape to be the pharmaceutical of choice, pleeze. We're2 weeks from the canyon and railway jollies with the grown up fun in-laws as we close in on the fabulous year 14 of life in dreamland. A little puppy pee in bed and some blow hardburn yelled out how wonderful life on the enterprise really, really is - aches and infections notwithstanding. The huge birds among the shoestrings entertain, politics are disappointing, Smart people, definitely, maybe, miss pettigrew, many catherine cooksons, love and other disasters are just a few summer flix worth remembering. 64 effen candles, geez oh man. And I love her.
Fire up another Charlotte Cookson and let the moments sink in We're on our way to closure, whatever that is And our gain continues with no end in sight Last night I dreamed you were in my life As you touched me in our heavenly bed Sending dynamo charges through our soul encasement Then you found it, too This is all I ever want, this and a crystal-like pool Where fagged out speedos are discarded Along with petty annoyances that signal discord In that place where pleasure presides Save me a belly rub and a squirt of spf50 These summer days are a precious few Sweat brought me back to you July 19, 3008
Funny seeing a movie about the set-up line "today's the 1st day of the rest. . . . life" and today is moving on from that life-saving receptor-numbing cohabitant for the last 10 months. So, let's just call that the sign-off from the 11 Step recovery and the sign on to "What Now?". It's a bit like walking on a tightrope as the action sequence on the poster that comes with the diploma. I graduated with an impressive accounting for the past year. They both were with me everyday but there's only one that matters now, thanks. I'm glad for the rehearsed month ahead and then me and Mz. Pred part company for good (thank you CC for the insight and the results) then finally, at last we can see the return of the new, seasoned Studmuffin. So here's the recap - effen pain, fear of impending mobility via walker, relief and I mean R-E-L-I-E-F, minor scare from workout related minor pain, ready now to surpass all prior tugs of love with the one who gives life perfection. Not totally certain how the stuff that's booga~booga-free will turn out other than it will come from the heart directly to the soul. Forsake all others rings somewhere in the chorus and that's my first and only choice, too. TO: love, to you and to the life granted by God that put us together. Watch for the MoJo - Rate the returned expired calendar. Watch for the knocks on your leg. Let me in - wee-ew. July 11 that's 7/11 year 14 '08 It's a mojo thing. The rallying cry is your health is everything. So maybe mojo is a subset of health because it's right up there with pizza for making the day
count. I happen to believe mojo is something one never loses, rather it's one of those things we misplace. Mine is somewhere - maybe hidden in the garage or maybe it's right under my nose and I
just can't see it. But, man, it better not be permanently out of order from extended doses of steroids or I'll, well I'll be beside myself. Actually, there are signs that once I get rebooted (hopefully
before this summer wains) it'll be back in the saddle time again. The thing is until that happens, I'm like Pavarotti not wanting to hum a tune or Dale, Jr, wanting to walk not ride. Some of us
just take our mojo and the glories it has delivered, as we say in the trade - for granite. Granted, that's unwise and the first time you're calling out, "here mojo, here mojo" and there's no response, it
can be more than humbling. Mojo was there at Joe's, at the Rio, in Charlie's inn near the ocean in Montecito. Mojo has taken us to the brink of unconsciousness while curling those toes oh so
many times. It's wasn't just the candles around the tub, it was mojo, baby. Sweet, sweet mojo. Was leaving your wrench out in the backyard letting it get rust encrusted worth voicing your disappointment again, Dad? Did I remind you of your brother whom you lost your respect for long before I lost my Vienna choirboy voice? Or was it just simply that I was a whiny momma's boy afraid of the dark? I doesn't matter because I had that epiphany moment with you that survivors can only imagine when you were being readied for surgery and I inadvertently used a biblical metaphor in admitting my unintentional disrespect of the Father for my past sins and you thought I was referring to you, my father, and said "you never disrespected me, son." Absolution of the BEST kind. I never felt removed from you again. We kept your funeral simple and except for that rent-a-Rev. who used your never-used name, we said goodbye to you knowing your presence would be detectable whenever we think of what you showed us about character, love and even ooops moments. If you can see me now, how about THAT turn-around in life? Isn't she so perfect, so lovable and affectionate that you'd never guess how funny she is and how much fun life is with her as a mate? Couldn't have found her without your molding me in the ways of the world to clinch the deal flavored by my adorable qualities. You knew it's all about love even if you didn't preach it, you just emitted it. Funny, that Rev. for hire chose Corinthians to recite as a prayer to you, and the greatest IS love. You are love and your Mom is love and now I am love. Looks like you're still giving the gift even on your day. Gadzooks, how warm is my global June10th 2008 Conjugate the verb to creep and when you get to the part before we crept, imagine any finish line you ever saw in the distance but never managed to cross it.
Now, de-euphemize the word creep and see if you come up with off-putting lump, like I did. This exercise is done after failing to come up with an answer to why do things that shouldn't,
turn out shitty? If there actually was a Creep Factor it would have most assuredly affected me and my outcome, so it must be more than just that. There's the spirit in the sky theory that God
never gives you more than you can handle but that may just be another way of coming up with "hang in there - anything can be overcome". I believe we are predisposed to a certain destiny or fate,
an evolved extension of winged migration or salmon spawning and until we accomplish that destiny, we are lost looking for signs to answer our soul's inquisitive affirmations. The obvious misfortune of
others deluged with monumental challenge makes you want to help them figure out their purpose etched in their DNA but that only holds true if you yourself have figured out your own predisposition
and then answered it.
this is so horrible I can't continue. Sure, the drill includes plowing on in spite of the obvious crapola emanating from these finger tips, but c'mon... The climate is just a tad scary - politics are cliff hanging, famiglia is feeling the economic flat tire and my head is pounding with the voice repeating be a better person. Am I on cruise control using stream of consciousness as a diversion from the truth or IS it the whole truth? I sense and feel compassion for my former circle of care and for cared for dear ones now but the guiding nudges on the soul from the CC seem to be validating the inspiration, perspective and understanding that whatever creativity comes out of it are valued bookmarks about my instincts and opinions that are indeed part of becoming a better person. The circumstances of the concerns will evolve - they always do, maybe not towards perfection but mostly for what's needed. If part of recognizing a turning point in becoming better includes letting go as well as taking in, then I need to get better at letting go. So much is different now body-wise and routine-wise that ignoring today's concerns is more of an injustice to us than to those cornering our concerns. We are bigger than our failings and finding a better handle on staying true to our instincts will come out of all this. The care is real and that says we're still keeping to the truth. It is just another part of the research that's required to get good at it.
