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3Q2006
2007
2008
FAUX FINALE
RUSTY
Mother Sea
Papa
Bucko
Mascot
Heros
Health





the never ending story - GO TO for '09 brilliance
or even for 2011 check-n

Takin' a leak, walkin' that walk, assume the position
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

December 22, 2008

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.

December 20, 2008

If it's not a threat, is it a promise? breakage from normal handling
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.

Sept. 28, 2008

What ? this is the 1st drop-in for Sep '08 ? The celebration of born and its accompanying festivity, I DO are approaching mega-hot shit proportions, seeing the canyon from the train and all. Still checking the corners to see if MoJo's back yet but the contentment of reunion has her smiling smashingly. We said "adios, Mr. Jo" and watching the pred from a distance, expecting a clean break from Dr. Red in a few weeks. No special label to apply to this summer besides wonderful, loving, fulfilling, uncalamitous, inspiring and ear gargling:

Wisdom is knowing you are nothing
Love is knowing you are everything
Caregiving is the voice of the soul
The vibrato that instantly identifies words from their feeling
The prime ingredient of a Live Forever regimen
Living among all the ingredients guides us to the ones that sustain
Without undue time as a barnacle on fugly
Rather just an attachment to beauty and truth
The cool September breeze dissuades ventures into the scuffles
Now that the pink Cadillac regained its suck

Sep 18, 2008

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.

August 22, 08

Meanwhile, back at the corcovado the mood is a blend of anticipation and awareness that time passing is too pure to bridge over the temporary clutter. The time since starting the countdown has surely been full, round and fully packed geared towards nascent detox and bankable assurance that 64 is still part of the beginning. Stumbling around has produced some earthy keepers despite the derth of sentiments here. The things I want outed are emotions veering towards conquest of the PMR beast and seeing her take to this homeschooling deal linked to resignation from adulthood. When I'm over there at the Al Co Holy Land, the mindstreams are ponder worthy and a daily ritual where this used to be. In summary, the 14th year has been bolstered with a mid-level handicap but those forrays imagined where the inflammation invaded never took hold and baby, you've got what it takes. Bang the drum.

August 6, heading for 8-8-08

What a difference 43 years makes - from stupid, selfish boy to smart devoted hinneyhole. Actually, while loving myself listening to the BBC this morning, I got to thinking about all the bullets I escaped on my way here which led me to the obvious conclusion - ain't no stoppin' me now ! The current plates within the famiglia are filled with some of the contours that would exasperate the chicken hearted but the help from the same Force which brought me here to love her on the grand scale, is making breakthroughs and resolutions on that same scale. Look, I don't want to stop writing these feelings down here but it's time for something more powerful, more supreme than anything written to date. The Titanic of knockdown poignancy without the sinking part. The quick tell style of Penis Dementia pleases me but doesn't launch the level of brilliance that's required here. Can you tell the Block has set in here? This is day three since that first line above and so far all we've got is more filler than a cheap crab cake. The funny part is the feelings of grandeur that are dying to be expressed are cluttered in a matrix of repetition that refuses to be said once again. I'm beating that PMR bastardo and there's no better way to celebrate that than to package the emotions in a gonzo stream so let's see what comes out:

Candles and soundstreams made way for the LaZBoys
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

7/11 - streak ends at 10.5 months

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.

Today the scale was 7 lower, whispering Oh Boy through my bengay fragrance into the fuzzy space where mojo always lorded majestically (and soon will again once it's safe to return). Meantime, moodstreams of pleasure and contentment flow daily to suppport this contention made here that mojo's absence is a temporary inconvenience for a permanent resumption of life's only everything that I know of - LOVE WITHOUT EDGES.

June 17 already, 2008

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.

