*gives big middle finger screw to the onset of some exotic strain of martian flu*

*takes in the exuberance of life this day*

*decides to run 8 miles instead*

If I don't return, I'm MIA.

I was helping someone in the office with a PC problem this morning, crouching down in front of their keyboard and monitor, when they kindly offered: “Do you want the chair?” and I declined respectfully “No, I prefer lethal injection.”

What to do with the child-killer’s remains?

I say: Cast him into a translucent lucite building block and make it the cornerstone of a new federal penitentiary dedicated to keeping child-killers from ever seeing the light of day. Or if to grant them occasionally a glimpse of daylight, only through this lucite block-window and then let them behold the grimace of death casting shadows in the light at which they’d peak.

*shakes self loose of morbid thoughts and entanglements*

*wishes all the children in the world a nice day upon which to play*

Don't you just hate it when you feel the quickening of a new affair, only to discover that your lover may be residing on another planet?  Or perhaps, it is you who are no longer *here*?

Or stranger yet, not another planet, but a beckoning from deep within Amazonia coming somewhere up among the third canopy of overhang?  Life in the trees!  But the forest's so thick you can't even parachute in.

Does the oddysey never end?

I'm restless when I hear the drums beat.