g’mornin

sayed that.  heard in reply.  heard as a greet. sayed that again. but with more finality.

beautiful bike ride, to friendly home, which friendidly gived me wordless (scascept for that tweet), perhaps vocal-expressionless, breakfast with my dirt.  she and i hadn’t been on a good silent date in a while.  of course i took her picture. 😀

churchies smell like chemicals.  not a huge surprise.  like all good fascists, i confess my sins as i commit them.  you get people honester that way, i find.  there’s no other way i can have it.  it merely how roll it do. hm  (10:42 am)

I like taking pictures.  it’s so clear that you can fly in the clouds.  i’ve done it again.

sky

sky

and another whiff of chemo-innoculation when the door opens.  when you fill yourselves with poisons all day, all week long, and then go sit in a room full of compliant people to listen to an expert about the most important things that exist, oughtn’t you be able to at least check their credentials?  what, do you want i should carry my passport around?  microchipped, that little fucker.  erv will be chipped six ways from sunday.  hey, that’s today!  yes, but with erv, that will be how she attains sentience.  i know, my bike is shaped like a boy’s bike, but it’s a girl.  and my truck/house is a fucking pick-up truck that’s carrying a fucking house, and it’s a girl, too.  i don’t write the story, i only tell it.  i mean, it’s there in front of me.  what else am i supposed to talk about?  the crappy ways that y’all live your lives, or the better ways i’ve found that people have designed it.  i suppose i added to the designs, mostly by mashing the fuck out of ‘em.  but, mashing is a creative endeavor.  soze dan sing.  amen

i’m gonna tweet that sky pic.  kids should be able to play in the clouds, even if it’s only from a basement cubicle.  ‘spechially then.  them.  escapeshkpully.  pulley.  block n tackle ain’t just fir feetball prack tiss.  frack.  hiss.  pardon nothing.  speak your words.  adjust your sensibilities to interact with the surroundings.  admit my level exists, and you are a heretic.  hahahahahha.  heretics.  (11:07 am)

dictator says we gotta write a full page before we can tweet.  you call this writing?  when it is, i do exactly that.  free-form rambling?  the world needs to know that the clouds were beautiful and playing-in-worthy.  and they need to know that a clear cloudy day is an invitation to do that.  but i like typing about it.  that’s how it’s writing.  putting those things what went through my noggin, no mat’skies they’zorigins, out for commonic conscrumption.  it’s not that i have little respect for your precious and revered little scripts/ceremony-monies, i value them as the healthful things they are, when they are that.  it only takes one exclusion, to destroy that family atmosphere.  blame it on the corporate debt collectors, who, since you never answer your calls, probably only call your parents and sister’s family.  i would mute the phone ringer, make the caller id large and readable, and silence that light if it’s anyone who knows how to log in to facebook.

tell me how i have been.  i have this thing i gotta do.  i have always had this thing.  connecting people that live next to one another.  it keeps me sane.  no, yeah i used to be insane.  that, i would define as the time i enslaved myself in order to pay to ingest corporate, for-profit pharmaceuticals/foodstuffs, and told my life story to paid listeners who neither knew how to respond to me or didn’t care.  manipulative enablers, those.  nobody is an authority on another person who they only learn of second-hand, and in person, every single one of you is a sweetheart.  even and most especially those who pull knives when you start talking.  or keep talking.  or go from talking to ranting loudly just so that you don’t have to listen to the other hateful, doubting, pessimistic speeches by those who don’t have to find their own survival in this world.  those of us who do, and who could really use your help dismantling this horrible bureaucratic nightmare that is the united states of america ought to wake up and smell this delicious coffee.  seriously, sunday mornings rule.  thanks for making me feel entirely not welcome in your home.

policies.  that’s what my home has.  if you violate those rules of storytelling, rules of interaction, especially during business proceedings, we will prosecute you to the fullest extent of the law.  under consensus, dictator proposes execution for most any disrespect.  he will be chomping at the bit for that 48-hour notice to pass.  inevitably, it gets blocked outright, with a variety of alternate solutions proposed and endorsed.  dinged?  ticked?  ticky ticky ticky tack.  i gone pee den bee rite bak! (11:21 am)

on sundays, i like to go to the coffee shops where people come to get ice cream and smoothies after church.  i write this, here, while they do that.  we smell each other occasionally.  i wear scents of mom’s basement, outdoor biking, a cat named stanley, and dumpsterred food.  also soap from the restroom.  and coffee.  all good everything.  that’s today.  tweets?  tweets.

peaceful love,
t

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~ by LazyAssWasteoid on 2012-06-3 (Sunday).

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