I'm on pictures, lately.  Words have taken a short respite.  Beware, though... it only means I've got an awful lot of shit to say.  I'm just not sure when I'm going to say it, or if you should even care.

The clouds here.  They caught me just the right way.


Green Pepper Blossom

The discrete but beautiful green pepper blossom.



Sure... that word can mean so very many things... mental, physical, verbal, sexual... all of the above at the same time (that's usually the best).  The best kind is the deep kind.  The kind that makes you sit up and say "mmmm.... yeah.  that's just fucking ok."  Followed by an intense, deep peace.  Like hot melted chocolate pouring over your heart.  Now that's RELEASE

A flavorful peace.  Arousing relaxation.  Think about that for a little while... 

and after, wander on over here for some real serious thinking...



"Freedom has the scent of the top of a new born baby's head..."  those words from Bono... and the Irish understand freedom.  Anyone who's lost it by any sense of the imagination understands this.  My 2 year old boy has this smell... right on the top of his head... it's freedom... new, evolving, beautiful.  Sometimes I follow him around just to catch a whiff.  Sometimes, when I hold him, I keep close contact so as to inhale his essence.  A 2 year old is just beginning to understand what's in front of him.  Exploring, feeling, seeing, tasting, smelling... the world is enlarging... bit by bit, step by step... 

I think... no, I'm sure as adults we lose sight of this.  Until we fuck up and it's taken away.  That's what I did.  Now I've got it back.  Now I can truly show my children how precious it is.

Anyone who's never had freedom the way we have it has no idea what this smells like... unless they have a small child.  I am thankful for mine.  Grateful for mine.  Cherish mine. 


Where is it written...

Where is it written...

That Winter must be so cold
That Spring must smell so sweet
That Summer must be so hot
That Fall must release the leaves...

Where is it written...

That a child's smile must warm your heart
That a mother's touch must soothe a restless soul
That a father's push will move a boy to strive
That a parent's passing will cause sorrow...

Where is it written

That good will always win
That evil will always falter
That perserverance will always triumph
That failure is not an option...

Where is it written

That I have to care
That I have to love
That I have to hate
That I have to have

Where is it written?


The Bottleneck

I have bottle-necked feelings.  We all do.  They are beautiful on their own.  Once in a while, the bottleneck breaks and they rush out.  Unfettered, unfiltered, raw and biting... like a hand-rolled cigarette. These are the most beautiful feelings of all.  You can't stop them, deny them, hold them, caress them.  They smack your face, freeze your gut and burst your heart all at once.  They hate, love, hurt, and soothe.  They crush.  They release.

It's one big fucking eruption and then... relaxation.  This happens to me at least twice a year.  I won't deny it... to do so would be to deny my very humanity.  I need them.  I want them.   I must feel them.  Hell, sometimes I go crazy for them.

They've happened alot lately.  Shit... I'm 40.  Guess it's time for one mean mid-life...  why not?



is forever.
How do I know
what it is?

Force or willed,
the walls close in

Frustration sets in,
a subdued explosion
of emotions,
then quiet.

Patience does not exist;
only moments of sanity.

This is one from the vault.  I "mind-wrote" it sitting in a cinder-block room.  Use your imagination if you can't figure out what that means...

Whatever.  Your version of patience and mine will always differ.  They may cross paths, but the point that two lines meet to form an "X" is only a point.  A moment in time.  A moment of shared sanity... then... on with your life.

Sanity is a form of patience.  Life is only marginally sane at times.  Most of us lack patience... therefore we lack... yeah... I know it's obvious.  Sanity.  There. I said it.  Happy Saturday.  Be sane.


My Little World

I've just started realizing that all I have is in "My Little World."  It seems so big to me sometimes.  Too big.  But in the grand scheme of things, it's really just... "My Little World."  And it really doesn't matter to anyone unless "Thier Little World" collides with mine.  Sometimes it seems like the only worlds that collide with mine are driven by asshats.  Sometimes it seems like nobody wants to drive "Their Little World" anywhere close to mine.  I'm cool with that.  I'm not cool with the asshats.  

Once in a while I figure out that I'm the asshat driving my world into someone elses.  Figure that one out... when are you able to determine that you're an asshat?  What tips you off?


It's been frigid around here...

Mainly because I can be a lazy asshole.  And I have been.  And my body hates me for it, but my mind thanks me for it.  Fuck the fridge.  Fuck the refrigerator guy.  Not that I don't like the "guys" that fix things... I can't fix lots of things.  But fuck him for being able to fix fridges.  Fuck you, too.  How's that for "beauty"?  Sometimes beauty can be found in the most mundane, boring, cardboard minutae.  Is that how you spell minutia?  or is that...

I don't know.  I want to be a metaphor, analogy and example all at the same time.  Good or bad.... it doesn't matter.  Just when I think I am... something fucks me over and I realize that, well... I am.  Damn I hate that. 

Did you ever think that love in your heart can mean stink in your fart?  And is that an analogy or a metaphor or just something really stupid I thought of while trying to make shit up for this???

How discretely beautiful.  I know... I'm a lazy asshole.