Dear I thought I'd drop a line, weather's cool, the folks are fine. If I didn't care would the castellian drums make someone happy instead of just sh-boom? Can't help thinking that just a gigolo knocking down heaven's door wouldn't make hey, joe even catch a falling star if you think I'm sexy. You're so vain and my baby just cares for me so so long, it's been good to know ya, why don't we do it in the road? C'est si bon in my white sports coat and pink carnation then come on baby light my fire. I'll be comin' around the mountain but you'd better try a little tenderness if you want to just call me angel in the morning. Hey Prudence, woncha come out tonight ? 'Cause every time you say goodbye, I die a little and wish I could be in your arms. I've been through the desert on a horse with no name and my house is a very, very very nice house with two cats in the yard. In the evening by the moonlight she aches just like a woman but she breaks just like a little girl. Come Monday I'll be all right sittin' on the dock of the bay. Tommy, can you hear me? I'm cryin' over you on the last train to Clarksville and I'm free, free fallin'. It don't matter to me but it's the time of the season and uh-oh I'm fallin' in love again. When the twilight is gone and those song birds are singing nothing compares to you. When I walk to the garden alone I can't help myself helplessly hoping her harlequin hovers nearby. Please release me, raindrops keep falling on my head. You made me so very happy day in and day out. I hope you don't mind that I put down into words how wonderful life is while you're in the world. I've been so many places in my life and time, goin' out of my head over you. Cry me a river and peace in the valley, now she's gone but don't you worry, I'm sitting on top of the world. If I had a hammer and you were my lady, I'd stop in the name of love one fine day. You put your right foot in and your right foot out, fly me to the moon and let me play among the stars. And the papers want to know whose shirts you wear, gimme all your lovin', all your hugs and kisses too. For all we know we may never meet again, and I can't stop loving you. These eyes cry every night for you and now I can't remember where or when. I took a walkin' passed your house late last night, knock three times on the ceiling if you want me. And I went walking down the street one day, Besame mucho, each time I cling to your kiss I hear music divine. Those far away places with strange soundin' names, you're asking me will my love grow, I've got you, babe. And in the end the love you take is equal to the love you make. May 27, 2008
WALK THAT WALK Walking gets you to other rooms and even outside Plus it lets you go upstairs Soon you are walking to kindergarten where tears blur a distanced Mom as she walks away Then before you know it, you're walking away from that school for the last time And one Sunday you walk down steps into pastor's arms to be dunked for Jesus, hallelujah Now you're ready to walk to the big school where you're a boy among men but oh my, those girls It seems forever when that long awaited day arrives and you get to walk in a robe to be handed Walking papers or what they call a diploma that says no more walks to school (or rides either) The walk now is in a suit & tie to work where you do stuff and receive money But then you find yourself walking to the university after work and it's just another school THEY LIED Those girls I mentioned, well one of them walked with me down the aisle in church to a place called MARRIAGE In a blink I was walking hut two three four carrying a rifle that I never had to use except for target practice Later I walked into a house with a baby that someone gave us 'cause we couldn't make our own Another eternity passed and I handed in my rifle and walked away from Yes, sir for good But the walk to the door of our brand new house should have convinced me I'd be making that walk Lots of times staggering from lots of alcohol No matter, 'cause I walked in another robe to get really good walking papers from the university that said I'M SMART And now at work they pay me alot more and I get to walk among giants Too bad I can't feel like I'm one of them The walk from that hospital where I woke up after getting hit by an 18 wheeler was humbling, but mercifully, Me 1 - grim reaper 0 But then one day I get to walk to Flamingo Joe's and the walk to my house was never the same I saw her, I held her and all the walks before that moment meant nothing I walked to an elevator in a place where dreams come true and she would be there Then she walked throught the door and we kissed a forever kiss And when I walked to my door back home, my eyes were swollen from the tears thinking I might never walk with her again We thankfully replaced that improbability with a permanent smile as I walked from work for the last time Then (here's the BEST part of this story) I walked through the door in a hidden cove where she assembled a love nest Close to where we now walk to our nifty yard everyday where the fronds nearly touch the clouds As we walk to that place called FOREVER May 20,2008 Poop for the pap pushers, suckle this sweet talk and smell the scent of sanctity God hasn't told me yet that I'm a disappointment as I finish today's thanks to Him for revealing her If granting the eternal pit pass is all about giving back, I'm a shoe-in for immortality Back then it was the futility of finding out where it's at, now it savors as knowing what to do now that I've found her Lactation as the narcotic hasn't worked since we figured out we can routinize rapture just the two of us And the public can continue their jack-off thing without us while we're stowed away in out grotto where birds sing and oxygen freshens us like Chanel from an atomizer So where's the give back, you ask? Where's the part where meaning hastens the big wake up call to our loved ones That sometimes it's not who you're with as much as who you love? Ferocity works somewhere in places featuring make-up sex where settling is used as an antidote to solitude But sell that ticket somewhere else, fugly doesn't fit in our facebook Here's to life, here's to love, here's to you May 19, 2008 The place where we have our best conversations currently is on the meranda, preferably with a glass of vino and most preferably with no wind to ruin it. Nothing against gusts per se, it's just that desert winds have so much shit in them, they detract from subsequent conversations. Luckily, no allergies here and I'm working on a theory that breathing in particulates, you are training your immunization system in the lines of eating dirt when you were a kid. We seem to be approaching the era where Beijing-like air will be the GOOD days and we'll probably grow gills and go back to the sea. I know, this sounds like Art Bell crap but it's not meant to be apocalyptic, merely a fast reason to encourage those rewarding, sustaining conversations that invigorate us on the way to forever, which by the way, hasn't happened yet. Yes, conversations alone without er-uh-er-uh on the Exceptionale as the REAL sustainer aren't going to get it, but there's every sign that we'll find ourselves in the middle of another one because the passion & romance imperative is more than being met. Doc Red shrugged off the news that half-preds aren't shielding out the owies very well, saying just a bit more time is needed. Sed rate is still 4 and this boost to thyroid may yield some tingle to our co-mingles, too. All the other numbers are ding-dong desirable in this Year of 64. I'll still be handy, mending a fuse... May 18 My So-Called Life part 2, 2008
