Colonel Gentleman's list of things that should be outlawed:
1. Any non-diet soda.
2. Referring to diabetes as "the sugar."
3. Parking tickets. Be nice to each other. Don't park your metal like no one else has anything to do or look at.
4. Periods. Reproduction in general.
5. Weighted favors. You either do the favor or you do not.
6. Currency. All of them.
7. Credit. All of it.
8. Duck faces. All of them.
9. Dog people.
10. Snark. Drown them all. If I wanted a snarky answer I'd have put a bag over my head while asking.
11. Canes.
12. The cookie tray. Less plastic, more cookie.
13. Trust funds.
14. The stock market. All of them.
15. Any word that stands in for "Fuck."
16. Summer weather.
17. Age limits.
18. Passports. If you have one, you are permanently grounded wherever this edict finds you. Good luck.
19. Safety precautions on automobiles.
20. Crosswalks.
Clean with alcohol only. Do not attempt to replace blown fuses. Do not remove access panels. Return to certified mechanic for regular maintenance. Made in the USA.
8/23/14
Knowing Where You Have No Business and That You Are Expected On Occassion
You don't have to front load everything you say. You don't have to translate at the end either. You may be coming across better than you believe.
One of the most hilarious things was the whole "they took our jobs" rhetoric at the last election and the come back that they're doing jobs we do not want to do. The funny part was my challenge. It's a matter of geographics and debt. I took the challenge knowing that. Just to see. Because they were taking our jobs here too, right? What I got back was paperwork. It's a little bit a lot of bit hilarious. If you cannot laugh at that, you have no soul. I still get email updates on it, but I am passed caring. Yes. Passed. English, the most, hands down, complicated language.
My relationship with America? It's complicated. And I am dating myself. And I am dating myself too. We wreck up sometimes. Slang for fight, no? Yes. I do not agree with everything we do. I do not. Sometimes I am on damage patrol. Some times I am on altitude control. Sometimes I am just sometimes and I am, having learned, not apologetic because people do get tired of sorrys and start to ask "why the bleep do you not just do it better?"
I will not give you the run around. I'm just American. I'm a little gangster circa 1925 and a little modern circa "what's the date today" and a little 90's grunge and a little 80's synth, a little bit of a late 90's "get money" and a little 70's rhythm and blues, a little bit of #$%^'n disco and a little bit of late 80's space rock, a little bit of 1960 fuck you and a little bit of 1950 be easy and every one is working for something greater because no one actually wants to be here, and a little bit of drum and bass tongued in with a little bit of pop talked down through the ages and distilled and reanimated. I'm just American and I will make no excuses.
And I will fight you. And then discuss. And then fight you harder because I only wanted a breather and we may as well butcher language in the mean times. They only get meaner.
I wish I could get along with people like me. I cannot. I am not going to stop trying. It is a little bit of playing with where you know you have no business being. And you know it. You do not understand why you are excluded. There are the times you are expected though and you do not show up. To reverse the two would be gold out of lead. Less cameos. More booked seats? I have no idea. What I do know is this: if they ask you if you can make it, you had better go.
///Pulp - "Like A Friend"
One of the most hilarious things was the whole "they took our jobs" rhetoric at the last election and the come back that they're doing jobs we do not want to do. The funny part was my challenge. It's a matter of geographics and debt. I took the challenge knowing that. Just to see. Because they were taking our jobs here too, right? What I got back was paperwork. It's a little bit a lot of bit hilarious. If you cannot laugh at that, you have no soul. I still get email updates on it, but I am passed caring. Yes. Passed. English, the most, hands down, complicated language.
My relationship with America? It's complicated. And I am dating myself. And I am dating myself too. We wreck up sometimes. Slang for fight, no? Yes. I do not agree with everything we do. I do not. Sometimes I am on damage patrol. Some times I am on altitude control. Sometimes I am just sometimes and I am, having learned, not apologetic because people do get tired of sorrys and start to ask "why the bleep do you not just do it better?"
I will not give you the run around. I'm just American. I'm a little gangster circa 1925 and a little modern circa "what's the date today" and a little 90's grunge and a little 80's synth, a little bit of a late 90's "get money" and a little 70's rhythm and blues, a little bit of #$%^'n disco and a little bit of late 80's space rock, a little bit of 1960 fuck you and a little bit of 1950 be easy and every one is working for something greater because no one actually wants to be here, and a little bit of drum and bass tongued in with a little bit of pop talked down through the ages and distilled and reanimated. I'm just American and I will make no excuses.
And I will fight you. And then discuss. And then fight you harder because I only wanted a breather and we may as well butcher language in the mean times. They only get meaner.
