clambering over the bodies

... so it goes, another holiday shot, shived and shoved, pushed aside, in a glide, diced, sliced and iced to make room for another as the band plays on bing bang bong.

the years are blurring like a reflection in the subway windows as it careens through the 42nd street station at 78 mph and i can't get on and i can't get off, just riding it out too tired to care in this winter of my discontent with no meaning as i age away and as usual... so it goes.

nippled & dyned to deaf

if it aint one thing it's another first it's hot then it's cold then it's hot. and then it's hot and then it's not and then it is. man this is taking it's toll this back and forth tittytatty bangbang because the yard already needs re-painting and the sky's burned out and needs a new one and my feet are old all the trees have all called in nude and headed to re-education camps & i'm sick and tired of being sick and tired of this heart of darkness morality play that keeps careening round and round my brainpan dodging clots while the dogs bay themselves to sleep without consideration for those of us emerging from the pool armed & ready and well shitfire that fucker needs a paint job too come to think of it better get on it.

hellifino this is expensive this always something never a dull laugh or cry oh well and ride the grey dog on out a here live to ride ride to live lucy i'm home moment but still...... what would be the point if you can't stand still long enough to find out?

'splain that.

from the subliminal to the subdural

this time of year disturbs me like a spike in sun spots and other solar activity that fucks with the tidal basins in my head disturbs me. i tell an old friend how i hate christmas and laugh. he says you do not and laughs. i chuckle back and say oh yes i do. then we change the subject and the elevator music plays on and the crowd is nice meanwhile the troops are not home yet godammit and now everybody in the world knows how to throw a grenade at the president and the next guy coming in is an african american born on the islands and shoots hoops and is under glass and covered from every manhole and rooftop and three piece suit in towns everywhere and i catch a whiff of the christmas tree lots as i drive by and remember the good old days and how i hate christmas now because they're charging 150+ bucks for that damn 4 foot farm raised fir and they stick it in sugar water for 3 weeks and sit around and ooh and aah it to death and drag it to the dump after the new year ambushed your sorry ass again as per usual and begins the slow crawl through january and fuck here we go.
shit.
i cant hardly wait for next summer so i can look forward to next winter and think about those christmas trees that remind me of my youth when we couldnt wait for next christmas during next summer. bah!
i hate christmas. no really.

oogedy-boogedy

so i'm kinda like a Wednesday opening on my busy shedyule this week will have mines call ya'lls and make it so eh? hot spicey noodles for lunch sound fartingly good what's not to like? and will leave room for fried greased supper-aramabamadingdong for balance mere hours later oooh baby oooh...


re:
best thing about people like Hank Giroux is that you can read their stuff, ponder their stuff and ignore their stuff without fear of an eraser being thrown at your nodding off forehead knocking out your stuff or miss anything else new for that matter in the comfort of your own home at the same time and stuff.

...alas learning critical thinking is a choice sadly enough like a career flinging shit.

however ol' stick as you know, me thunks crit think skills are essential to staying above the fray which is where the clearer visions are unless of course ok is good enough which is whatever feels good but the biological awareness of an uppity selfdom is still a serious focal point and leg up in understanding the point of it all anyway without being utterly ridiculous and mired in mind-numbing soul-sucking haircut boredom and just ok know what i mean?


watch more history channel or else.


bwoohahahaz

2 to 4 bits worth

Just what this country needs; a good war and a 5 cent cigar.

ha! thesesillyassholes...put everybody to work for the military-industrial complex making munitions for a better mummers world and a soup kithchen for the homies and their friends my friends, the muzzle of a gun is the only way to run a railroad because we're not here to introduce the local flora and fauna to the joy and freedom of democracy people, we're here to enforce the democracy people and if that means state sponsored terrorism in the name of democracy my friends then bygoodgod almighty come on down, we'll just do it and never mind the founding fathers and some vision of Camelot with a side of beef in every pot posing for a Norman Rockwell painting under some carpet bombs from 30,000 feet and never warned about.




this calls for another brigade strength phalanx of suicide for effect, Mr. Gridley, you may fire when ready.

damn the mosquitoes, full speed to dead.

catch 'em next time.

meanwhile--- slinc er slim and life's too short and we're all fucked anyway so might as well roll over and go back to sleep.

the alarm goes off soon enough.

away all boats...

Well today think is the day I arrived screaming pink with stink under hot lights and Mozart banging on the 88's in the background some many moons ago.

So far this life has been fun. No point in complaining because it's all been said before so it's pointless to be unhappy. I get depressed maybe since the world really is so very fucked up but I got this life and that's what counts in the final analysis.

Life after death? meh, don't buy it. Dead is dead and the longer I stay out of the ohbee's the better I like it because Bob happens and that includes the hospitals because there aint nobody in there except fucking sick people who are for the most part dying and who needs that? WTF! I mean... how can you rest in peace if there's some heavenly choir singing all the time and jumping up and down on the bed and stuff? I mean really... Repose is repose and it's under the daisies da tra la la.

