Fireworks

He'd lay barefoot in the sand breathing the moist ocean air.  There are the clouds.
He'd bask in the sun as the warmth trickled along his stomach.  There are the families.
He'd time his pulse with the waves, as the breeze chilled his scolded stomach.  The many boats aligned.
The Sun prepares for its nightly cryogenic swim, he'd gaze with her as it sailed over the edge.
She never liked the smoke.
It conducted so finely and alas, dwindled its last flame, he clapped.  She clapped.
He'd scrawl in the sand commemorating the occasion.  There is the wind.
She'd thank him and say that she'd had enough.
He'd point to the many families staring above.
She'd point ahead to the many boats aligned.
He'd point above, but she never liked the smoke.

Oh Man, This One Chokes Me Up Everytime.

// Maybe I'll start with something supposedly simple, a bug. //

There once was a bug, this bug was black.  It had a name, its name was Fred.  Fred was crawling through a patch of leaves when he stumbled upon another bug.  This other bug was blue.  It too had a name, its name was Bob.  Bob also, was crawling through the very same patch of leaves.

// I WILL NOW EXPRESS MY ABILITY TO CREATE CHARACTERS UNLIKE MYSELF TO DISPLAY MY VERY OPEN AND KNOWLEDGABLE MIND. ahem...*cracks nuckles* //

Fred was a bi-curious female transvestite bug. He/She was often shy infront of male/female bugs, for they usually sent blank, condecending looks towards him/her while pondering how to perceive him/her which intimidated him/her. Ever since that incident with the magnifying glass, the garden glove, and the firewood pile, Fred has felt unsure about himself/herself due to all the hateful burning and swatting and all.

Bob was a lesbian male transvestite bug from the planet ZOB-TOG-BLOG-CHOG-COG-SOOooo00p, he enjoys tennis.  Bob grew up in a small fUTlOrP near YIP-TIP-GUPUPUPUP-POO-F00OOoo, ZOB-TOG-BLOG-CHOG-COG-SOOooo00p.  He/it/she and his/its/her best LapKAP UPI-UPI used to spend FLAzAp by the ROorrogutz on ZUGGA-ZUGGA-Z00P street playing tennis; which Bob enjoyed.  Bob was very YAMA-YAMA with UPI-UPI and they often had WUGGA-WUGGA if they had extra FLAzAp after playing tennis.  Bob felt very comfortable around UPI-UPI because he/it/she liked him/it/her even though he/it/she was not very good at WUGGA-WUGGA.

Fred had never seen an alien woman before, let alone a blue one.  He/she was quite nervous, though excited at the same time.  Fred was attracted to this woman/man/thing and he/she couldn't help himself/herself; he/she told him/it/her his/her feelings and asked if they could crawl through this patch of leaves together.

Bob, who had recently broken up with UPI-UPI and left his/it/her SHOMthe small fUTlOrP near YIP-TIP-GUPUPUPUP-POO-F00OOoo, ZOB-TOG-BLOG-CHOG-COG-SOOooo00p for Earth, pondered this request from Fred.  While thinking, Bob thought of how comfortable UPI-UPI made him/it/her feel, and he/it/she was deciding if this new alien man/woman could WUGGA-WUGGA as good as and as many fUTlOrPs as UPI-UPI could.

Fred's insecurity, while Bob was pondering, was steadily increasing.  Every second that went by, made Fred increasingly inclined to refuse identifying himself as a strong independant bug only to succumb to self-hatred and obscurity.

Who's Tom?

Now, Tom knew he wasn't very smart; and also knew that he had to find his own unique ways to go about functioning in society.  Tom was special in his own way; but even though he was bound for far simpler things than most, he still wanted to expand his understanding of the world.  So he developed a skill, or rather a knack to conceptualising the written language.  This knack laid in using ones memory to remember previously read letters, and construct sets of letters in a linear, sequential order (typically from left to right).  Once various sets of letters had been remembered, he believed that they would form ideas.  Often Tom would run into letter groupings with letter counts of staggeringly and often mind numbingly large magnitudes.  Such things as "news paper" or "WARNING: Fire Hazard" would baffle his tiny brain immensely. 
So when Tom began to try his hand at grasping the intricacies of the written language, he was intimidated, disgruntled, disconsolate, discontent, and a bit sceptical at his motivations; but in the end, he pushed on and reasoned quite a practical conclusion.
Tom concluded that all of the important letter conglomerations came in groupings of three.  He was filled with intense exhilaration as he settled into a steady, all encompassing view of the world.  Tom could now construct a daily routine for himself, and check it now and then to make sure he's staying on track.
Here's a quick summary, or rather, a staggeringly accurate descriptive account of Tom's average day:
When Tom gets out of bed in the morning, he goes to eat.  He rather liked eating, but less so if he got gas.   pee and sometimes poo would follow; but after his morning routine, things really start to pick up.  The afternoon is when he starts to have fun and really kick start the day; but all of this excitement tends to make Tom sleepy.  This is about the time when Tom usually concedes with a nice long nap.
5 hours ago, Tom found himself pondering intensely over a group of mysterious symbols inscribed on a build-it-yourself bird house instruction booklet, the symbols were "w," "o," "o," "d."  After considerable effort, Tom assumed correctly that these symbols were in fact letters and confidently settled into his formula.  He arrived, perhaps a bit hastily at the letter grouping of "ood."
Tom was confused.
Tom construed and pondered over the letters again.
"Woo."
Tom was excited.
Tom liked "woo," it meant he was about to have fun.  He was also quite fond of the words "wee" and "yay."  But it was late afternoon, and Tom had had enough excitement for the day, now was not the time for fun.  So Tom had a nap.

Spinal Cord Grace

To skateboard with grace, so familiar.
Kick, push, glide, so clear but vibrant.
Vibrations like waves, standing on ocean.
Beyond sensation; totally reaction, no reflection.
Stick, stand, slide, slow; all the same.
Spinal cord grace.

Enter the Musician + Plato Love at a Dinner Party

I've been experimenting with a music program recently, and I've composed a few songs.  Have a listen.

Dither Trot
Scavenger's Mind
Yelping Minuets

Thanks for taking the time.

By the way I'm reading The Symposium by Plato if you're infact interested in what I'm currently reading (which was my apparent reason and excuse for lazily ceasing to update this blog).  It's about a bunch of hoity-toity Greek dudes philosophising about love at a dinner party.


I'll post again soon,

Tao

Bland Jovial Humdrummery

I feel like I need to write with more purpose, random ramblings seem like a waste of time now. Perhaps I should read more.  Boom there ya go, I'm gonna go do that.

In the mean time, you may listen to this several times while you ponder and reflect on all that is recorded within this blog.


Hiatus.

Impressively Iconic

In a cowering frenzy
with sensual obfuscation
A Chilled Scream.

but the sailing oscillations in torrential rain
and the whimpering tomb exuding
absorbing are my collar and sleeve

conductor of my dreams
seller of the right medicine
collide and conduct me through it all.

sloshing about in joyous vanquish
but covered in the same regurgitated bile
slumped in anguish

under the bridge with the scavenger's mind, seeking
and revelling in a midnight wind
the new age ideas connect it all.

great canopies of great forests
you will apologies for this dwindling fire
and yield before your master.

such sexy swamps wheezing from dehydration
but unbeknownst to you is the idea of hell
and the love is at my fingertips.

the benign trivialities,
my relinquished henchmen,
they feast upon the midnight winds

where's the treasure,
evading thirst quencher?
ask anyone, they all know.