I wish I could get along with people like me. I cannot. I am not going to stop trying. It is a little bit of playing with where you know you have no business being. And you know it. You do not understand why you are excluded. There are the times you are expected though and you do not show up. To reverse the two would be gold out of lead. Less cameos. More booked seats? I have no idea. What I do know is this: if they ask you if you can make it, you had better go.
///Pulp - "Like A Friend"
That Instant
you realize it actually is the quiet ones you have to look out for. Not just the quiet ones. The quiet little ones. No one should be that quiet that young, so talk to them and get to know them and pay it backward when you're not entirely freaking the #$%^ out being near them.
8/18/14
What Scares You
What scares you? What scares you? What really fucking scares you? That he's better than you? That he's better than you in every way? That the choice was the right one? That she's still down there enabling him? That the paper is still blank? That the paint has gotten too old to use? That he might be angry at you instead of with you? That you are not properly equipped? That the next gas station may be out of range? That your keys are at home? That you are being entertained? That you're not incorporated? That the bug may be permanent? That there is not enough gauze? That the tuna may run out? What really scares you?
Don't make me wait. I am exceptionally patient except when I'm not. I don't know what really scares me, for what I've compensated for. I do know what really scares me. All of the above. Very long knee jerk reactions. Knee jerk reactions spanning days and weeks and months and now years. I'm okay with it, I suppose. We never do come for money, except when we specifically do.
What scares me is not the not knowing for sure. What scares me is not knowing how to respond at an appropriate volume. Of course they can tune you out at will. Which is nice. The option takes a bit of the guess work out. I typed guest work. It's true, though. You are a guest. We are guests. And they can. I'm not where the being polite or respectful or conscientious ends and being a good proper guest and friend ends. Division by addition feels like it works. The results are wishywashy. Concernedly so.
Why will you not tell me? Do you believe that I will somehow be irrevocably shattered by the information? Do you believe that I will somehow be so shaken that I cry all of the water out of my body and shrivel up and die? It makes me laugh the not good laugh to think that may be true. If you're not a friend, you're not. Friend is the worst "F" word. Loaded for no reason. If you're not an associate, you're not an associate and that's perfectly fine. You can waste time if you like. Placate me too, if it twists your earlobe good when you get the itch. I'm fine with that too.
I think what I'm trying to articulate is that what scares me the most is that I am in hot pursuit of avenues of communication and the way it comes out is a three dimensional graphics sprint into a brick wall, legs chugging, my little arrow on the map, my associates viewing and confused. What really fucking scares me is not communicating in an understandable and lagoon clear way.
Though I may be a dragon, if you speak lizard, I can talk to you. We can do dragon business. Fear doesn't scare me. Occasionally, day light does. Police officers and their flashlights too, but I am civil and citizen.
I want to listen to the Penguin Freud orchestra and hear more songs about Easter Island and travel more. Growing up American. Straight up fucking American. The child of explorers. The child of, perhaps, orphans and seafarers now land locked and fairly domesticated. The child of pressure and heat and weapons and bombs and "on threat of death." A child whose fences end where the nuclear powered ships cannot go. Yeah, I'm good with that. How long does it take to breed the grit and horizon lust out of the genes? How long does it take to saw off the hard nosed muzzle and graft in the gatherer for the hunter? Fuck if I know.
///Seatbelts - "Spokey Dokey" and they called me old fashioned. they called me old fashioned!
///
Don't make me wait. I am exceptionally patient except when I'm not. I don't know what really scares me, for what I've compensated for. I do know what really scares me. All of the above. Very long knee jerk reactions. Knee jerk reactions spanning days and weeks and months and now years. I'm okay with it, I suppose. We never do come for money, except when we specifically do.
What scares me is not the not knowing for sure. What scares me is not knowing how to respond at an appropriate volume. Of course they can tune you out at will. Which is nice. The option takes a bit of the guess work out. I typed guest work. It's true, though. You are a guest. We are guests. And they can. I'm not where the being polite or respectful or conscientious ends and being a good proper guest and friend ends. Division by addition feels like it works. The results are wishywashy. Concernedly so.
Why will you not tell me? Do you believe that I will somehow be irrevocably shattered by the information? Do you believe that I will somehow be so shaken that I cry all of the water out of my body and shrivel up and die? It makes me laugh the not good laugh to think that may be true. If you're not a friend, you're not. Friend is the worst "F" word. Loaded for no reason. If you're not an associate, you're not an associate and that's perfectly fine. You can waste time if you like. Placate me too, if it twists your earlobe good when you get the itch. I'm fine with that too.
I think what I'm trying to articulate is that what scares me the most is that I am in hot pursuit of avenues of communication and the way it comes out is a three dimensional graphics sprint into a brick wall, legs chugging, my little arrow on the map, my associates viewing and confused. What really fucking scares me is not communicating in an understandable and lagoon clear way.