Perhaps this goes back to the early 50s when the unbelievable, monumental thing happened - Dad bought a '41 Oldsmobile, our first car. Up 'til then the only time we ever rode in a car was when Floyd Bevans lent Dad his Kaiser-Frazier (swear!) on a Sunday afternoon when we rode for considerable time to swim in the Perkiomen Creek (AKA the murky Perky). It's as good a reason as any to begin this tale of my beloved, fully restored '51 Olds Rocket 88. OK, who cares about car shit except for motor heads... Yes, this I know and appreciate but this '51 Olds transcends all My Dream Car: The World exhortations - this baby redefined life as I knew it. Let's go back a few years to Atlanta, GA where I first gazed upon the beauty and splendor of this one of a kind. It moved me in a way that I knew my life would never be acceptable if I let it remain separated from me. So I made a conditional deal that basically said when the time was right, I could take a test drive and see if it was as perfect a fit as it screamed out to me. Well, I completed the deal shortly after this affirmation took place in the desert valley across the Rockies where it was driven every day. Those first months were unsurpassed in pleasure and satisfaction, almost like God paired us because we are so perfect together. It wasn't until months, maybe even a coupla years into our beautiful pairing that this gem showed how quirky it could be. It uncharacteristically made funny noises and stopped running with the gauges moved into the red areas, only to return to it's marvelous purr of invincibility the next day. It happened only ever so infrequently, but I knew when it did to come to a complete stop and let it cool down until the next day when everything would be perfect again. You may be thinking that if this was your car, you would find something more reliable, more predictable as to its performance, but you'd be missing the point that it's not just a way to get around - it's a perfect match with my quirky expectations on what a drive should consist of. I love my '51 Olds Rocket 88 and will listen to it unfailingly forever. It's become a part of me - the BEST of all my parts. May 12 as in Twelfth Night, 2008 no promise me today that all this understanding won't go away like the part of the song that used to make some of us feel free saturday's sweep ups contain little debris that used to be residuals from a pact made under the influence of stupidity now what remains mostly are the crystals of a family renewed by the dogged push towards harmony in every octave a controlled free fall in a fail-free zone bolstered by the drumbeat of help your own so promise me with all your heart that reason's gorgeous quilt has mercy for the contented credit for the castoffs and resets the time to always include epochs of amazement ever so frequent within this love we are granted and wish to play forever in our grotto of the graced May Tenth - 10?are you kidding me? 2008
Independent thinking. Non-linear thinking. Critical thinking. Thinking thinking. Stephen King thinking. It's not the thinking part that's hard. it's getting it down here where I can re-read it and certify the discovery. Like when reality sticks his head in the casual meander on the life route and you wake up realizing there are different eggshells to glide across. This can't be a bitch session or a rant - geez, what a joke that anything in this life now would prompt that version of crap here. It's just that recurring matters that depend on responsive nutting up sometime hit you in a different way to accent the truth that they will be back again and again to be dealt with accordingly, whatever that means. Straighten out the circles, AMan - you're pissed that the root cause of those kinds of meltdowns isn't you this time, you who has a tough enough time fixing inner flaws that still linger, but this root cause is out there, it's sacred, it is exempt from hard logic so you can't disassemble it, it is on-going with no exit strategy and somehow it must be fixed or this feeling that if only I weren't in the mix, it would be dealt with the right way , something that starts my don't like the way I do it? Then feel free to do it your way involvement avoidance ///snort. OK, say the fix is to just say Yes and be satisfied that the current responses are just the way it'll always be - deal with it. That's what usually works but somehow I feel like I'm overusing denial which is the kind of deferral that will eventually implode. Or let's say the fix is to numb the spot where the stone in the shoe hurts and, voila - all better. How about the fix where I get lost in some extended cerebral obsession which takes my mind so far from the matter it becomes a pseudo fix. Now you know that I can't write out the real fix here (see root cause attributes above) but at least I can hold on to it when I read this under the hopeful possibility that nature might intervene to make all of this moot. Hey, even the Sistine Chapel has maintenance issues in the ceiling. This, too shall pass - it always does and the candle light will illuminate Maxine's knickers. Free to be me. ESPN hits the History Channel A finished layer veers on the sacred spot slickened by actualized potential Posterized forever in ceremonial improvisation honed by our breathless rehearsals The ones we started with the kiss Symmetry's been added where serial seduction still scents the home base with remnants of over-craved passion Elevating our self-contained cosmos into rhapsodic pools of sumptuous stimulation With one foot on the floor to optimize the return to assistance mode Especially when the area code calling is favored Degradation avoidance seamlessly stuffs immortality dreams into the routine saunters we find ourselves taking Mostly for sustaining suspension of returning impaired walk-arounds Reciting promises of undistracted observaton in the world of non-benediction and ego humps Just to splatter-proof our secret place that we call dreamland Clarity reigns not because answers to told fortunes roll out of cookies but simply because love In its perfected state filters out all stain producing events leaving unpretentious satisfiers To confirm everything's OK in the end and if it's not OK It's not the end Take another taste of charmed enchantment babe It's what you do to me OK, I made up the part that the end is near just to see what I'd say if it were. Pretty true stuff here, my dears. April 22, 2008