End of story.

Happy Birthday to Myself and I...

and God loves Me too

The day of Turkely's Trepridation

One of the better t-days in recent years being only me and the wifey, the moms and the little evil doggie present for the usual bird, cranberries, yams and beat down spuds replete with gravy, greenbean almondine, bread of corned innards and chased by punkin pie, chilled water and tea. It was a short and sweet event geared toward minimal aggravation with maximum results and it worked and set a new benchmark for the next several encounters.

The moms has forgotten my wife of 29 years and most everything else in the last 10. My stress levels are more manageable due to her declining cognitive abilities because I'm getting used to it now that it's measurable and tangible like the sun going down or the moon going by or the river running dry. My wife provides a lot of interference for me as we advance into the haze for she has the soft touch of an angel and smooths it all out while I watch mi madre auger in and as she augers she thinks my wife is some nice young lady that just hangs around with me and the dog which is, as long as I don't have to further explain anything again, fine with me, never mind the grandchildren and the great one on the way.

a grinding flash

...and so it goes and goes and goes... a fine day to contemplate navels and practice dogspeak. Bonster is 6 months and draws a crowd everywhere she shows. if I could bottle puppycute I would be rich.

but money aint everything and although it helps it's the devil's work to disdain the finer things that money can't buy for a life of toil toil bubble and boil. one may gain feduciary advantage by striving for wealth but one will also lose the soul in the process and hence any chance of being happy. I think happy trumps monied everytime.

To my working class relatives: I have no use for your misery or your sorryass attitude.

obtuse indolence

this occurred to me last night during the counting of votes and it kept me up too late...

today however dawned in a superb sort of way somehow no different than any other day in it's typical unfolding but there was a lightness of mood while mired in the traffic because after all we're in this together and McPalin can go away now and we can get on with it.

so i dare not speculate on the outcome of this knife fight raging across our living rooms. i can only say i'm glad these 2 candy dates got every body's attention deficit disorder's attention and they all went voting and brought guns to the knife fight but will it restore my faith in these idiots we call 'mericans to do the right fucking thing for a change and go about taking the Constitution back or will everybody continue to continue... doin de doot dee doo?

only the shadows know...

but that's what they want see. resistance is futile. who was it said "If they can get you to ask the wrong questions then they don't have to give you the right answers."? that's how they control us you know. them. them guys. thems. misinformation and chaos wrapped inside a smooth outer layer of chaos and misinformation thems. you know, those guys that run it. the machine. the ones akilling us. the thems dammit! i hope like hell nobody burns down the hood somewhere tonight dancing to the Riots. omyfuckingawd r u kidn me? it could happen because of them. again. dammit man!

by the way, it was one mark twain said that about the future, i merely quoted him sorry but nevertheless, a fine observation with a straight face eh? we will indeed spend the rest of our lives there. the one about questions and answers was written by pynchon and observed by one of his characters in a novel of some repute so don't shoot me, i'm just the conduit in this whore house. yow! bring me a little lyre. dada boom. check's in the mail. ha. i don't even know your wife. wooo wooo

so this duck walks into a bar right and asks if they serve grapes. bartender says no and the duck says do you serve ducks. bartender says no get out of here. duck leaves but comes back a little while later and hops up to the bar and asks if they serve grapes. bartender looks up and says no. do you serve ducks says the duck. no says the bartender get out of here. i told you, we don't serve grapes and we don't serve ducks. duck leaves. sometime later duck walks into the bar, hops up to the counter and asks if they serve duck. bartender says yeah, what'll you have? duck says duck sandwich. bartender says with mayo? duck says no, with grapes. bartender says says no we don't serve ducks get outa here. duck says but all i wanted was a grape. this went on for a time and then a horse walked in and ordered a beer. he was nuzzling the foam a few minutes later when the duck hopped up on the bar ahead of the bartender and says to the horse so what's with the long face? horse says they don't serve grapes and the duck says yeah i know, they don't serve ducks either.

pie r squared

So here it is, fall falling and the late light hitting just about right along with air temperature that would fatten anybody if they could bottle it and bonnydog and me just getting it here in one spot taking it in like moon beams on a rainy night only it aint raining and it aint dark and bonny don't care about it anyway 'cuz she's my Leetle Bon Bon and don't eat pie nope and the rest of the story is my idiot nephew is just that and his parents are like a double shot of stupido and the whole motherfucker has consumed my shorts.

Mel's Rule

... imparts that delicate smokey flavor and texture found only in the charred remains of grass-eaters in from the all day de-worming project and brought to you by thoughtful smokers thereof and by smokers I refer to the masters of the smoke arts and drip pan handlers guild who know a thing or two about burned flesh.

... love is a many splintered thing

Please have fun in spite of yourself, now of course. Still working on it myself and figure if one works 40 years and retires @ 57 years of age then one has only had fun for around 17 years counting nights and weekends.
So the goal now is to have more fun fun than fun work fun even if the fun fun part is boring and under funded. ha...!