Though I may be a dragon, if you speak lizard, I can talk to you. We can do dragon business. Fear doesn't scare me. Occasionally, day light does. Police officers and their flashlights too, but I am civil and citizen.
I want to listen to the Penguin Freud orchestra and hear more songs about Easter Island and travel more. Growing up American. Straight up fucking American. The child of explorers. The child of, perhaps, orphans and seafarers now land locked and fairly domesticated. The child of pressure and heat and weapons and bombs and "on threat of death." A child whose fences end where the nuclear powered ships cannot go. Yeah, I'm good with that. How long does it take to breed the grit and horizon lust out of the genes? How long does it take to saw off the hard nosed muzzle and graft in the gatherer for the hunter? Fuck if I know.
///Seatbelts - "Spokey Dokey" and they called me old fashioned. they called me old fashioned!
///
8/16/14
When You Know You've Made "It"
A little humore.
You know you've made it when what you do is mass produced. When "e" really does mean mass times light speed squared.
Emotion gets a bad rap. We all know this.
Coming in cold.
Why does everyone want hot reentry? For the fireworks?
I almost wish. I do wish for a showdown with weapons of choice with my father. I will say it. I was born on Earth. I have a father and mother. I have no qualm with her. Sometimes I say words I know without knowing their actual meaning because they light up five or six or seven or eight other words I know and I hope they light up the same other words in your mind too and I'd rather the gaggle of words with one than the perfect word for the occasion. I have no qualm with her. My mother puppet. Shield. Known totem. Enabler. Blanket. My muffle. Caste. Former. Sledge. Bleeding heart. Working toward laughter. I'd rather the gaggle of words than specifics because we're splitting hairs and getting off track, if it must be said. No I would never have sex with her. It's difficult enough to find pleasure in foreign pussy, are you really going to ask me to find pleasure in the domestic? I can put on a show, but we know where that goes. And there is an age limit, I've come to understand, but that's a conversation for another time.
Weapons of choice. I was thinking hard about how to win a fight when both parties are granted bats. The answer is whomever gets close first and can knock the other down and then use the bat. Bats are useless up close. They are. Now you know. It's all about tip velocity and multiplying force. I already knew this. The trap is getting them to use theirs first to reach out and touch somebody and being comfortable enough to get in close. It's a three dimensional fight, son!!! Get to kissing distance and take a good vertical hack to the legs. The rest is cake and joy, yes?
Beginning at the start, I do not understand the significance at all. It is a favorite song, but not a titular song. How the fugg do I know if I've made it. I'll stop and listen to a couple, I am on the clock though, so no petty. Hustle bones? Where is this anger coming from? I don't get it. Are you imaging little skull and cross bones on each individual tooth on your mouth? I don't get it.
Anyways, your mother is an enabler. No mercy. Swing away. Swing for the fences. Remember the excuses. Do not get caught up in the raising. That was granted at conception, biatch. They had their chance. Toxic horseplay. I want to crash your home with my car. Putting a document together with heard songs.
Lose your train of thought much? Yeah, anything else? No, just checking. Okay, let's go.
Let's go back to the title. When you know you've made it. Let's play the song that inspired it, the title, and see what becomes of it. Fuggit, lets replay the chain of songs that led up to the song that inspired the title that triggered your off track with the knowledge of where the off track happened and we can play again, no?
I don't know where it fits, but it's appropriate.
One thing I would like to do is this:
I have to back out a little bit because I do not know the official names for the things I am about to speak about and I wish I did have the chemistry down, I don't. It is frustrating. I will get it nailed down and be more pro.
It will. It won't. I'm joshing myself. SKO! SKO! SKO! SKO! FANTHAAAAAAAAAAAAA!
not saying goodbye to sky at all. at all. at alll. jusgt fucking smile and i'll talk to you later. okay?
hahahahhahaa fanthaaaaaaaa! fucking panther fuck. lol.
it hurts like a .... im trying not to cuss. I said I wouldnt' cuss. I'm not going to cuss. I just want to get it out so I can on to the next one. I want awe. I want power alot, but I want fucking awe. No two ways about it and I don't know how to ask for it or even if I should be because I know I'm a little shit, no fooling. I know. Am an angry fuck of a fuck. and it's hard to play nice. lol it's hard. let's killl them. i know, right? let's not and seee where it goes. see what the fuck it grows too. stop loppin off your feet, you fuck.
You know you've made it when what you do is mass produced. When "e" really does mean mass times light speed squared.
Emotion gets a bad rap. We all know this.
Coming in cold.
Why does everyone want hot reentry? For the fireworks?