Kick up the ceiling fan to High Just my luck, there's a package for us and it's not very large. What's this? The address label is torn off and my name and address are scrawled in magic marker where the label once was. I'll open it when I get home. Now this is weird - the note is addressed to a guy named Dave and there's a request to call the signer named Kal when it's received but there's no phone number. I fumbled with the shrink wrap around the item in the box, never thinking it may be something sinister or harmful, just concentrating on seeing what's inside of it. It was a photo ID, an employee identitfication badge inside a clear plastic holder for what looks like to be an employee of CAT, our transportation authority here (fancy name for bus company). Looks like it belongs to a Bernard Schwartz, a not bad looking white guy according to the picture on it. WTF? Why does this shit happen to me - a guy who minds his own business and avoids aggravation associated with "excitement"? I'm not even through dealing with yesterday's shocker about Hank Thoms, hey, wonder if this is anyway related to that and my meeting with Julie where the truth came out? Goddamn horse shit! What the effen hell am I supposed to do now with this stupid badge?. Well, my call to HR at CAT got me the response I expected: "we don't discuss personnel matters.. blah-blah". My Googles seemed equally fruitless until one of the finds on page 3 caused my ah-ha light to go on: Bernard Schwartz is Tony Curtis' real name and he lives here in Dreamland. So I search through the County Assessors roles on-line and found two addresses. The one had an unlisted phone number but the other was answered by a female voice who not only asked "who's calling?" but listened patiently through my recap of getting the badge in the mail, fully expecting her to ask "and your point is?" when I finished but instead, she calmly explained that I am the lucky winner in a marketing contest created by the ad agency for the SFA, the screenwriters federation of America. Say what? Yes, Tina D'Allesio, personal assistant to Mr. Curtis, spokesperson for this campaign, explained to me that I was randomly selected as the winner which turns out to be a $2500 check and the grand prize of writing a screenplay that will be shot by an independent studio and shown at the next Sundance festival in Park City, UT. Well, turn my head and cough! This sure beats wonderin' what to do next, so like the man says, if all else fails, stop using all else. OK, so here's the logline: April 15th IRS be damned Day, '08 Standing in the shadows of neighbor Boz's fallen tree, it hit me that Hank's failing wasn't his goddamn pomposity nor his unwillingness to 'fess up - it was the great lengths he is willing to go to keep the truth from leaking out. So, you fewked up, kimo sabe, we all have - some big and some not so large. It just bugs me that I used to look up to you when you and Julie entered the room and now I know it's because of her. That's it! A one-on-one with Julie where you're not mentioned until she brings you up and I'll casually praise you until she feels unthreatened by any of my questions and we'll get to the bottom of this whole thing. Where you grapple with the contrast Between what is and What you think it should be Guys derelict in coming around To the real possibility that The package they imagine Is just another wagging finger To the babes of their dreams Wouldn't it make sense for Backward thinking men to Let go of their obsession about The distinction of their dick So arrested growth would Blossom about more meaningful Things that count in life Instead of what have you done For my dick in the last few Minutes? I always thought I'd do Great things instead of Passing each day fascinated by Possibilites that this dick of mine May find itself in familiar territory The places where pleasure thunderbolts From the tip of my toes Up through my legs And releasing at dick's spout For the hundred thousandth time So you see this is not just about Mastering the melange of McJizzwahs That prioritize the physical landscape Called adulthood Since more honorable men Have advanced past the Pleasure point that signifies Passage into manhood When your voice deepens and your Dick grows among the new grown Hair Shouldn't that be the high point The crescendo to boyish delights Instead of a lifelong curse Where the dick always prevails Over other accomplishments? Well that's not the issue because Dick time when the number of Candles on the cake glow Like fireflies in a July night In Fairmount Park Darkened by the sliver of A quarter moon Faint as a cheap night light In the guest bathroom Yeah, that dick time ranks Higher than all others Because it's now and it's real Not just thread-worn memories Foisted on the unwilling During Can You Top This? Escapades Hail to the chief May the lessons of the Little Head Reach far beyond the Wall of Shame I'm still your biggest fan Take me there Once More April 13, ew unlucky 13, well it's lucky here 2008 The moment of surprise came when the last paragraph in the story revealed the mystery caller to be Hank Thoms. It shouted out revenge like a pewter stud through an eyebrow. Hank was one of the clown faced guys who never look like their store bought glasses are on straight, mouth corners always hiked up but furrows in between the inchoate eyebrows saying shit has taken its toll on this Capricorn. Where should we begin now that Hank has been outed - maybe, by seeing Julie Thoms in an entirely different light now. I always avoided Julie, taking her serotonin-less gaze as a deliberate condescension. But now pity reigns where indifference once permeated. I can't help wonder why all of the Bryn Mawr candle shoppers all seem like they were princessed by Daddy only to gravitate towards trash cans like Hank to up the ante left on the table by Daddy. Julie could play the small talk game better than anyone in the room but I always wonder if she could handle Hank's high fast one like she devoured opinions on Paula Abdul and the price of gas. I bet Hank always thought her smile after he shot his wad was one of gratitude instead of mollification. So, starting next Tuesday when Hank & Julie show up at the grand opening of Manny's WII arcade, I promise to act as if I never read the rough draft and see if Hank still parades Julie like none of this ever happened. More next time. April 11, 2008 Cynicism is not the right word to start a meaning of life recap, maybe. It crystallizes the point that this comes from someone who's not buying the revelation-du-jour, pop culture sources as the guide for making good decisions. It begins right where the River of O took them, one day later. The scanner's back on and is perched as a reminder of just one of the many capabilities of the endorphined mind. The preliminaries are the key. That and nice and slow and easy. Gotta want to see her toes curled and not in damaged mode the day after. So far so good, just like the want to live forever mantra says. No blisters on these fingers and dizzy is still the word that describes where the kiss takes her. It's more than just geezer/geek love featuring man with moobs and a pred pouch and voluptuous consummator. Oh but the heavenly sounds of take me to the River as an elixir to complement the nectar from earlier in the day. These things are like baking recipes where the blend = success. Kinda makes you want to resume where we left off. Mojo don't fail me now. April passion showers on the 