Tag: a quick minute

Me & My Like

Heart rending sorrow and exercise. The compassion it takes in getting along with those in the manner of life. They whom are relieved to hear of your progress yet to whom one does not ask of the refrain. Courses amongst horses. Making out good and wise sense in the extant of their mind. In there goose fletching and the churches they place on the rock and on the hill.

Secreting a way the vernal axis. Making out a good place to set aside differences and get down to meditation. To come promising. To give to reason and its powers enkind. A veritable tautology of feating glades. A glam exegisis upon the cultured bough. The road is not for the weary my fine camper. No it is rather a conditional peace indeed.

When the leaves on the tree are flourishing. In the spring tide as they call it in the Northern climes. There is an excitement to find out who is the herald of the event. The gopher? The Robin? What about the fox? Up and at ’em babies! The glide of pacified wings checks its Jay at the door. Crossing these streets need have be the bane of the iconoclast. To no longer care for the filcher and the varmint. As quick as a dash and bent to feature it no more. Reduced to b-grade popcorn of the jiffiest kernel and poker’s fork.

If any more tribal lore has need splay my possessions then know I will be at the fly of a feather to make sure the reward is my proper wage. How about $10,000 dollars a show. Just the songs and chords will do ya what is necessary. And when all cheap excuses for vagaries have been exhausted well then end your day and lay ye down and take a proper rest why don’t you.

You have needs do that. See.

High Criminy

Psychefancy, Christomancy, a Thebian priest and his tools. The highway is the by way is the liars way of breaking with the rules. To leave the brave, the accusing of rags, the jealousy of the rote. To too well tell a curiosity to dwell is the parasitism of a cleft in the wall straying, is the deft prerogative of slacking brown nose toads. The oath of a diligent and cross fountain gather has to excuse the Winter, excuse the rain, excuse the very plumbing truth for its simples, its pathos, its gain.

As a child I had my blues. I had my tasty treats and I had my designs. Make good on my fortune and react by spreading the garland around. Give good witness to the tourney in the trades and cheer on the charge leaders in the snuff and morays. A heuristics of the nominal purchase of the low down spirit. For penchant, for musings, for brave concord in the light of another oncoming day.

To speak of rain is made obfuscate. The harassment of savages saves their own. Another drink but it ain’t on me. You see that would be the clover hoof. The Gillian cast of sympathy a lack. How many the times does an exhort need to tell you you don’t need to leave unless you need a hallowed reed to blow us all away.

The page doesn’t turn without the idle to fall its way through. There is no cache of booze. No store of gold. No bank note for us to go by.

Only a broken mother asking how many children you will take, how many coffers you will leave empty, how many lies you will force your young men and women to tell. Its the new slavery and all you need are believers. That will seal the Deil. The lie of the conceited flesh. Both the purile and the anteseptic make out no such due accord. An irascible convenience of bailed out Strophies and baumed out gartens in the disputed Sun.

If things look up then you are getting duped. If you cross the bridge then you will be stumbled from your stoop. The best effort is to no longer have anything to do with evil. The best demon is the one that choses never to exist. The best dead man is one born again. It doesn’t get any easier than that. Simply move from this place of your own volition and check the street when you cross it.

A place like this goes without saying. The best result of customers is the gypsy sending the current home. Any other cause of the diaspora and we will have to cut our losses. We do neither make practice of it nor do we profess it. It is bewitching and the extent to which it has exaserbated the vehemence of its rebuke is not our call.

If you position yourselves at the cryogenic with a redundancy that currently is your stone. One thing is you have only to imagine your enemy. The same as the evil you purchase in your markets. The ride aspect of the carnival leaves you at the door.

Return is as decisive as foul play. You are caught without your better reason and your hide splits at the confessor’s error. You are a consumer you see! And I mean through and through. The indulgence of the mass going by prepares of nefarious means. It just glares when their babies cry for the succor of your candy. Another tests and the order is denied. What is rather apprehended is the tantrum of two foot tall infidels and the flash in the pan ethos of conniving runts. Those automatons of the filth and the crud.