I almost wish. I do wish for a showdown with weapons of choice with my father. I will say it. I was born on Earth. I have a father and mother. I have no qualm with her. Sometimes I say words I know without knowing their actual meaning because they light up five or six or seven or eight other words I know and I hope they light up the same other words in your mind too and I'd rather the gaggle of words with one than the perfect word for the occasion. I have no qualm with her. My mother puppet. Shield. Known totem. Enabler. Blanket. My muffle. Caste. Former. Sledge. Bleeding heart. Working toward laughter. I'd rather the gaggle of words than specifics because we're splitting hairs and getting off track, if it must be said. No I would never have sex with her. It's difficult enough to find pleasure in foreign pussy, are you really going to ask me to find pleasure in the domestic? I can put on a show, but we know where that goes. And there is an age limit, I've come to understand, but that's a conversation for another time.
Weapons of choice. I was thinking hard about how to win a fight when both parties are granted bats. The answer is whomever gets close first and can knock the other down and then use the bat. Bats are useless up close. They are. Now you know. It's all about tip velocity and multiplying force. I already knew this. The trap is getting them to use theirs first to reach out and touch somebody and being comfortable enough to get in close. It's a three dimensional fight, son!!! Get to kissing distance and take a good vertical hack to the legs. The rest is cake and joy, yes?
Beginning at the start, I do not understand the significance at all. It is a favorite song, but not a titular song. How the fugg do I know if I've made it. I'll stop and listen to a couple, I am on the clock though, so no petty. Hustle bones? Where is this anger coming from? I don't get it. Are you imaging little skull and cross bones on each individual tooth on your mouth? I don't get it.
Anyways, your mother is an enabler. No mercy. Swing away. Swing for the fences. Remember the excuses. Do not get caught up in the raising. That was granted at conception, biatch. They had their chance. Toxic horseplay. I want to crash your home with my car. Putting a document together with heard songs.
Lose your train of thought much? Yeah, anything else? No, just checking. Okay, let's go.
Let's go back to the title. When you know you've made it. Let's play the song that inspired it, the title, and see what becomes of it. Fuggit, lets replay the chain of songs that led up to the song that inspired the title that triggered your off track with the knowledge of where the off track happened and we can play again, no?
I don't know where it fits, but it's appropriate.
One thing I would like to do is this:
I have to back out a little bit because I do not know the official names for the things I am about to speak about and I wish I did have the chemistry down, I don't. It is frustrating. I will get it nailed down and be more pro.
It will. It won't. I'm joshing myself. SKO! SKO! SKO! SKO! FANTHAAAAAAAAAAAAA!
not saying goodbye to sky at all. at all. at alll. jusgt fucking smile and i'll talk to you later. okay?
hahahahhahaa fanthaaaaaaaa! fucking panther fuck. lol.
it hurts like a .... im trying not to cuss. I said I wouldnt' cuss. I'm not going to cuss. I just want to get it out so I can on to the next one. I want awe. I want power alot, but I want fucking awe. No two ways about it and I don't know how to ask for it or even if I should be because I know I'm a little shit, no fooling. I know. Am an angry fuck of a fuck. and it's hard to play nice. lol it's hard. let's killl them. i know, right? let's not and seee where it goes. see what the fuck it grows too. stop loppin off your feet, you fuck.
The Best Thing
about getting honked at on Main street, there is only one main street in my town is that, after the fear subsides and the nerves settle down and the wind wicks the sweat away and you see the green chevy driving up the road and know that your friend was in there and high alert was not necessary at all,
you can relax and know that you can send a happy text to him because you thought he left town ten months ago and he's still circling for whatever reason and now you get to know that you have to know what the hell he was doing on your side of the river in your town on that day and jumping out of your skin was completely justified on your grocery run because, to be honest, you thought he was either dead or escaped.
you can relax and know that you can send a happy text to him because you thought he left town ten months ago and he's still circling for whatever reason and now you get to know that you have to know what the hell he was doing on your side of the river in your town on that day and jumping out of your skin was completely justified on your grocery run because, to be honest, you thought he was either dead or escaped.
8/8/14
Shut The Gate
I know I need to shut up. I know saying I don't understand only flies for so long, but this is something I wanted to float out there that I've been mulling over for several months. So I'll get it out of the harbor. I don't understand, and I swear it'll be the last time for a long time I start with something like it or around it, but I don't get how I can be outside of it looking in and inside of it and trying to look out. I'm getting one or both wrong.
Either I think I'm looking out or I think I'm outside looking in and, regardless of the math, I'm not getting it right enough. Not to be doe eyed, but I'm at a loss. Did I mess something up? The tracers are not lining up with where the rounds are actually hitting, is my suspicion. I'm donking something up.