June jour de pere 15, 2008

Gadzooks, how warm is my global
Guessing about what to pay attention to
Or stay watching the endless winds
Blow shit into the pool
Conscious that my conscience
Which used to be planet based
Now seems reflective of
Lessons learned on the way
To getting old

People leaving autistic 4 year olds
Strapped inside steamy cars
To die
While heartlanders look through rubble
For pictures of their dog
Gone Broke reads the signs on
Burnt out lawns
Makes you wonder how many humans
Cry themselves to sleep at night
Maybe that's why the winds
Are so easy to watch

If Jesus is right that as long as
Someone is suffering somewhere
Then we all suffer then
Maybe I'm just sidetracked from the
Dollar a day existers because of
Four dollar a gallon gas whiners
When me? I just like to pay the bills
And feel the romance around me
Because I listened when God pointed
And we jumped on the train before it pulled out

Chill the viognier and chug on the Gazelle
Today's another moment
For making summit and
Curling the gleam
Preening the blossoms that
Appear among the words
Another reminder that the
Message below is true but the
Message above is false

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.

Then there's the horseshit factor adding difficulty to solving the mystery. Too much information = horseshit flavoring to otherwise helpful pieces of the puzzle. That and a whole load of horseshit that has nothing to do with our purpose in life clogs our filters like quagga mussels on a reservoir's inlet. The need to eliminate as many of these distractions as humanly possible taxes declining endurance noticeably, causing even actualized angels to hesitate being drained even further. It truly is a test worthy of breaking out the armor to be strapped on one more time, but oh my, the weight. Luckily, sweating is a cherished thing in this period of chemo fighting muscle deterioration so the physical part of this intervention is really harder than the mental conquest. Sometimes it takes reminders like this flaccid horseshit seen recently to know that recognizing it encourages fortifying the term of engagement wrapped in bengay where massage oil will be rubbed when the power of love eventually prevails. Baby, baby can't you hear my heartbeat?

JUNE EIGHTH OH EIGHT

So, apologies for the shits dripping from these words this evening but today was a space added day (as in space added to therapist to get the rapist). Fucking piece of double wide shit at the courthouse turned what's supposed to be just a boring, get thru-it day as a fucking juror into a 'scuse me but did you mean to stick that thing up my ass day. Ok, I'm doing square breathing so I can get this out with a minimum of fucks that will only distract from Lucy Retardo, court administrator and part-time Mrs. Michelin Man. Here goes: I got to the parking garage almost 40 minutes early allowing me time to grab a grande and begin the tedium called 'good citizen'. I found the assembly area and grabbed a seat in the back near the door for easy disappearances should they become possible. Mary Mule Poser's acidic pronouncements and fascistic demeanor ACK! ACK !! C U T

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.

June Fouth - hey, 4th of June celebration...brass bands, marching, flags...oh wait, never mind - that's for 4th of July, 2008

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

Right from the start you find out from the crawl position that it's all about walking
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

Rack rates posted on the prayer shawl are like words for profit written on a White House stall
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

promise me tomorrow
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

AMan

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.

May Day May Day - no, not that kind of May Day - May First MMVIII

ESPN hits the History Channel

Tangled among intersecting missions favored for sibs of the adaptation variety
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

Aug convert CD 28, 2008

I haven't much time. The end is right next to us so I'll just say what has to be said before I'm gone. These past 14 years have been the redeeming part of a charmed life in which I've had so many memorable times, most of which just happened without any brilliance or planning on my part, mostly just the outcome from following my instincts as flawed as they may be. I know I was put here to love - first as a marriage saver to lift my mom from despair, if not depression which turned into a perfect pairing of grateful mommy and affection loving little boy for 50 continuous years. Then without any break, I found the true love I'd been searching for to make me whole in an innocuous bar in downtown Atlanta confirming that my belief that God was with me and my selection by God to make love happen put me face to face with her to do it the way I do it. I never used my time here to become famous or wealthy even though I found some popularity to offset a fair amount of notoriety in my workplace and home front, plus I believe I favorably influenced and maybe changed the well being of certain people I had the opportunity to engage with throughout my years. All of this pales to the substance of my life with her in my arms from our first encounter. I can move on to the next realm as an actualized, fulfilled happy man thanks to her. This doesn't ignore the place in my heart for my family who let me go to where I had to so she & I could be together, never losing the connection with my sibs and their brood. So cry not for me Argentina, I've tasted it all and it was good.---------------------------------------- ------------------------------
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

