Carving out a corner to post random crap.
Stack the spines until the pyre touches the sky.
Set a torch to all your trouble.
Gazing into the big blue offers no solution.
The middle pillar is reduced to rubble.
All smoke and no signal.
The flame does not even purify.
Here is to firewater and the naked eye.
— The more you chase after something, the less likely you are to actually getting it.
— Ok, Gare. You pretty much had me all turned around with that 'nothing really matters, so go for it!' bit you said earlier. Now you're telling me if 'I go for it!' it's all a big wasted effort. Am I right?
— Nailed it! Naw, just messin' with ya, Len. But really…no effort is wasted. Something's bound to happen if you take more steps forward than you do back. Make a choice, act on it. Don't get hung up on outcomes and expectations. That shit'll leave you primed for the *B.G.D. big time.
— I like my expectations. Not willing to part with them, Gary old boy. I expect only the best. If I'm like averse to outcomes, guess I'd better get used to life being one long painful slog.
— You're not hearing me. You chase after your big dreams and stuff, and whatever. But there's always something chasing you. Don't be afraid to let it catch up. Turn around and face it even. Might just be better than anything you could've ever imagined.
— Yeah…I know you think you've done a fine job explaining your philosophy on life, and now my brain's expanded and all, but I don't see things the same way you do, Gary. I don't understand what goes on in your head half the time. Don't suppose I need to. We've been through a lot together and we're still friends. That's worth something, right there.
*Big Gaping Disappointment
all the colors of my moods
on display in case I forget what to feel
conversations and hallucinations
any prompt will do
but don't let me think before I speak
pearls fall from my tongue
you catch
I release
encase each contradiction in amber
The way the explanation forms on Cassie's tongue; it feels sharp and tastes bitter. She doesn't want to have to tell another one. The truth is coming out in all different shades these days. Cassie rehearses her word choices so the fabrication doesn't sound aggressive, defensive … argumentative.
They're just a pair of shoes, for crying out loud.
"No," Cassie says in her soft, fluty voice. "They're not new. Been wearing these old things forever. I take care of my belongings, is all."
strength used as a crutch
attributes turned inside out
contours erased
Comfort and joy. Oiliness and a sodium overdose. Nothing like the bad stuff to bring on taste bud euphoria. Hey, the crushed and busted chips at the bottom of the bag have all the flavor. Don't waste that precious crumb coating! Go find some chicken parts and get in some dredge-and-bake action. And you know strips of bacon slapped down on a warm maple bar is the best kind of sandwich there is. Greasiness and sugar shock. Meals not soon to be forgotten. Drink your kale and eat your Brussels sprouts for breakfast. Your secret's safe with me.
Make it and wait, or get trapped in someone else's plan. Agatha struggled with her choices. She was thankful to have a choice, of course, but picking the least messy of two less than ideal situations was scary. Each option was an illusion, so maybe it didn't matter which ladder she climbed. Agatha longed to write her own script, be the heroine of a grand adventure, take life by the ankles and spin it around. She was more a spinner of whys and wherefores than anything else, but she believed her luck was about to change. Agatha did not want to be a garden variety spider, hung up in a corner hoping to get entangled in a Happily Ever After. She was ready to crawl out of her comfort zone and chase down every opportunity that crossed her path. Agatha just knew there had to be more than two sides to the story.
Ursula sent Dinah to collect the crockery. Before she stepped foot into her father's study, Dinah performed a little ritual out in the hall. The performance consisted of a counterclockwise pirouette, three clicks of her left heel on the bare floorboards, and the recitation of the words, "I beg your pardon for the intrusion, and kindly ask your permission to enter." Dinah swiftly recovered plates and goblets strewn about the room in haphazard fashion. Her father, Mr. Archibald Crosswicke, never dined with his family, not even at Christmas. Mr. Crosswicke was plagued with poor digestion, and insisted on total silence at mealtime. Dinah inhaled the study's dense, sweet air as it crackled and hissed. Intricate floral patterns in the carpet crawled up her legs. The potted palms slapped her about the head. Colors intensified until the room was bathed in a dizzying pearlescence. The effect was rather pretty, even though it meant Mr. Crosswicke was ill-tempered. Dinah wondered how her father's work was coming along. Perhaps one of his experiments yielded unsatisfactory results. Dinah knew better than to linger in a place where her presence was grudgingly suffered.
Let me hear that reedy tremble bounce off the sediment
All the good stuff gets lodged in the cracks
Keep it cool for future regurgitation
Heavy rotation
Too much trickery leaves a gaping hole for the next generation
That nervous tick will deny you the title of:
Soul Of The Year
Paltry achievements
Hang from the walls of my den
Trite amusements
Squirt from the tip of my pen
How many more ways can I phrase it?
It's all in the human touch.
My Borrowed
Garden
Thorns Hide In Beauty's
Shadow
A Rose Leaves Its
Trace.
Semi-Daily Scribbles 