No, it's not a missing piece. I am underthinking? Overthinking? Which one is it? Shit. Which one is it. No, I don't need to sleep. That's stupid. That's putting shit off. I need to cuss less is somethin, though it keeps you honest. I'm missing something. Not sure what. God knows it's not religion.
I'll figure it out. I know I need to shut up. I will. I have some work to do. It would be nice to collect teeth at will. That would be fabulous. Just wear a mane made of collected teeth. It would be nifty. They're not easy to come by.
Either I think I'm looking out or I think I'm outside looking in and, regardless of the math, I'm not getting it right enough. Not to be doe eyed, but I'm at a loss. Did I mess something up? The tracers are not lining up with where the rounds are actually hitting, is my suspicion. I'm donking something up.
No, it's not a missing piece. I am underthinking? Overthinking? Which one is it? Shit. Which one is it. No, I don't need to sleep. That's stupid. That's putting shit off. I need to cuss less is somethin, though it keeps you honest. I'm missing something. Not sure what. God knows it's not religion.
I'll figure it out. I know I need to shut up. I will. I have some work to do. It would be nice to collect teeth at will. That would be fabulous. Just wear a mane made of collected teeth. It would be nifty. They're not easy to come by.
Dealing & Check In
Gotta change the motor oil now and then. S'not the first time or the last. I was concerned. The panels were lighting up in not so good ways and it's kind of like changing your alarm because sometimes the tune you design to play goes doot doot doot and then you start dancing instead of waking up and that's no good, ya know? It's no good.
Instead of waking up you get like "aw, this sounds great, who made this? I can jam all day" and that's no good at all. Time to change the motor oil.
An overactive imagination they said. Spirits was put past me too. Talking to angels got floated. Talking to demons got floated too. "Just pick which ones" got floated too. Hawky talk. All of it trash. Waking up to the signals again. The check engine light. Sky zoe frania. I hate that word so much. I hate that word so fucking much. I hate that word so fucking much! I hate that word. I hate that word. I hate that word. I hate that word. I hate that word. I hate that word. I hate that fucking word.
Delusions of grandeur. I don't understand! I don't get it. I'm very happy. I'm working on a concussion free year and I think I'm gonna be able to get it this year. The first one in five without one. The first year in three that I haven't broken my nose. I'm looking forward to it. It is going to be a gold belt when I check off December. I'm dealing.
Six years without a pain killer (minus alcohol but that only halfway counts.... a pain putter offer). Nothing to the significance of a tylenol. I'm not allowing myself to sniff anything near an edible. It's good though. It's a bad track to go down, plus pain lets you know where the line is. There's nothing wrong with that. I'm dealing and it's great and terrifying because I'm - not sure when the line happens, ya know? When we click over and aren't talking to people anymore or are extremely unreasonable.
The concern comes from knowing that an existence without you is doable, highly doable, but not nearly as ... well, not that far. I won't go that far. Within the framework of citizenship, yes, absolutely. An existence without you is by a landslide far more favorable and speaks to my heart in ways I don't always and can sometimes not do at all. A self starter to a degree; turn the dial far enough and hydrolock blows the push rods to bits and reduces the engine block to a 300 lb paperweight.
Does that make me dependent? I hope not. I guess, what I'm saying is if I was the last man on Earth, my reign would be fairly brief. We laugh saying it out loud, but it's true. Maybe a decade or two, if that. I hope I am doing a reasonable job of it. I know I slip sometimes and the clutch engages and I am two gears off of first and I don't always know whose driving the damn thing to begin with and sometimes ... talking out of school. Nope nope nope. None of that. Enough of that.
I want a fucking present. I want a parade and a band and a fucking float. I want the parade, the band, the float, and a present. I tore after my pap paps for talking to me in snippets of things he's seen and not actually talking and here I am doing it too. Anger management was neither of our strong suits. I wonder who talks to him. Who did he have to talk down. Did he? It would certainly explain a lot of a few things. It really fucking would. He's not talking though so I guess I'll grill him in heaven or hell. Chaa! Have the rest of eternity to exchange phone books. Wouldn't that be the fucking cats.
I'm dealing though. The committee deals back and we play our cards and try to beat the dealer sometimes. Sometimes we just fill the house coffers and call it.