PRAYER FOR HER PONYTAIL

Kick up the ceiling fan to High
And reposition my atrophied butt
Sweating in the leather LaZBoy
Wondering when the cheap beer
In the not so frosted mug
Would taste like it used to
When a quarter keg of Ortliebs
Cost only eighteen bucks

Pretty sad when the first reminiscence
Of other times comes out
As a lost flavor
Instead of an answer
To why it took so long
To find lasting happiness
In another place
With a someone
Who was looking for me
All the while I was
Clouded by costly pleasures
When all I really wanted
Was Her

Champions count all their trophies
But winners in the game of life
Like where they are
More than all the almosts
That bounced them around
Along the way
To this desert exile
Where hearts abound
And trap doors are
No longer required

The sweet smell of rosemary
Reminds us that everything
Swallowed before today
Is returned to the in bin
That follows us
Even to this hallowed place
As a convenience
A scrapbook
Where curtesy dents
And botched encounters live
While the real world sings
New songs
About the prize called love

Now the drapes are drawn
And another night
Signals it's here
And even though I still
Don't know why we found it
I sleep with certainty
That tomorrow
I'll wake up next to her
And say prayers of thanks
That I mean more than
Everything said here
It's for her that I say this
It's for her that
I live
Amen

April 20, 2008

I'm still reeling from the poetry. I just can't get past the picture of Hank putting his thoughts into that kind of expression, let alone try to decide if it's good or horrible. You think you really know somebody then this kind of shocker hits you in the face. Today's winds limit the outdoor time for a while, but I just noticed the mailman has all the boxes open so maybe I'll just gather today's mail and maybe get my mind off Hoselover Hank.

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:
Middle age guy breaks from his bindings, begins the transformation from trapped, pussy-whipped horndog into emancipated, vagina-rich playboy living in tropical splendor with endless bevy of nymphs who overwhelm him with bronskies, lapsnorkeling and other acts of bodaciousness. But before the curtain rises on this formulated fuckfest, fate puts him face to face with the love he's been searching for all his life (the sex was just a soul-supplanted distraction to keep his eye focused on the real prize). She was serene but seductive; confident without condescension; sultry but just a little standoffish; but more certainly, she is the most beautiful creature my eyes have seen and my soul incorporated. In an instant, all plans for multi-partner mayhem were vaporized and the only mission was to begin life together with this angel who turned all other thoughts into heartfelt arrows aimed towards her. What follows is the story of what happened, all true and all still alive in the love they share. No need to break out the hankies - it's all prismatic, reflecting the lightwaves where the sensibilites all gather.

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.

Saturday came fast and luckily Julie's prior arrangements got rescheduled making the perfect opening for us to meet for a drink. I got there early so as to ensure a table where we could talk freely and in no time she came walking in looking all casual but carefully coordinated as she always is. The entire conversation that followed could be used as an example of interrogation via subterfuge, something I'll save for another time. But what really matters is the discovery - finding out that Hank met Julie via the 'net, from her response to a website he put up featuring poetry he wrote. Fucking poetry! Hank! I'm serious - Hank wrote some shit that is as totally uncharacteristic of him as the truth that he actually wrote the shit. To save time, I'll let you read one that shivered me timbers, fans. It's titled Penis Dementia:

Penis dementia is a horrible terrible 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
if we can't act as a team, we fail as a group of individuals
or succeed at it
depending on whether we accept goal achievement full of exclusions
where best does my exclusion of concerts/audience/theater fit?
behind the gates I say
pretty hard to disagree you say
until duty calls
but unlike the guy who burns canola oil
in his biodiesel transporter
more like the present which keeps the past
merely as milestones that we passed
under the light of the lovelamp
as it brightens the way
it's just the cost of transformation
freeing kindred souls to roost
and if you're lucky, you get
two believers linked by the same soul

why does someone have to get hurt
when you transform yourself and
end up leaving behind
someone you love?
probably because it's not by agreement
just the casualty of moving on
moreover, it crotchblocks nobody's freedom to
say seen it all
and done the rest

when The Big Transformation day arrives
and really mean it when you say it
then, it just so happens
that mine came when I met her
and like hocus pocus
love is a many splendored thing

somehere she's finding out about love
wonder if I'm in it?
she experienced my love
straight from that one paternal model
diametrically opposite the one she fell for
that made up the dad pattern
based on legacy and heritage
the one which reveals that mine ends up right here
assimilated into this variant of crazy
seen and re-run a few times
back there
only this time it's different
thanks to the love that's in the center
of everything
not why do fools fall in love?
but what makes the day and
the night
seem like one big continuous flight
on the love ship very free

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
You get the time from the guy next to you with a watch
But it's certain that the daylight on the outside
Is like the washboard abs I had before I met you
So we swing on our gazelle and sweat a little
Crunching afterwards on that nifty blue chair
We wanna be here when kids finish college
So let the chorus sing that it's all gonna be alright
I saw the stars last night when I tiptoed to the toilet
Stars all scattered from the Luxor's high beamed light
And when I docked with you you murmured softly
Another gentle ride past midnight to coffee time
On our cloud that we bought with dollars earned
For efforts made years ago
I want to write this song while my mind is clear from lovin'
That little thing we do when the surges take us there
'Cause there's nothing like it anywhere on this earth
Something we found out when my Olds said the journey's done
I can't help it if these words keep fillin' the page
My desire for you is more than what's wrote here
As we lie together touching there and making love
Knowing the sun will rise before our time is done
Here's to you, my dream, here's to life with you with Jesus on our side
We've got it all and there's more ahead with Him as our guide
I'm gonna close now and run the stick along the backyard drapes
Holding you is all I ever want to do

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.
* Lawyer: "Sir, what is your IQ?"
* Witness: "Well, I can see pretty well, I think."

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,
but to escape finding oneself in the ranks of the insane".
~Marcus Aurelius~

Begin the thoughts of avoiding what emotion to apply
concentrating more on embracing the emotional
without losing your mojo
The beginning focuses on the Pred
my provider of well being
enabler of regaining my composure
but trying to make sure that irritation doesn't replace inflammation
rather keeping the candle mood prevalent
while getting that range of movement back
listening to signs of the what have you done to me
listening to observations of what I do that annoys her
filtering them for OCD
taking heed of the on-target ones
based on combined real levels from us
using outside signs like smile, tears
but no signs of the lights are on
but no one's home
include talk about unreal levels during conversation
but avoid entering the vortex of unraveling them
its the self help phenomena
all of the books there led to
avoid following the advice of just one person
then you fall in love and do just that
good thing the bigger understanding the self-help books revealed
was make your own advice the most dependable, tailered provider of good results
but know when your advice generator is off
it happens to everyone
the combined is the best option

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
Whispering warmth to outcast the chil that regifts all the pleas
Echoing in the July sun from all the dripping anti-heat zealots
Digging winter in the desert
Caution here eeks from corrected intentions
Touchy about appearing blas? about any thoughts
Inferring dents in the body Dreamland
The pachyderm in the playroom is just unshakable devotion
to her well being
Shored up by return visits to this place
Where dog dirt was swirled down
In the rear view mirror before these words were
Ever found
O come let us adore Him
I Do
He led me to her with a trusting mind able to catch all the moonbeams
Cast by her sweetness signalling to my arms
Holding her clutching her blessed bounty
Singing the search is over
See how the sunlight fingers the solid stone
Tickling my reclusive body to sit in the glare
as her one and only
This train sees only wonderment
Thanks for the seat by the window

Only two days left in 2007

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

-- 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

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