Two Legs and a Biscuit, Please

“It’s too hard to form an opinion, so I neglect to.”

“What? That’s an opinion right there.”

“I’m not going to argue.”




Free will is the determination of one’s self. It’s possible to possess it as much as it is possible to lack it. The destination of tomorrow is in the hands of many things, and the individual is only one of those things. To affect a decision that changes the course of one’s life is to sway the river with a twig.




Barbara is lacking in self worth. Her desk is a second home and she’s forgotten what her first looks like. The entirety of her life has been built toward furthering her career. The sports cars, the parties, and the pools were only the symptoms of that same drive that kept her in the office, unable to enjoy them.

Death comes slow for Barb. Some people, he just right up and comes when you least expect it. One moment Bobby is climbing the tree, and the next his blood is spilled from the fall.

Barb knows he’s coming and of course she knows that she can’t do anything about it. Life, however, must mean something, and if she’s built her life around her work, then her work must have meaning.

She won’t be home tonight. Order some chicken.

Poetry, I guess

At times, tainted life of light will shatter.

When it hits some undiscovered matter,

Say the ground, or a plane, or even you,

darkness comes, and you’ll wonder what to do.

Your life is like that short, or long, lived light.

Nothing matters if your day is so bright

that, should the days of others be clouded,

your joy makes all fear become unshrouded.

Out in the open with nowhere to hide

exists the choice of letting fear decide.

Only when light reveals an empty night,

can we put aside our near-constant fright.





I have no idea what makes a good poem…

The Dancing Queen

“It’s a running joke around here that Jocelyn is the party monkey,” Jim said. The wide grin on his wide face reminded me of an ape.

I didn’t understand, so I just chuckled a bit and tried to similarize my facial expression.

“She’s always…’monkeying around,’ if you know what I mean,” he said with his smile that might have been the dreamwork of some drunk animator. “You know, with the boss’ wife.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah, like she’s….you know…” His laugh was like a pig drowning in the mud that it so desired.

“I thought, you know, the boss is kinda like a” (don’t say religious) “straight edge kinda guy.”

“Oh yeah, but they’re into some wild stuff, man.” Jim’s eyes extended over his face and dripped with hate. “Wild shit that you would never dream of.”


+++ (where is the asterisk?)


I always thought that dreams were just in our heads. Like if you thought of something real in your head, even though that was real, it’s still just a dream ’cause it’s just in your head. Sometimes, and I think we have to give ourselves some evolutionary credit (for whatever that means), that’s not true. What’s in our head does exist in the outside world, it’s just that you have to prove it. Look at Einstein and how those observers somewhere in Africa (a continent that my education excuses me from the direct knowledge of its geography) saw those stars during the solar eclipse.

You just have to have a good argument. I’ve never been good at arguing.




“I like to dance and get drunk,” Jocelyn said. Jim chugged a handle of whiskey in the corner of the bar. Everyone else was just drinking or dancing, and Jocelyn was dancing in front of me. Like I knew how to handle that. “You want to dance?”

“I’ve, uh…I guess…dancing is uh, you know…” Dancing is a way to prove your prowess in athleticism to those around you. It’s a fluke of it looking a lot like fighting, but only a few people fight nowadays. “It’s fun.”

“You like to dance.”

Isn’t it alone?

No…no, ha. It hears all the things listen.

One wonders what it says. It wants to be so still.

It’s in the woods under the rocks by the trees and it hears the forest. The forest speaks through the animals in the woods.

The sky even sings, and it hears this and shudders and shuts down, perpetuating the dark myth that the damned are tortured. It is torture, and wouldn’t you know that it doesn’t care?

It doesn’t give a FUCK! A single one rests beneath its hairy, muddy, bloody paws that tore through the winter’s snow-covered floor with such excitement for the freedom that it never found, never saw.

It trickles down the back of your hand and into the sink, unloved and never found.

It dies down in the corner of his room.

But it isn’t alone! All the voices tell it not to let alone.

All the voices tell it to go alone.

Tell it to go away.

Go away.

You Are Timmy

Today, I want to revisit Timmy:

Why does Timmy lie?

I read this article about the purpose of schooling (a different thing from education): Against School. The thesis is basically that children are schooled to become obedient groups, rather than educated to become independent thinkers.

I’ll add that the evolution of marketing (read Bernays’ Propaganda) has capitalized on the effect that schooling has on children. That is, we raise our children to become obedient conformists, and propagandists use this pliability to direct society in a common direction. As an example of how the public is directed, I’ll use Facebook.

In 2010-2011, you might remember reading a crapload of articles that “revealed” (for those ignorant enough to not understand that everything that you put onto the internet, or even your hard drive, remains there forever–barring the global catastrophe that is sure to come when terrorism infects our nation, when sea levels rise to conquer our cities, when police are hamstrung by unfair laws, when millions of people lose their jobs to robots, etc.) “revealed” the fact that Google collects your private information for private reasons. People hated Google for that, and there was an uproar that has now turned into the general, dull noise that you hear maybe weekly, or monthly, on the news. It was later revealed that Facebook was behind this propaganda effort. Bonus Points – WSJ published a lot of the stories that were anti-Google, and then came up with that wonderful piece.

The point is, while there may not be a single entity or shadowy group like the common conspiracy theorist would have you believe, that there are those out there who seek to lie to you for their own benefit. Not even lie, really, but who certainly seek to mislead you.

We are pliable. We are led. We are lost to ourselves.

Find yourself and question your motivations. Teach your kids to think, rather than training them to learn. You can do it.



It Doesn’t Know Why

I want to write like a damn waterfall.

About: Something cool … A spacecraft? A creek? Perhaps a person, who died last Tuesday from consumption of lead via headwound?

Only a little funny. And too dark. It doesn’t flow well. Does not. At all.

I’d like to see a baseball game next year.

Not telling a story at that point.

Go the creek, state it was intentional. No one will believe. It’s a damn lie that you’re dying, dude, but I can see why one would think that. Again, it’s too serious to tell whether it’s a joke. So skip this part. Skip this part.

My Face: When you’re playing identities and sacrificing as many as you collect. :/ When the doctor doesn’t know if it’s a symptom or a cause. :/

Ten men went down the street to the creek and found a log that they chopped up and made into a boat and set it drifting on the river. A mile down they found the rapids and there was that they could do. The boat wouldn’t hold ’em and their limbs wouldn’t float ’em and they set about drowning in the water. Whoever got the view wished they hadn’t.

Macabre today is yesterday’s depression, floating up the coast with bold predictions but petering out when the moment finally came. The sailors weren’t disappointed but their great skills at navigation avoided the worst. That killed some, too.

The Thing sits in his small front yard and watches him, his Stone of Atonement. Jealous are its eyes and bold are its words that he hears dimly, the last drifting thought of fading dreams. The pressure it affects in him raises the barometer and the blood. He watches his Stone and waits for it to go away, for it is better to sit and do nothing so that life’s desires may not be prevented. It is wise that procrastination keeps the goal distant and locked far away, for it is better to dream and do nothing. Let the designs of your maker make themselves known.

A lot of people sound really serious when they write.

Really fucking serious.

It sounds mad when you curse.

Perception is a curse.