It's a juggling act with a little bit of severed limbs when the chainsaw comes down two seconds earlier than expected or turns a rotation before it was supposed to or hangs in the air a tad bit longer for no god damn reason whatsoever and control goes out like a tungsten bulb and its tomorrow already and you're talking to people in daylight and how the hell what the fuck am i doing here happens and you have to review your notes. I really hope it's not like this when I'm fifty. I'm afraid it might be, or worse. Da fuck is paranoia anyways? Why can't I sleep in the dark? What is out there? What the hell is out there??? I've been looking for you. I've been searching for you. Come out! I know you're there. I can fucking smell you, you fuck. I can fucking hear you! Why can no one else hear you! It's not fair. It's not fair. You know what, 'ats fine. We're fine with that. For fucks sake, just once, speak to someone else too. I dunno. It's tiring and very difficult to explain how energy is expended without losing traction altogether and paying for it in a big way because I am just like you. I want to be. Let's trade. S'not a grift if it's an even trade. Keep routine. Stay alert. Routine will rescue you. I don't like change. I'm not stubborn. I'm not antisocial. I just have to maintain parameters and readings and locations to the "t" and to the dot. Please don't be offended if I whip donuts and drive like a madman when designated play time comes about. It's the only time I have to spend when high alert can be tuned down to "we are all present and accounted for." Why won't you fucking die!? Time to change the oil.
My tracking is suffering again on certain very important things. We are not enthused. It is unacceptable.
///Nancy Sinatra - (Bang Bang)
Instead of waking up you get like "aw, this sounds great, who made this? I can jam all day" and that's no good at all. Time to change the motor oil.
An overactive imagination they said. Spirits was put past me too. Talking to angels got floated. Talking to demons got floated too. "Just pick which ones" got floated too. Hawky talk. All of it trash. Waking up to the signals again. The check engine light. Sky zoe frania. I hate that word so much. I hate that word so fucking much. I hate that word so fucking much! I hate that word. I hate that word. I hate that word. I hate that word. I hate that word. I hate that word. I hate that fucking word.
Delusions of grandeur. I don't understand! I don't get it. I'm very happy. I'm working on a concussion free year and I think I'm gonna be able to get it this year. The first one in five without one. The first year in three that I haven't broken my nose. I'm looking forward to it. It is going to be a gold belt when I check off December. I'm dealing.
Six years without a pain killer (minus alcohol but that only halfway counts.... a pain putter offer). Nothing to the significance of a tylenol. I'm not allowing myself to sniff anything near an edible. It's good though. It's a bad track to go down, plus pain lets you know where the line is. There's nothing wrong with that. I'm dealing and it's great and terrifying because I'm - not sure when the line happens, ya know? When we click over and aren't talking to people anymore or are extremely unreasonable.
The concern comes from knowing that an existence without you is doable, highly doable, but not nearly as ... well, not that far. I won't go that far. Within the framework of citizenship, yes, absolutely. An existence without you is by a landslide far more favorable and speaks to my heart in ways I don't always and can sometimes not do at all. A self starter to a degree; turn the dial far enough and hydrolock blows the push rods to bits and reduces the engine block to a 300 lb paperweight.
Does that make me dependent? I hope not. I guess, what I'm saying is if I was the last man on Earth, my reign would be fairly brief. We laugh saying it out loud, but it's true. Maybe a decade or two, if that. I hope I am doing a reasonable job of it. I know I slip sometimes and the clutch engages and I am two gears off of first and I don't always know whose driving the damn thing to begin with and sometimes ... talking out of school. Nope nope nope. None of that. Enough of that.
I want a fucking present. I want a parade and a band and a fucking float. I want the parade, the band, the float, and a present. I tore after my pap paps for talking to me in snippets of things he's seen and not actually talking and here I am doing it too. Anger management was neither of our strong suits. I wonder who talks to him. Who did he have to talk down. Did he? It would certainly explain a lot of a few things. It really fucking would. He's not talking though so I guess I'll grill him in heaven or hell. Chaa! Have the rest of eternity to exchange phone books. Wouldn't that be the fucking cats.
I'm dealing though. The committee deals back and we play our cards and try to beat the dealer sometimes. Sometimes we just fill the house coffers and call it.
It's a juggling act with a little bit of severed limbs when the chainsaw comes down two seconds earlier than expected or turns a rotation before it was supposed to or hangs in the air a tad bit longer for no god damn reason whatsoever and control goes out like a tungsten bulb and its tomorrow already and you're talking to people in daylight and how the hell what the fuck am i doing here happens and you have to review your notes. I really hope it's not like this when I'm fifty. I'm afraid it might be, or worse. Da fuck is paranoia anyways? Why can't I sleep in the dark? What is out there? What the hell is out there??? I've been looking for you. I've been searching for you. Come out! I know you're there. I can fucking smell you, you fuck. I can fucking hear you! Why can no one else hear you! It's not fair. It's not fair. You know what, 'ats fine. We're fine with that. For fucks sake, just once, speak to someone else too. I dunno. It's tiring and very difficult to explain how energy is expended without losing traction altogether and paying for it in a big way because I am just like you. I want to be. Let's trade. S'not a grift if it's an even trade. Keep routine. Stay alert. Routine will rescue you. I don't like change. I'm not stubborn. I'm not antisocial. I just have to maintain parameters and readings and locations to the "t" and to the dot. Please don't be offended if I whip donuts and drive like a madman when designated play time comes about. It's the only time I have to spend when high alert can be tuned down to "we are all present and accounted for." Why won't you fucking die!? Time to change the oil.