10th, a halfer day leading to ALL halfer days next Tuesday, 08. The reality of breaching the crime scene tape around the pre-dementia zone is best summed up as taking measurements to ensure we're not going crazy. You just don't want to reach the point in your life when you're losing it. I get cautious when I can't get that Washington is played by David Morse. Now, it's not on par with drawing a blank when looking at a picture of Jimmy Carter or Ray Romano, but it pokes a little at you that it's the start of losing it. I can still blurt out that Ty Cobb had a lifetime batting average of .367 and that Concord is the capital of New Hampshire but I am carefully monitoring those brain farts that are ever more frequent lately. Funny, my fear of losing it as a yoot was centered on a quick temper and a big mouth, both of which went into remission upon the realization they would get me maimed, if not killed unless I fixed them. Then the top item to be fixed was despair despite groovin' along the middle class trail that should have featured glowing delight. The crutch of impairment has been replaced by the notion of living forever and the natural high of learing new insights enhanced by the clarity of love. Still, I'm watchin' for slippage all the while countering any by getting all of this posted here. Will you still need me, will you still feed me when I'm 64? April love on the 7th of '08
Breathing like a decantered claret again - the day of recovery from viognier overload is behind us. The aftermath led to the decision to make me the restrainer next time the urge to open another bottle surfaces. Me, the Restrainer, gotta love that ascension. Getting there in just 24 hours is probably a feather given the misfires this seasoned body sometimes experiences. But this time it wasn't overcooked by messages of guilt from within and without. Truth is, it was a duet of grimaces with grins as we moaned through yesterday, urging the clock to speed up for a change. We're into another new month, a new season of warm sun and sanctuary as the headlines ramp up the warnings that we're headed for financial oblivion. Simon Legrees everywhere locking out mortgagors all over the place, oh, the inhumanity. This is not ridiculing any real suffering goin' on, but getting here through destiny's guiding force trumps the usual empathy with a diamond-like gratitude for doing what was right to get us here. It's been covered repetitively here but will continue as long as the grandeur from our soul overshadows the gravitas from outside the gates. All praise to the CC for this enduring climax. Un Avril, '08 mes amis
These are times where you're fingered if you didn't keep your dick in your pants appropriately. What a relief it is having all the dalliances in the former life scrapbook already talked through so we don't have to fear about any YouTube moments cropping up in the future. Talk about redemption - it's like amnesty for the wrong behavior that needs to be buried where my predecessors lie. And so it is, symbolically. All the bleating about you can't run away from your problems never entered our minds when the moment came and we knew it was what we hoped for before we left the planet for good. The To becomes the focus, not the From and from that instance, the look-backs are for reference only but never for validation of the obvious. Yet when another famous guy follows his dick into oblivion, the but for the grace of God.. reasoning hooks in and these words come out to glorify the rewards of getting it right to be with her. Being centered on her goodness makes this life flow as if the debauchery that charmed me and haunted me before I met her seem like tightrope walking to get to this side. If tiptoeing to keep from falling can be labeled as running away, then cal it that. But using Mr. Natural for stimulation sure beats the knickers off STD roulette in addition to the delight of dancing the grave of Mr. Prick. You don't need no baggage You just get on board. Mar 24, 2008
heard Barama today say 17 March, Patty of the Saint variety, 2008 (actually it's the day after - I missed doing this yesterday) This applies to persons with high self-esteem who overcame longing for the approval of one or both parents: Ever wonder why criticism from one source bothers you so much more than other sources? I do and I'm a believer of you are only as big as the things that get to you, also don't sweat the small stuff. So when I feel myself chafing because of a teensy little dig, I go into think-thru mode and end up sitting here putting the conclusions down for future reference. I was a kid who sought my Dad's approval and withered from each pointing out of screw -ups that I made leading me to dislike most of the things he ascribed to like golf, fishing, active in organizations and Patsy McDevitt. But because this was just a slice from my neurotic gristle, it got fixed with most of the remaining slices over my lifespan and has become just discussion fodder when it could have plagued me in perpetuity. So now I find strength in framing my annoyance at the mention of some minor imperfection as when you have so little to criticize me for, of course the criticism will be about minutiae - all the grand crap has been fixed. What a compliment! The only faults remaining are minuscule compared to the list that was there a lifetime ago, let's celebrate that. It truly is a top three attribute of actualizing and affords almost instant moving on from momentary chagrin, validating the take that the day gives you and most treasurable, more complete reception of the love that abounds. It's just as simple as realizing the distaste for being criticized was born in infancy and thank God for getting to this point with only itty-bitty flaws remaining to be fixed. Lucky man. Ides of Mar 15, '08 Our thermostat reads a perfect 38 degrees in our silver beauty and I just straddled the expanse called redemption. It's a terrific subject for a System Restore day plus the story has a happy ending. The dilemma of the nukeular family was when the level of connection that bonds you to your loved one is 2way, you remain connected even if the communication lines blur; 1way not so much. You want the gagootz who misdirected you to know that the landing spot is sublime, so do not despair. Seeing it right up front in our famiglia causes catharsis-like joy from 2500 miles away. And right here in dreamland I love you so effen much my head spins around images like paree on top and the farm below featuring elements of that plane, a microcosm of metaphors from old temptations in red and a quick quip from the big HD post-graduate brilliance to back into a story line. But our girl is back for the test with a restored arsenal of talent to insert into life. Sometimes the best natural response to one simple parental deliverable that I had a part in was reinforcing her choice to move on from damaged goods guys until a keeper was found. It most assuredly works for the reinforcer in our life, finding redemption in the form of dodging her rarified futility in her day swing to go right to the bath of affection that's included in every day. Plus she still gets nasty and O'd out 'cause we still do it for each other looks-wise. Cherry? MaR 6, 08 It's not true that the sun don't rise in Vegas March now, already the 3rd 08
