Thoughts

VARIOUS THOUGHTS IN VARIOUS STAGES OF SOBRIETY: My oven is homosexual. *** There is or was an NFL player named Harry Colon.

And you feel the shit brushing past you, day by day, like an obese butt cheek. *** The woman was so fat that she had a cream-filled heart. *** Thought about my daughter (9/11/99): I don't know what all she likes, and I don't like what all she knows. *** Trying to get answers out of this person was like pounding the bottom of an empty bottle of catsup.

Definition: "Malaise": That feeling you get when you go to your steady girlfriend's apartment (who lives alone) and finding the toilet seat up. *** "a pending porcelain-cracking shit" *** "scooting around like an unwormed chihuahua" *** "two books lay on my bedstand: one half-read, one half-finished"

"Wallendish walks above a whirling world Entrenched, alone, surrender's flags unfurled" *** Have you ever written a note, with pen and paper, and then hit Control/S to save it? *** The Who: All their songs were crap, but at least they were all different sounding crap (differently colored turds), and Roger Daltrey has the vocal range of a throat-torn pit bull chained to a post.

Our tight, taught bodies entwine in graceless fluidities of written and rote, the carnage of complacency. *** My heart lies...in a muddled puddle of concrete deceit. *** Since elementary schools in the United States have sandboxes, do desert countries have dirt boxes? *** Busy as Michelangelo's chiropractor.

If there were a strip club here where the dancers humped poles to Johann Strauss, Jr.'s "Morning Newspapers," then I would become a loyal patron. *** Leaving a trail of methane in his wake, He exited the room, fed up with all the nancy boys, With their particular noses.

The Built-In Paradox: Life is not about accomplishing things; life is about enjoying one's accomplishments. Like catching rings on our noses like dolphins to prove we are bright...but only doing it to see the smiles on the faces of the idiots throwing them.

NEW NOVEL (in progress):

She dripped into the room and flowed, cascading over a welcoming kiss, onto the couch. I remarked the barely perceptible drops of moisture on the door where she had lightly, yet righteously, demandingly rapped: not a plea for invitation, but a warning of, "be prepared for," her arrival, which effected the hurried chore of dusting off my emotionally dormant, yet yearning, soul.

An inaudible hum of electricity in the air and an intrusive apprehension that something much more than merely a person had entered the room engorged my senses: perhaps an answer or perhaps a primeval instinctual "heads up!" Whichever...

Exchanged smiles of approval were traded for the bolder, more expedient, if less politic, moves of maturity and a mutual acknowledgement of the desperate "time is of the essence" reserved for those who have strolled around the block, hands in pockets, only to end up toeing a discarded beverage can into the shrubbery guiding the walker past an otherwise content, "don't bother us!" household. A chemistry, which many a high school science teacher lusts to bottle and achieve a diminished expectation of success, pervaded the room.

It was there: charged, neon, multi-colored, psychedelic, and dangerously volatile...yet seductively appealing...calling...an extended hand backdropped by a smile the curves of which promise changes in curvature and delight! Beckoning and luring one into a renewed, grudging sense of hope, a hope against which the years had inured one, but still appealing to the pathetically optimistic soul that is essential in the retention of one's sanity, be it ignored, despised, or merely pitied like a disagreeable insect that has landed on one's shoulder after being roused from its banal and innocuous existence in a field of freshly mown clover.

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