My tracking is suffering again on certain very important things. We are not enthused. It is unacceptable.
///Nancy Sinatra - (Bang Bang)
A Quick Thought on Authenticity and (ffs) Go Protocol
Knowing what you are and what you're not is where it begins, that's the baby step. There's nothing wrong with being a baby. Complaining let's you know, if you've ears for it, that you are not necessarily happy with the way things are or how they're going. Everyone's a baby. At some point. Everyone complains.
The option is to take the turn or drive the motivation straight over the edge and hope you land somewhere nice. Hope you land in something like a pillow factory or a bin of sand, or just anything more forgiving than concrete. Take the turn. Complain like a baby and then adjust. You can take your authenticity to the grave with you or you can exist within it. Sounds pretty simple. It's a bit more complicated, unfortunately. Sometimes you just have to realize that you are striped and a tiger and sometimes imaginary in a pack of lions. Doesn't mean you have to be at war with the lions. You're both after the same things. There's nothing wrong with that. You've honed your way and they've honed theirs and you're on the same field now so you have to learn how to play together effectively that you not step on one another's paws and sink teeth too close together on the same kill.
It's "go protocol." It's trigger pull. It's losing my train of thought and getting heckling from the rest of the committee and continuing to ball because YOURE NOT THE BOSS OF ME YOU @#$%S.
Fight through the noise. Embrace the sound. Love who you want to. It does not matter if they love you back. You have the right to love whomever and whatever you choose to, whomever and whatever you can't refuse to. If they cannot respect that, it's their loss. In a world lessed for loves lost, why waste it? Let it fly. Untenable as it may be, let it fly. Let it fly! Allow it to cross the distance that must be enforced for whatever reasons are reasonable. Include a few that are not.
Remain authentic. Stick to the protocol. You have not lived as long as you have by ignoring protocol. When the Go sign says go, go! Think twice, for sure. "Fo Sho!" does not mean for show. I can put on a fantastic show when I want to. I can put on a show for the fucking ages. Fo sho means for sure and it's pretty much a miniature pact. A handshake and a signature of gumption. With no risk comes no reward and you know what comes without whisk? I do. I'll give you another second to guess. Time's up. Without whisk you get a big old cup of pineapple pulp and undissolved sugar at the bottom of your pitcher of pineapple tea. Gross. Also, really hard to drink.
Obey Go Protocol. Stay authentic. Bow to be courteous, not to fit better. If you win the single combat and fit well, you'll hate them later because they will know what you did. They will talk about the event, if not active, in passing. You will know too.
The combination is not friendly. They are not looking for maps the same way you do. The same way you are. Do not expect assistance when you go. Do not expect support. Do not armor for resistance either. You were invited for a reason. You were on their wing for a reason. That reason may not be for back up should combat come down. That reason may not be for mounting an assault that day. That reason may not be for humor or for "to hell with them"s. You may never know what that reason's reasoning inside their head was, but there was a reason.
So go. Go! Stay authentic. There was something asked of you. Think about what you've asked of them in return by answering the howl. The details will work themselves out, if they do. The details will work themselves out, if they don't pull your card again. Through the noise, through the fire, through the poise, through the ire. For once,
allow yourself to see it their way and do not Chameleon. Do not lock up. For @#$%s sake, remain authentic. Uncertainty is a bitch, be certain of this.
///Girl Talk - (Ask About Me) chapter one... still writing the jacket
The option is to take the turn or drive the motivation straight over the edge and hope you land somewhere nice. Hope you land in something like a pillow factory or a bin of sand, or just anything more forgiving than concrete. Take the turn. Complain like a baby and then adjust. You can take your authenticity to the grave with you or you can exist within it. Sounds pretty simple. It's a bit more complicated, unfortunately. Sometimes you just have to realize that you are striped and a tiger and sometimes imaginary in a pack of lions. Doesn't mean you have to be at war with the lions. You're both after the same things. There's nothing wrong with that. You've honed your way and they've honed theirs and you're on the same field now so you have to learn how to play together effectively that you not step on one another's paws and sink teeth too close together on the same kill.
It's "go protocol." It's trigger pull. It's losing my train of thought and getting heckling from the rest of the committee and continuing to ball because YOURE NOT THE BOSS OF ME YOU @#$%S.
