Anniversary

A year ago tonight I was sent to hell.

Demolition Man

Tied to the tracks and the train's fast coming
Strapped to the wing with the engine running
You say that this wasn't in your plan
And don't mess around with the demolition man

Tied to a chair, and the bomb is ticking
This situation was not of your picking
You say that this wasn't in your plan
And don't mess around with the demolition man

I'm a walking nightmare, an arsenal of doom
I kill conversation as I walk into the room
I'm a three line whip, I'm the sort of thing they ban
I'm a walking disaster, I'm a demolition man

Angelw8181+1+1=3

Uglier than a three lipped tortise with long brown hair. Wicked wrinkles she doesn't see in the mirror. Horrid, horrid beauty experiment at the expence of passion. This wicked skelator is what I dated. But she was fatter. Bad idea in retrospect. Induced by the aged wrinkled devil incarnate. I came out looking smooth, got a tan, better job and.....lol....more to come.

Done

Put away. Already done to me, 360 degrees ago. Now, I dare you to bring it on. They were waiting for your magnetic memory. They kept me till they realized you were bluffing. I tried to tell them. You'll get the short end, someday. I believe in slow, grueling, relentless karma. This pic will be for you a fond memory of your loving touch as they set the sheets on your death bed.

365 Degrees

I'm awake and well aware of these days. Trace me back a year ago, to this certain curtain stanchion of sun to earth. Think of all that I have exhausted and all that nourishes me now. Think of all whom I've broken orbit with, and those who now consume me. Think of all my new t-shirts. Think of my iPod. Think of all who never flinched when you had me at my knees. Think of all who flashed into non-action when I retaliated. Think of my mind accelerating with speed that your ass will never know. Think of me flipping thoughts and cooking them like pancakes on a griddle, and serving every single one righteously buttered and mapled for all to feast upon. Think about me not broadcasting dork-esque pictures of myself and my non-existent kids, for all the blogosphere to pretend to pander to. Think of me shoveling snow at 10:30 PM as I am ready to sleep, because I hear my friend out there in the cold. Think of me waxing poetic about string, because my work mates depend on me. Think of me not ripping paper, as if that was a threat. Think of me giggling at all things you won't be. Think of me praying you'll rise above. Think of your age in this universe. Think of your growth. Think of your potential. Do you realize that light is the only absolute?

Jump

I live an die in imagined futures of my mind.

For extended lengths of time.

Then, even though awake, I wake up.

Is that weird?

No Nyquila

Tonight I have accumulated a partial manifesto, burned 4 custom discs, talked to 3 friends, posted an old poem, written 12 headlines, and put together a creative touchstone for the people I work with—replete with cover art and binding. And rewrote a movie pitch. God, I love not drinking Nyquila. I’m not a religious man, but I love Iris Dement’s songs. And found out that a house in Chris' neighborhood just was sold for $800,000. Four walls, a roof and a quarter acre of bad grass. Damn.

NJ might not look good on the news or on Jay slackjaw Leno's dumb ass old people show, but bottom line? Things get done here. And it's beautiful once you get off the Turnpike. I'm one of the one's who gets things done and lives far off the pike. Near the shore. Know what? Go for Bush's Social Security plan, dumb asses. Invest all your future in corn and pork bellys and silicon. Our state's economy and citizen savvy is three steps ahead of anything west of here, other than California, in conviction and focus.

Not bad for a guy who slipped on an opened potato chip bag in the middle of the living room a week ago. As his cat laughed in the way cats do.