Unaccustomed to such chivalry as a napkin tuck under my Louis Vuitton belt buckle by the waiter who looks like Skeet Ulrich, I dug deep in my recollections from Altoona when my engineer boots were mistaken for biker boots and Mr. Krebner made me pick up cigarette butts in a brown paper bag after school, causing me to say to Skeet, "Finders keepers", which I immediately realized was gay and wished I could backspace. These situations never flummoxed me until I met her, was bitten by her, was ready to change my life to be with her then choked on the fear of reading it all wrong and ixnayed the whole thing, regretting it everyday ever since. Too many near misses filled my virtual black book of dalliances and travel fucks back when desperation trumped virtuousness, causing me to heed my voices of timidity and catatonia instead of my soul, letting her escape when holding her forever was the right move. I know she's probably carrying on with her almost contented life, hosting family picnics and talking to her dogs, while I meander through each day no longer attracted to anyone, nor interested in anyone nor even interesting TO anyone. It's one of those faulty decisions that simply turns out to be self-destructive, flushing down any hope that this life could end up having any purpose.... Dave put down the keyboard, stretched a bit and got up and walked to the back door. Looking out at the blackened sky, ready to drench the trees and shrubs he & Connie pruned with delight earlier in the week, he concluded it would take a big dose of renewed inspiration for him to tell the story from the viewpoint of Francesca instead of the truth that took him from trapped resignation into Connie's world where his 6 word biography reads "Life began holding her in Buckhead". There is no insight into what if it never happened, since words elude him to adequately describe the despair of knowing the train left the station without him, the train on which he & Connie traverse time and all things in locked harmony and the realization tomorrow is another day to feast on love. All the way. February 24, 2008
Grant me the knowledge to know the difference. There was a time when I needed that assistance, rationalizing really poor decisions as indicators of how complex I am. When the clock struck one, so did I, THE one. No more coveting strange ending the lifelong Trial and Error period, period. Is writing this a veiled reverse psychology as in saying it's over then by just saying that means it's still on my mind? What's up with that? Maybe it's the thoughts from spending time with a couple of exceptional quality today who promised to live and love each other so-o many years ago. They represent sticking it out, probably due to love. When you make that promise late in life, forever REALLY means forever. Those decisions surrounding the strange back then linger only as reminders of a time when help was needed for the most elemental things. Today's grant mes are communiques of gratitude for finding her before I die so that all the remaining days are overflowing with nurturing and fulfillment where self aggrandizing once reigned. Hopefully today we took care of the 'netting problem by bringing home an FX laptop for her to wrap herself around. And maybe Scottie's Castle in the picture. More later. 02 20 2008, sweet
Before show me the money there was show me the way to go home. But when where you are doesn't feel like home, the $$$ was a more desired destiny than the way to go home. The advice along the way was checkered by the goggles then worn, elevating plasticine porters with looking glass eyes into prophets instead of friends with benefits as some turned out to be. Affection deprivation provided the benefit of the doubt, love the one you're with. Friends' babes, in-laws and other casual introductions were possible candidates for love the one you're with. Probably should mention that impairment helped considerably, always to excess, it now seems. So many chances, several meaningful hearts dinged and too many examples of desperate dabbles with apparent love where it looked real at the time but now translates as bogus love doomed to expire. The question remains was it possible because of the impairment, teaching operating at a reasonable level and providing the needed goggles or did it just prolong the inevitable that true love was further in the picture. Doesn't matter as long as this is written AFTER you've found her, put your arms around her and immersed yourselves so deeply in love-generated affection. The moment of our meeting WAS a test of dealing with events associated beyond the reach of reasonable intellect. Fortunately, the previous impairment's lasting effects were no match for the Force that made the decisions for us. You see, just as you can't know where the line is if you wait 'til you crossed it, understanding the words of love doesn't always happen until you find love, even if you're singing them with enthusiasm. All you need.... February 10, 2008 The feeling from yesterday lingers with some Feast of Love reflections. The rephrasing of love as not a trick but the only reason there is to this crazy dream to counter "There is a story about the Greek Gods; they were bored so they invented human beings, but they were still bored so they invented love, then they weren't bored any longer. So they decided to try love for themselves. And finally, they invented laughter, so they could stand it " needs some 'splainin' here. Oh, the laughter is needed for certain but not to be able to stand it, but to ventilate the stimulations that beg to be expressed, not to tell the world what it already has been taught, but for making room for the next surges. That old cartoon of a smiling dog captioned "I'm so happy I could shit" comes to mind. The laughter is a tonic but the love is vital to understanding the reason for living. There were plenty of ROFLMAOs before I found her, but every rolicking fit of laughter makes me love her ever more. Two eight as in sq. root of 69, '08
One of the lessons learned from living when the one nation under God illusion was revealed, when we realized the days were like the boxes in the comix connected only by the line dividing them, when words popped out of the masses like gumballs from the glass globe in front of the New Store, we learned there really are alot of stupid people around us. Identifying with the excluded for the first time redefined reality and guided the path towards fulfillment from truth instead of denial and impairment. Today the Groundhog Day Effect included the variation of extended hoeding to begin the adventure, followed by our discussion on Jane Austen Book Club and Across the Universe, then here to get some sense of where it is going. I remembered a prick from 40+ years ago who used his initials J.D. as his business name (we called him Jade East, a shitty cologne). He reveled in intimidating the yoots under his management by banging out numbers with both hands on a Monroe calculator (pre-digital) and going to the next series of numbers before you could write down the answer.....prick. But no more thoughts on possible PTSD calamities, today is another perfect one because I get to spend it, absorb it, dance in it, romance in it, detail it - with her. The stupidity still abounds outside the gate and today could be all we have but tomorrow when I Got You Babe comes on the radio, I'll show my gratitude for her flesh and breath next to me by making sure she knows it. Nothings gonna change our world.... Two six on the gregorian, '08
