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Nothing like insanity and concommitent endorsement of absolute vagaries to keep all responsibility unfulfilled. Don’t get me wrong, it was my own damn fault that silence blossomed where once drivel screamed. Fuck it man, my car tells me everything is OK and worrying too much will only get me a few more gray hairs. (Wait. Check it: there is some wierd commercial on the television featuring a nine foot tall Japanese man standing next to a four foot tall group of Americans. Are they making a point? Some chemical racing from capillaries towards larger highways tells me this is a case of mistaken identity. And now, I’m wasting your time. Bet you didn’t even notice.)
But back to the main narrative…as it were. The all smoking and all hazy recollections from a 14 year olds tattered consensus would go asa follows. Something to say (daily) something to say (monthly) something to say (nothing to say.) All of a sudden I have pave some kind of road so your ass doesn’t bump the seat while we drive? Come on, I have more respect for you than that! I almost never say that, because someone needs to disregard both sides of that ridiculous respect card. Funny shit…while I was gone, someone tried to play the race card on me. I verbally smacked that bitch across the face, but only because she asked for it. If you were wondering, she was impolite, and tried to obtain control by asserting a right she knew she couldn’t correctly assert. Epic? Not really. But the kind of fun you can only find when large numbers of people congregate in confined places. Rufus Wainwright croons us into the next paragraph.
This whole here/not here policy is tiresome, and something akin to a covered song. When done correctly, it is brilliance that can only be admired, never dissected or critiqued. 99% of the time however, it is like a shit swimming on the tide. Close to the beach, but never on the sand. So with that as the only preface, there are some concepts I am sticking a knife into. They just aren’t needed anymore, and there is only so much attention I have to parcel out. You won’t even know that anything has changed.
So funny how time flies. I can barely remember where I Was anymore. In a devotion to living about two minutes into the present, let’s just pretend I went for a walk. Midway through, a good song came on the radio and I wandered away to talk to a fucking tree. Honestly, who was the fucking moron? Me for waiting so long for a reply or the tree for ignoring mighty fine conversation in a vain attempt to be like every other tree in the forest? Until later, from the suburbs,
D
ps – Vitamin Water, Camel UltraLights, Gigantic Turkey and Bacon sandwiches. Also, ever since my phone went through the washer and dryer, it stopped tetlling me when I get text messages. Just so you know. Timing is everything to everyone but me. Ha ha! Dangly Pats!