To end on pleasant note. The garden cares for those who tend it. And to tend it well it needs its respects and it’s revolutions. Vouch for it like death and you will find your health improves by far. The earth bids us give her lease for a longer tide down her shores. Life is not a matter of objects. A stinking mess shouldn’t be ignored. Get out and exercise your constitution. Or go to camp. Just don’t excuse your consumption because you are a faithless and bastardized. Be. And do that in good company. Thank you.

Eureka Discerns Eppiphany

Eureka! The matters and consequences. That must be pro-active in the way the cross is turned, in the way it is situated, in the way that it rides.

And ride it does. Like a loaded wallet on the backs of two shoulder to shoulder mules. And you are their skinner. Westernized or not you have a dream in the band. The good life comes on around here each morning at Sunrise. Where all harmonies are set in tune with the hustle bustle goings oncoming of day. 0nly the grave arya that is Earth lays beyond. Where is the very discernment of that contentment.

How shall we go about it. The general returning to the light. Upon the morning, in the air, and on the sea. Dark soiled Earth remains pitched in the the carrying sack of the traveling sage. To greet one or another persons, as a passerby or a remittent friend. With salud! And Hola! Bien. Y tu?

I am looking for a garden and it’s gate. I can hear the birds chirping within and I know the smell of it’s flowers like a familiar lady’s posie. But I cannot find the slip that is the gate. Do I need hop on one foot, shake out my arms over my head, get down on all fours and crawl? Possibly the gaits of the walking path will lead me down a road less traveled and in exploring the melee of divergent courses I will wind up in my own little garden. With it’s waterpots, and tin cups.

I tend to enjoy the great outdoors. I also enjoy the great white North. So some compromises have needed to be made. I have needs sit by the stove to warm my feet. I have want to burrow down beneath my stack of blankets in the overnight. I care to rise with the morning and put on my Winter duds and make good on another piece of the calends round.

It would prophet me a loose goose to try and put forth my better efforts today and stand firm in my offering of the ready helping hand. To give aid to those whom are living only a partial life. To stand by those who are not fulfilled in either the reckoning or acceptance of the choices that occasionally have to be made about one’s own fate.

Prayer!

An idea. And a good one. Yes a real gooden. No, I am good.

Prayer,,,

Thanks!

UtChat

Children roaming streets playing with sticks and stones. The laughing old lady gathering her chips for another round of bridge before heading to table. The good life looked over by raging gyms and sandlot dollars. There must be a ride in a truck. The glossy yield must dramatically incalibrate. Must lick the palms of the icy eyes. Too many sharps and they are only to make us out for our skulls. The shaped anthema of the Mexican ranch.

To see the street for its dusty quarters. To come up with spiels in the dithyrambs. A stories glory horder. Lets go and take a quick equator trip on the liberty tide of open house service and see if we cannot make out the women and the cogent of the place like chiel sanctimones. The Billy frame and the psaltry bow of scythe at lee in the tinsel lair.

To be a good bit past the running ground of disporters. Caravaning on the Davie Jones typography strata and tableau show. A good high hog to bitty and camp out against the speech, quit and borne, right mariner of calmer seas.

So many black orders on the peace. Packs of people and dogs on the new morning wandering at pesky and yet profound galavants of the old school crowing. Fish, fucks, friends and difficulties remembering. How many daisy chains to go kicking down a little something getting home. Rehearsing my roll in a story. Not to always be taken for some jack fool but rather to go over the lands down way and dream of the high returning tide. Too much grass and the park reverts to the transient church serpents pride.

The vert is crow for fodder of cry. The shire and the foremost stumping of rye and foundling punk. Have you a moment for singular expedience. Or are you afraid of being put down. Some reason that shied away. Some bottom that turned away shunned by shame and future folly.

