the great thing about taking a metafiction class once upon a time is that it has allowed me to feel very clever whenever i pull a where's waldo photo with me in it. 

how perilously close he was to landing head-first on the floor.  

i love my wife, not in spite of the popsicle growing out of her head, but partly because of the popsicle growing out of her head. 

yet another case of corona does its work on a group of 3 people...did they kill the demons the night before next to this bridge? i think mercy is appropriate for those of us who have been bound up so tightly by our self-medication. all we have to do is simply ask. 

wickedly beautiful carnivores in need of a good hosing down

we
we are
we are towering and splendid with semi-shiny white teeth
some of us whiter than others
discrete with our racism
referring to that inconvenient demographic
all of us with the same subtle tone
that tinge when i know that i agree with them
that for some reason it seems like if the news is true
then it really is mostly "people of color" who kill each other.
it must have something to do with that statistic about more murders occuring in the summer, like generations of sunlit skin has mutated the brain...
but to say nothing of my responsibility in this vicious cycle as i pretend to care about third world countries by giving back pats to my humanitarian friends and storing up points in heaven each time a friend risks life and limb in kenya...
i quietly accumulate, and pretend that i don't hate the impoverished for all of the nuisances that they throw my way by walking across the street as i am on my way to a restaurant, and they give me that old feeling of compassion, which is quickly replaced with annoyance, guilt, obligation, and finally a resistance to anything that i feel forced to do, like giving that man my shoes...
this is my indictment of myself, and i know from the time i was brainwashed, two years ago this weekend, that i can hit ctrlaltdel and reset, deconstruct that i might be rebuilt, or that i may be recreated for the joy of the living God...
i may actually start remembering those sweet little words...
i might actually remember that all of us men and women eat, piss, love, fear, get sick and die, and i might think again about how that mexican man waiting in the shade to be picked up and paid cash for an honest day's work loves his family, or perhaps he doesn't, but that i am him, and i am the saudi who is terrified that he is going to be lynched by a redneck caravan.
i am the african man crying in his car thinking his future has disintegrated and i am the african man who has conquered and loved. i have also been conquered by some of the slickest carniwhores as i watched them eat my soul and took pleasure in it, only to cry out to God once more, i am broken and asking you to renew me, and i have a budding hope that i have once more, for the 16,789th time, been reborn as a forgiven and cleansed man because i still believe, and i still am worthy to receive my Christ into my temple.

i love when my cell phone doesn't get reception 

luke dubsky, professional caveman 

master p 

back row

bob dylan's "time out of mind" has shown me how easy it is to draw the blinds and keep the sunshine out...when a man has done something so vile that he does not deserve joy for a week, and he has no choice but to embrace his finest mental defeat and take pleasure in it, revel in it, consider joining the dark side, and then slowly, reluctantly even, drinking enough water to wash the brain clean of the toxic healing potions gone wrong, and i think, wow i'm glad that i didn't eat mushrooms or else i would really be fucked. 

it is so convenient to think of all those countries as shapes rather than pockets of...ok. how far out to sea before we drop anchor, and how long is the rope?  

there is nothing more important than...oh who can really begin a sentence with that? just those of us who claim to hold the keys to the universe that's who. but...well, how do you describe a wellspring of wealth of knowledge of triumphs in prayer of highs and lows and headaches and highs and drunks and photos? how do you describe the desire to pray at the end of conversation and get uncomfortably intimate with every dear friend, and how do i describe the depths of my soul that are revived when i act upon that instinct to dig deeper, to actually do what that instinct says rather than coming up with excuses for not praying with my mother for our own well-being (under the guise of not wanting to be selfish, while really fearing a new, or a revived old, sense of intimate relationship with my mother). why would i ever want to shun her? those provoked envies, we all are guilty i hope because i know i sure fucking try. But God forgive me for any child I have suffocated...not literally, but for those men and women that I have been an excuse for...is it humility that acknowledges being a role model to at least one man, or is it pride...you be the judge...I believe in the power of the ancient scriptures, when "he who humbles himself will be exalted, yet he who exalts himself will be humbled." so that is it...some utopian ideal of equality haunts me, drives me mad, and i may climb upwards and i may shrink myself at times, which the head chancellor says is not the equivalent of enlightenment, but there was something about driving with the orange on my mind that made me embrace being human, no matter how far from perfect...like when the girl with fake breasts struggles to do her leg lift exercise at the gym, and somehow it makes her seem more likeable because she is capable of failing still. but is my taking pleasure in her failure a sign of my own fear? of course...i am scared to death of the superhumans, those who will very soon have the computer chips implanted so that they can far surpass the organic humans. the organics will bitch about it, but many will reluctantly get the chips implanted to keep up...for more info, see cell phones, ipods, etc. 

why? oh because its clever. 

so, it is important to start important sentences with so, and whoever might be a listener is a great friend indeed, and when we are great friends we will listen to each other as wise men and women. a little bit of john fahey was nice to me tonight...please listen and listen to this as if you were driving a truck down that 15 mph path by back bay. 

its wonderful to learn to keep my mouth shut when i want to tell someone to fuck themselves...i can't think of more than five times that i have said that when it was worthwhile and i was happy to say it. the real growth comes in learning not to let the tiny jabs drop me to the floor. 

a child becomes a parasite in an old man's body

the body signals the child to grow, but he wanders in a daze, refusing to learn...the heart is pure and full of love, but he has not seen another way...i think that he can...but will he? will i?

write down the miracles my mother said

ignore the anxiety in the background during the good weeks, and the faith may perpetuate the good months...is it based on needs and wants fulfilled, or are the needs and wants fulfilled as the faith endures? the latter is the stairwell, the elevator to the next plane, the next test of altitude-endurance...the air is thin they whine, the clouds at this height suffocate my eyes, i am going to lie down in the valley below on those soft pillows...but upon waking, the complacent me knows to sprint in noisy desperation to the fastest ride into completion town...to stare once more at the whites of lusty eyes and to be stared at as an equal or as a higher, pleading to the core that i never face inferiority for a moment, and begging God to let me remain in this now confusing state of still standing still, hoping that i am on a moving walkway, ever-willing to stand on the right as the impatient slaves storm past on the left, and despising them for thinking that they need to be somewhere more quickly...and in these moments of chaos, there is meph, perched under the bridge, trying to tie my shoes together so that i will fall on my chin and bite my tongue off so that i may never obey God's leading to speak in love...would i go to the trouble to learn sign language or prefer to complain? the red-horned serpent would prefer that i go lie down on the lower plane and never arise and walk...but perhaps i truly have seen a miracle, and perhaps i can share the potent dreams that are realized when i wake up and approach the day, as the dream had already happened, and was a memory rather than an illusion...but why mention the darkness as if it is necessary to show the luminescence of the lamp? it is simply enough to know that the sun shines and warms without reminding myself that it is so different from the night.

one of the many benefits of time travel is new ideas for buildings 

photosynthesis 

stoplight larger than moon 

it is envy that makes iowa natives pray for these homes to slide off the continent