How much of quelling your worry quotient is obtained through controlled coldness? The kind associated with selfishness, a disregard for that significant someone in the place where regards should be. If the person who is, say, second or third on your list of people who mean the most to you and, say, that person is someone you never worry about because of a disconnect, are you just one cold human being? The answer is probably if you ask the question, you already know the answer. So why then is the coldness overshadowed by excessive emotion in the other direction as a staple in today's routine? Is the coldness a consequence of denial of self-forgiveness? Another answer in the form of a question, Alex? Too much has already been covered and revisited about life changes that end up hurting someone in the process, but sometimes that damage is secondary to the bigger consequence of whole life repair. If the fragmented familial love is half as durable as the love of your life is, then the repair extends to the damaged one in the form of not having to embrace the guy who cared more about fixing his life than what it meant to her. The truth seems to be locked on to some version of that old if you really love someone, let them go if they want to make you someone outside of their life, the nice way of being on the receiving end of "you're dead to me". I miss the contentment that comes from being aware of what's going on there but not enough to have it knowing the respect I relinquished by awful lifestyle choices is gratefully no longer a source of conflict for her. Isn't life strange?...a turn of the page February now, the 5th, Fat Tuesday, Super Duper Tuesday another gift in Dreamland '08
.......Going for the unpopular makes me think of 1) the risk of pleasing less than 50% categorized as unpopular people and 2) affirmation that love is popular, just sometimes hard to find the real thing. My heart was with the unpopular as a yoot, finding that some of the guys who opted out were the most thinking people I had appreciated at that time. Watching On the Road on F&G reaffirmed that off beat WAS the popular notion with more people against it than for it but added together they were pop culture in the 50s & 60s. During that time, the biggest thing going on was directed towards love - boy meets girl kinda love. They were so right. Getting resolution around the revised perceptions has to be based on the same signs of popularity now as then. Check out the songs, the movies - rest my case. But remembering my cynicism towards love when I was desperately looking for her and didn't even know it, I'm eternally humbled that the answer was all round me and I was lost on lust but found her none the same. Kowabunga. No more Jan - it's the last day 2008
Let me tell you a story about a man named Dave. Actually, I'll save us from blah- blah-blah build up and go right to the crux of this tale: Dave is ready to make the pitch to Tile Paradise Publishing agent, Mason Rhee, a hardened Korean best-seller maker who already told Dave he's booked up on all new manuscript perusals. But Dave's bulldog temerity got him into the building, past security and face-to-face with Rhee, all sans appointment and effortlessly to this suspenseful point. Here's where the rub comes in - Rhee says to Dave "you have 10 minutes to enchant me with the story of Dave" starting in 3,2,1.." Dave, without hesitation. began, "The camera zooms to the front door of The Kulaks, where Dave's Mom negotiates a $20 a week fee with Emma K. to watch Dave after kindergarten until she picks him up on the way home from her new job. Young Dave laments but gets a master's degree in Boy from Emma's three sons. Dave masters elementary school, inserting hands on practice of all things Boy in the process. High school was a tumble from the pedestal, no longer assured of memory and charm to rise to excellence, distracted by Older Boy essentials yet somehow finishing on another high note. The business door reveals Dave enchanting the masses once again, including the judgers inside the boxes who recognized Dave's quality deliveries and got him a company car, expense account and unbridled assignments to show his stuff. The applause from the national audience was just one big affirmation of Dave's acumen, propelling him higher in the pecking order and adding frequent distant travels to his repertoire. It's at this juncture where the Dave story really gets meaty. It was on one of the trips to Atlanta which should have been nothing more than a got the T shirt deal when Connie comes into this saga, changing the tone from Dave's Effen Life into Love Prevails, Love Conquers All and Love Salvages a Damaged Dave." Rhee stops Dave in mid-thought and says "and the point of all this is?" to which Dave exclaims, "Mr. Rhee, you're asking for a single point, a category, a genre in a space that only summary morsels fit but this story is too grand too be summarized in 10 minutes. I've been arranging the pieces for a dozen years now and that's not enough time to get it to a point, thank you". So, now you know where Dave's efforts have taken this as of this moment. Maybe next time, we can get to the glory and splendor, if Dave gets off his layZ ass. Some guy says the future is already here now but hasn't been distributed yet. Like it's beer in a warehouse before the trucks get loaded. The thing about plugging into the future is you lose all your fascinating ESPN and aura reading abilities when you're living the future NOW. Yeah, the past keeps creeping into your forebrain as a reminder of what it used to be like before love struck. But if something happens on a day yet to arrive, whatever happens is part of what's already taking place as my finger touches the space bar - the dreams now consist of protracting today probably because they already came true. That's not the same as being void of aspirations, but rather more like flying on a love rug never touching down even when the tide's in where it's not supposed to be. I'm OK about what's in store tomorrow it's just that today's so fine I just don't want to waste a minute of it. She's all I ever wanted and more than all I need More January goodness - the 26th iwwww February's next week 2008 Trip to the Castle last evening leaves a sobering impression of the future here,
where rebar sticking out is the least of the issues facing us. The lingering odor of can't get there from
here cowers even the stoic patriots, cringing like a Mom catching her 'bating teenage son at every
mention of the R word. Us? we're fearless and besides, Doc Red's gonna free me from the pred, maybe
on the 4th of July. The chillen's coming Saturday and that means Monday will have a wholly altered meaning.
