When I blog I stink with runner’s sweat,
I sit on dirt and roll on grass,
I rest my tired jogging ass,
And play with words, and play with words.
When I run I feel like I’m at play,
Like it’s the only fun thing to do,
And stopping short just isn’t cool,
Then thoughts arise to my surprise.
When I think I ponder unspent love,
And wonder if someday we’ll meet
Bumping wayward on a lonesome street,
Or just fall like leaves by fate to earth.
Thoughts on…
Iraq: We are the Giant, Goliath. The resistance is composed of little Davids. And the shot they’re slinging really stings. Okay, I think it’s now time to ‘downsize’.
Rosie O’Donnell: Ring around a rosie, a pocketful of ‘fuck that’,…I thought the Plague was a thing of the past.
Bush: The man is a terrible poet. But arguably a better poet than he is President.
The Sun: If is goes supernova anytime soon, I hope it’s on a clear night. That would make for an unbelievable nighttime display. And a killer sunrise.
Time: An exquisite invention used to sell watches. Time found its greatest modern hype in the Year 2000 scare. I still have a horde of white gas and propane fuel that I don’t know what to do with. Anyone for camping?
Blogging: The first blogger wasn’t the first to post, but the first to comment and thereby make the instrument interactive. “Watson, come here, I need you.” was not the first telephone call. The first true telephone call consummated would have been Watson (imaginatively) answering, “What the fuck for? This ass-kicking phone is working just fine.”
Money: Money is a myth and economy is the very real act of myth-making. Corporations are the modern vampires that live beyond us and suck our lifeblood.
Relationships: Sometimes relationships get as complex as tieing shoes. Better then to run in bare feet.
Camera phones: If you own a camera phone, and haven’t been tempted to take a picture from the potty, you’re lying to yourself.
Perfection: It only exists in a lifeless world. If you’ve found perfection, you’re dead.
Death: Death’s the faerie that flaps its wings when perfection is clamoring for more attention.
Life: The protracted, imperfect struggle to experience exuberance in the state of existence. Perfection is as scandalized by life as the Catholic Church is scandalized by an uncontrollably naughty nymphing nun.
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