If it goes to show that we are Sun worshippers. Why stoop to make it rain. Just saying the local host of provenders must be supplicated rite lightly in the aspect of quintessential norms. Glad to see you good charler. Beneficent is the grange kind sisterhood brag. The bias is in redown. The judgment seat is out of candy. Collaring the doge leaves citizens at leave with the call to aptly turn over a new leaf. With the crazed blackeye of rubbish. Sad lot of the current meatpie.

Well to get over the fencepost. The splayed feet beneath the camper mountain. Only the damned need to know more. The fleet is out to pasture and the grand eloquence of the buttered bread condolences have eaten the flag to make potluck and pilfered treaty out to bustling gates. Railing and trouncing beasties for so much as a teaching of their own good appetites.

That a way the glad barons have graves to lay down in. To simply be alone and no longer try to estrange the bussing services from their bluebirds. It has to be going down for the frickin’ pale of it. False prophets for false fear. The burning down of the firewall. I knew the ground was there. It just wasn’t mine to burden it.

Left Field Of The Mind 2002/09/18 Wednesday

Pretty eyes like children’s feet. Hankering after their parents for a special treat. And I at work in my uniform. Reading over an occasional worm.

With a partner to my poetry discuss. Over treks to the city on the bus. And take to friends in their room. Ten bucks to use the broom. And then back home to my cottage state. An apartment at a humbled rate. Of rent and sustenance for savor. Far from having to borrow or ask a favor. Closer to sharing the inside. Closer to baring the heart alive.

It is for a timid sum I have been at this stead. With many a page coming out to be read. By friends and family enkind. These things from left field that weigh on my mind.

What Ease At Burdened Time 2002/11/13 Wednesday

Sight unseen departments of religion. A government with a lot in tow. Feed Thebian poor, treat the Ionian sick. Cure the ailing and relieve the woe. A man in a big house. A dog gone to a matt. A fireplace burning aglow. A warm and friendly cat. Doctors for the mind. A supplement to care. An occasional bier. Friends accompanied to the fair. Stress of the working day. A load on my back and mind. A partner to help out. A customer treated kind.

Here is today. And here is my life. I would include the good spirit. I would find myself a wife. How far am I in introversion. How easy would it be to hide my time. Where is the house of paper goods. May I continue in my time. Where am I subjected tu. What grand title have I met out purloined. I am more practical to the object. I feel it in my groin.

From Nothing, From Scratch 2002/08/19

From Nothing. From scratch. From a sacred principle unearthed. Seeking absolution. From riffraff. And inconsequence. A species from daybreak. A livable scheme against apathy. Reliant upon trust. Cohesive upon trade. Consistent and conjunct. Synod testing and the paranorm. A convenient discharge. From ranks of civil servitude. A class of rigamorale indenture. The whole behemoth of thought. A Godhead in transit. A movement of the too and fro. Arbitrator of magnanimous estate. All rapping away lethargy. All subject to rally and sport. The kind of daylong tyrad. That exhibits its teeth. A chalktalk board of figures. A corporeal scene over the mass. Looking for bread to eat. And longing to end the scharade. Et al finesse in a mark. To catch the pass and seem to the like. To be of a stamped reason and choice. Single in the choir. Mattered under guiding hand. To escape with one’s shirt. To make fast the cause. And awake under dawning light. Passive against the rancor. Looking through a starry glass. And winding toward a might. In strength and bound by peace. Arright close to spawn. Those rocking hodads. With apostolic bounty not forlorn. Insight as truck in lording eyes. The cure to muckluck travail. The day in its proud moments at sound. To piece together in point. Surrounding the bow fulcrum. And chattering by the stream. Will child Surrey the cup? Will limerick assure from the cost? Of pent wheat and rye? Of shallow pools and a brook. Looking toward never more. With this interest in the calm. Of shade laden Summer skies.