The goodness keeps falling in with the sunbeams making thanks to the CC, Creator and her a daily ritual for the
14th January in a row. Jan 22 of the 8th lovely year in the New Millennium The sarcasm just doesn't work as well as laughter. Could be a title or just an opening line to a ramble that isn't halted. The brass horn section distinguishes the sound like a flamenco guitar distinguishes tajana music. The non-recreational impairment version of daytripping cannot compare with non-impairment daytripping, like right here. The investment grade crowd is yelling "get out" and poker facing the move called Staying In - good thing I played Follow the Queen when sheep were nervous. But now the clarion is sounding that it's Binness Time so I'll head for the showers which bring the cockleflowers. January AGAIN, this time on the 22nd "The object of life is not to be on the side of the majority, 18 Dow at 12 January(OK, the 18th)
Finding the new home for the old appliances should have been more fun than
yesterday's vino-drenched mini-meltdown, topped off with Lance Retardo's tow threat. The frustrations
associated with parking enforcement shouldn't have dampened a fun afternoon with special sibs, but the combo
was forgettable. Today the water refilled, the alternate day fasts began and all I want to do is find a way back into love. Ah, I
already did but it lended itself to the link. No regrets about the lethargy today (H.O. reminant, broken sleep last
nites and thrilled to be quiet), leaning towards some viewing a bit later then one of those gonzo dream journeys
to rekindle the grateful emotions. And a heart in the middle... just a regular 14 Jan 08 Carry on as in Dave and Connie were carrying on, not as carry on luggage but more like
engaging in foreplay. You see each of them in their formative years made out alot compared to boinked alot.
Then from that moment on, they each get hot doing foreplay, setting the stage for romantic things to happen on
a regular basis. It's a gourmand's version of Oh What You Do to Me. The exceptional thiing about it is that it
happens at any possible time, with a bias towards rendezvous exceptionale. But random doesn't infer
taking it for granted, underappreciating it nor becoming any less excited about the prospects of next time. Thankfully, the
enchantment with thing tubular gets Dave the right kind of affection in exactly the right proportions. In addition,
he passes thru the circuit force, the one connecting them, fully encompassing them, since this exchange only ever
happened right after he found Connie, or Connie found Dave. It's a reason to make a guy keep thinking Carry
On even though memories of the Carry On movies brings on additional memories of mulling over Dave's retro
spittoon collection (kidding..).C'est tellement dur. Oh what January is becoming, eighth Too much time examining OCD - wrong term to use to describe root guess about
anxiety. She's a little bit country and the answer is a sweater 'cause a vest doesn't have sleeves. The land of
actualization has places to fend off the influence of "too much fuss about minutiae" when reality understands
one guy's minutiae is another's showstopper. The blurb today that happiness is the absence of misery or fever is
too much like shit is the absence of whipped cream. So is happiness is not a personal thing but relational one. I
do proclaim that happiness is not possible until you're with the right person just as certain as lovemaking rates
enthusiasm higher than experience. Too much weight is given to work as the elixer to fend off decline. Work is
the opiate of the insatiable consumer, thank you Kirk Kerkorian, but I'll take romance any day of the millennium
as the endless libation to simulate youth. And a little ass play doesn't hurt either. More January stuff on day
5, shazam Sometimes you don't have to explain your current fascinations, but you should at
least have a good idea where they come from. Today when Stumbling,
it hit me that scanning from the best of the finds conveniently listed on the pages of random people, translates into getting the rewards without having to endure the drivel in otherwise meaningless conversations which are no longer required. It's like getting the cream of the better conversations without having to go thru "intro thru exit" ordeals.
Even the revelations are often on a trial basis to validate before accepting. That leaves the good part of the
conversations exclusively to her when the frequent interest level is high. So when the conversation leads to
reclining exceptionale, it's the act of love instead of the succulence of sampling strange (that always came with
strings). The draw of the drawing accompanying it with words like these containing things worth revisiting seems
to be the go to place in solitude and sometimes when attention is divided, but more relaxed in
solitude. Can't seem to see that ol' OCD inside me but know when it's present. The cushions are harmless and
the harmony prevails eventually even when the focus is off The Zone. Perfecting the perfection is all joy and
free of any "can't get there from here" grinds. Those quotes aren't finger quotes which automatically project
that you're a hinneyhole, folks, just something that went in for some small emphasis. The wanderlust is always
an option for us when cocooning ever suggests cabin fever, easier for her since the homestead is where
tumbleweed roamed, making meaningful pop ins a way of life. The oh eight promise is eliminating the distractions
while tweaking the mix of out&about with taking in every drop of joy that the homefront offers. Choice and hope
is the bumpersticker. More January entries, this one on the 4th Dave was putting the
lid on the can of paint after putting another coat on the outside pipe when he looked over at Connie and
thought about this being the 14th January 1 which they spent together. The waterfall of emotions that packed
those cherished days whirl in Dave's brain like the commercials being fast forwarded in the DVR. It's never been a
courtyard of numbers so the 14 isn't what's triggering these amorous feelings - it's the all encompassing
gratitude for this disambiguation of affection that exists as an undercurrent to life everyday in Dreamland. What
a turnaround from past days during the search for her, which were best summarized as affection deprived even though
bow chicka bow wow accented the boudoir on a regular pattern. So what's ahead for these two starcrossed
lovers as the days lead towards the Twenty Teens? An even greater appreciation of this jackpot called living
with love, thank you God. Here's to life - here's to love - here's to you darling. The first of the first
2008 Whirling fan noise trumps the splashing sounds outside Only two days left in 2007
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
-- William Shakespeare The remnants of yesterday's Yule, featuring indoors swirls following tee many James Joyce coffees and a coma-inducing exchange of euphoric utterances, thanks to her, you already know it's
thanks to her........ Looks like this is where '08 will park - the 4th year of Sapphic-free mind markers plus some
more handiwork just for fun. Thanks to Jesu, CC, the Creator and her for Heaven in '07. Long & strong. December 26,
2007 |