The Motorhomes - Psalm

I danced all winter so summer came as a surprise
Terrible thing that I've done tracing your steps too long
I laughed all summer I laughed until I dropped my guard
Terrible things that I've said hating you all too much
loving you all to much

Oh I wish I could be like you, so I asked you how and then you said no
no you don’t want to be like me, so don’t try to be, I hope you won't turn in to me
It took October I think it took November too
Then all it took was a push and I turned into you
Oh no, I turned into you.

I Ching, I Choose, I Change...

“Just because I liked something at one point in time doesn’t mean I’ll always like it, or that I have to go on liking it at all points in time as an unthinking act of loyalty to who I am as a person, based solely on who I was as a person. To be loyal to myself is to allow myself to grow and change, and challenge who I am and what I think. The only thing I am for sure is unsure, and this means I’m growing, and not stagnant or shrinking.” 

― Jarod Kintz.

Will you be my constant?

Dance and sing and dance and sing...

In a real dark night of the soul, it is always three o'clock in the morning, day after day. F. Scott Fitzgerald

Stop trying to wake yourself up.

Never sleep again.

Every night is a daymare.

You won't forget this tomorrow morning.

My parents are not dead.
I am not rich.
I have no wards.
I employ no hired help.
I'm not a genius.
And I have no enemies.

I am only a small man with big thoughts.
A big heart.
Small beginnings.
Haunted much.
But I try not to sweat the small stuff.

I will always be here.
I will be here way after you are gone.
All of you.
I miss you now.

You need to WAKE UP.

Get moving.

Get out of your own head.

And remember EVERYTHING.

Good day

and

Good night

Han Shoots First.

Han Shoots First...

I have spent the last hour expanding on a very short story that I wrote before.

It seems like a lot more like The Star Wars SPECIAL EDITION to THE ORIGINALS

I can, like - Haiku the story, right?

minimum wage worker

clown

hot chick

Allen Ginsberg Was A Werewolf...

I can't wait to type on my new typewriter.

I don't know what I'm going to write about. Nothing unusual there. Do I write only poetry? Only write on one LONG story? Only write short stories? Continue to rewrite my old, short stories? Do I take it to the laundry porch and annoy the neighbor, or to the backyard by the garden, underneath the lemon tree, in Deprak Chopper Phil's Garage while waiting for microwavvvvv burritos? (never)

I should bring my old-timey record player and only write for the length of the 78.

I wrote a long-ass rewriting of a short story the other night. The short story became longer. I don't know if I like it.

I, I, I,

barely write and when I do I write about not writing

The always thorn in my side, side, side

the eternal and creative frustration on my life, life, life

needle in my...(you get it)

Land of da Lost...

I'm looking at the palm tree fronds in my backyard

It's late, I know

Thinking of things
of you
people noise is coming from the alley
they're up to no good
i don't care
im tired
not supposed to be up now
i know
i dont care
we're all tired
i think more than you all do in your lifetimes
im not special
i just care

it's late, I know

Palm tree fronds looking at me in their backyard

fsssssshhhhhhhh

It's okay to not smoke
I'll get there
I'm ferocious
Done with smoldering

I encourage you, kindling

Just don't extinguish my fire

Fat Free Milk

“What a wee little part of a person's life are his acts and his words! His real life is led in his head, and is known to none but himself”