the sacred watering hole 

riding bikes 

a gift 

pretending to be in deep thought while keenly aware of the photograph being taken. 

i thought that i could never get sick of swimming in chocolate milk, but after drinking 3 gallons of it, i just wanted to huddle in the corner of the shower and cry. 

the child of ruthless abandon, able to leave his home without thinking about manila folders 

miniature albino dragons are one of the leading causes of blindness on moorea 

" 'I saw the Lord always before me.
Because he is at my right hand,
I will not be shaken.
26Therefore my heart is glad and my tongue rejoices;
my body also will live in hope,
27because you will not abandon me to the grave,
nor will you let your Holy One see decay.
28You have made known to me the paths of life;
you will fill me with joy in your presence.'[e]
 

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.