What are the alternatives

What are we, drawn into ourselves by chiseled time. Sketched into stone by self sustaining repetition aka conditioning, sometimes conscious and sometimes, I dunno, deep, unknowable, maybe geothermally leaked, carved into an impressive pattern, our body bed, space for the universe inside his image, supporting Niagara Falls effluvia through the persistence of a rivulet [tilt]

Overly deep, the madmen creep under the waves, poking never a head above, they drown without oxygen where there is no love.

Of awesome powers plenty, men to admire too few, he said "that's why I worship nature, but won't shake hands with you."

In fifteen minutes of not doing it only one reason stands reasonable enough: to kiss the missus, yes -- that's a good alternative to spewing this stuff.


How I Prevented Nuclear Holocaust

(my random act of kindness)

I was searching my hair for lice, with a comb. On the edge of the comb was a sticky note, with the words "Jihad is Wrong ~Jimmy Carter". I immediately dialed Jimmy Carter's number in Washington and told him he misplaced his sticky note. He said thanks and could I Fedex it over? I said yes and did just that, and as Carter wrote later in his memoirs, he gave the sticky note to its intended recipient, the Ayatolllah Khomeini. Since that time Iran has launched no nuclear weapons, and if our world leaders keep using 3M sticky notes, they probably never will. That's how I made the world a safer place (and no longer have head lice).


My screen is shattered but hell you need me

Never been so unrestrained and yet focused, never has this weight vanished so blessedly, never have I been so free to be so me. The blog was awaiting my sigh; I was never pompous about the need for purity. I boycotted for the first time, on strike to guarantee my lifeline, twisting in an hourglass until I found the time.

We observe and ape wild seductive methods, untrue expedients that succeed at blurry distance, we are consigned to blunt objects, brute conclusions, frozen resolute regretful obtrusions.

I won't rhyme just cuz I'm able, but pair sound and sense deliberately, so that the rhythm doesn't run off with the brain, a syllabic concatenation as runaway train.


[I dance sometimes in the early morning, don't mind me if I do. I will wake you up, my buttercup, and make you breakfast too.]