Fight through the noise. Embrace the sound. Love who you want to. It does not matter if they love you back. You have the right to love whomever and whatever you choose to, whomever and whatever you can't refuse to. If they cannot respect that, it's their loss. In a world lessed for loves lost, why waste it? Let it fly. Untenable as it may be, let it fly. Let it fly! Allow it to cross the distance that must be enforced for whatever reasons are reasonable. Include a few that are not.
Remain authentic. Stick to the protocol. You have not lived as long as you have by ignoring protocol. When the Go sign says go, go! Think twice, for sure. "Fo Sho!" does not mean for show. I can put on a fantastic show when I want to. I can put on a show for the fucking ages. Fo sho means for sure and it's pretty much a miniature pact. A handshake and a signature of gumption. With no risk comes no reward and you know what comes without whisk? I do. I'll give you another second to guess. Time's up. Without whisk you get a big old cup of pineapple pulp and undissolved sugar at the bottom of your pitcher of pineapple tea. Gross. Also, really hard to drink.
Obey Go Protocol. Stay authentic. Bow to be courteous, not to fit better. If you win the single combat and fit well, you'll hate them later because they will know what you did. They will talk about the event, if not active, in passing. You will know too.
The combination is not friendly. They are not looking for maps the same way you do. The same way you are. Do not expect assistance when you go. Do not expect support. Do not armor for resistance either. You were invited for a reason. You were on their wing for a reason. That reason may not be for back up should combat come down. That reason may not be for mounting an assault that day. That reason may not be for humor or for "to hell with them"s. You may never know what that reason's reasoning inside their head was, but there was a reason.
So go. Go! Stay authentic. There was something asked of you. Think about what you've asked of them in return by answering the howl. The details will work themselves out, if they do. The details will work themselves out, if they don't pull your card again. Through the noise, through the fire, through the poise, through the ire. For once,
allow yourself to see it their way and do not Chameleon. Do not lock up. For @#$%s sake, remain authentic. Uncertainty is a bitch, be certain of this.
///Girl Talk - (Ask About Me) chapter one... still writing the jacket
8/1/14
Shove Off
Often times, many times, too many times, you cannot shove off where you left go. It's just fact. There are no two ways about it. It's not that not alright, you know? Sure, it's rotten. We all get that. It's not all rotten. You cannot advance without memory. You can not advance without recall, dispute me!
They're different. They are very different things. Hypothesis and road up to where the pages were included, had you possession of the expansion boxed set.
It's unusual? Maybe I never picked it up while growing up. It feels very weird as I've come to understand my body... am I now finally full grown?
Twenty nine. The number feels okay, reasonable. Going backwards my last/earliest memory is looking at the park next to preschool.
Weight is the question. Topped out around 155 +- 5, third year of college jumped to 160 +- 10 then ten years later topped out around 195 no matter what I do. Am I now growing into my body? After all this time? Laughing indignation? I do not get it. I don't get it. I don't fucking understand it. Why did it take so long. How come no one warned me?
Feels reasonable. Seems reasonable. I'm pretty sure puberty is not supposed to last 16 years. That doesn't sound right. I've noticed my footfalls are heavier with the extra weight. I have to think farther ahead to not step on or run into things. Am I officially stocky? Dear God! Am I stocky? Am I permanently 5'11", no less than 190 lbs, arms and legs damn near equal in length? Well, I'm not okay with that! It's unsettling. Why couldn't I have had an abnormally long ring finger or something.
It is a nuisance: having to understand your body and check back to understand the trouble codes on the high line.
They're different. They are very different things. Hypothesis and road up to where the pages were included, had you possession of the expansion boxed set.
It's unusual? Maybe I never picked it up while growing up. It feels very weird as I've come to understand my body... am I now finally full grown?
Twenty nine. The number feels okay, reasonable. Going backwards my last/earliest memory is looking at the park next to preschool.
Weight is the question. Topped out around 155 +- 5, third year of college jumped to 160 +- 10 then ten years later topped out around 195 no matter what I do. Am I now growing into my body? After all this time? Laughing indignation? I do not get it. I don't get it. I don't fucking understand it. Why did it take so long. How come no one warned me?
Feels reasonable. Seems reasonable. I'm pretty sure puberty is not supposed to last 16 years. That doesn't sound right. I've noticed my footfalls are heavier with the extra weight. I have to think farther ahead to not step on or run into things. Am I officially stocky? Dear God! Am I stocky? Am I permanently 5'11", no less than 190 lbs, arms and legs damn near equal in length? Well, I'm not okay with that! It's unsettling. Why couldn't I have had an abnormally long ring finger or something.
It is a nuisance: having to understand your body and check back to understand the trouble codes on the high line.
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