Never found a fun job zakly except the summer of '67 when working on the Lakeway marina was a 17 year old's wet dream. Or maybe liberty somewhere in some exotic swamp away from the ship a few years later. Whatever. I forget. Everything else has been scything under the sun. Gimme a ship and a star to steer by or barring that, a non-crisis weekend in the shade while the steaks are browning on the barbi, Miles is on the box and everything's right in the world all the live long day. Right?

Mels Rule baeebuuh!!!

... but then there are events beyond me: a young family member with a chip on his head decided to defy conventional wisdom and used up his luck when he wrecked 5 cars and knocked up his teenage bitch slut person. El Kid owes money for the next 100 years and the child aint even been born. He's really a bigger idiot than his parents will admit and he's only 21 going on 0. Meanwhile he admits sirehood for the time being of said bastard child stepping up and admitting publicly that he fucked his girl friend in front of his parents.
I'm screaming for a timeout and it aint even my fucking problem, even a little bit except there will be another death in the family soon enough and calling for pat-tests to make sure who's going to pay for this paint job is the only thing to do.

Ike clination like yo

the guys over at FEMA slay me. the coast is beat to shit, people's done down in the dumps over dis. yo!
local storm help is spread pretty thin what with the motherfucking war and all using up the help @. yo!
and away we go mumbling into the next room content in the shades of day while all the while at bay.
yo!

in leu of monsters...

...Bonster got her growed up shots the other day and her tag and everthing so now she's 4 months into the growed dog's life. she seems to enjoy being a dog so far as far as a dog can be observed to be enjoying itself in the general clatter and hubbub of your mind and doesn't seem to harbour any regrets for past crimes and/or high times but she is a child dog still and being a dog, being what it is, is what you get for being a dog. in most cases not a bad deal but you never know around here unless you're my dog. meanwhile these motherfucking politics are killing me like watching fucking paint dry what the hell is it with some people putting noony noony boo boo's in charge of the ice cream?

i know one damn thing motherfucker and i aint sayin that just because i can but i aint because i can.

got it?

anyway-

going to dallas in a couple of days to mingle with n-laws over the week end watch football eat drink meet mary tomorrow we die for about 2 hours max, i'm the youngest retiree in the bunch yes i'm liking it fine thank you, nodding off between the penalty flags...

casual tuesday

god here we go again. the moms is flaming out. gnat turds perhaps in the synapse causing a misdeed of electrons and disrupting the normal course of free association in the elderly brain by cluttering it with the hubris of daily whim. there is no cure. old age is terminal and all I can do is provide support from the bench which includes stuff I care not to mention like the ice floe north of the Bering Straits along with the frightful weather that accompanies said colder currents.

bonster monster is keeping us well lubed and cubed. her sparkling performances take us furthur. the game is afoot and they aint got nothing on her.

then play on...

Miss Bonny Blue Jean of the BonnyBonnyBooBaaBay

The Bonster Monster is the news and that aint much but she's fine and getting on like a glove. At 3.6 months her deductive powers astound and confound and are proving to be formidable. She's my baby girl doggie oh yes she is and will not let me forget it no my leetle bon bon, my leetle cauliflower.

Windowpane Theology

...and so it goes. Fucking pouring down rain with me and the pup warming a stump in the shade. Gotta play the laylow game today to minimize potty breaks. No training today nopes. Just me and the Bonster on a Tuesday sittin around here doing our best at nothin better to do. With the wife at work, there's no CNN creeping me out from across the room. Best way I know to get depressed is listen to CNN all day. Best way to stay out of that is leave the TV off. Hello?? Today I got all my news from the weather radar on the NWS web site. Much more refreshing than politics and warfare and changes faster than any fucking pointy head politician can conjure for us or promise us in televised debates with other pointy head political big spenders who promise to eat your babies and shit pure fucking gold in return. Warfare is always the cheap way to your heart. The expense comes later when you realize how had you were but then oops, you're broke and it's too fucking late. Oh dear god. Cry me a river but what the fuck were you thinking sending a generation off to die? And for what again?
I highly recommend keeping an eye on the weather because it influences you. Yes you. And it always will.

re:

i sally ferth

steel rims in sand

""...nothing surprises me..." lamented Cusecio squinting into the late afternoon sun as the wagon wheels of his stencil, redlining it downhill in a merry bliss shedding all detractors and their tractors alike, shook to beat the band I dare say and because really nothing ever surprised him even a little bit, even after the war and all because he was so surprised to be alive you know he just remained surprised. Like a baby duck every day he did and his wife always noticed how surprised he was every morning. He got out of bed everyday in the morning because he was so
surprised.
It was as foreign a concept I could imagine being so surprised and not being so surprised in/at the same time and space especially in the morning. Cusecio was an odd duck, a queer bird. Especially in the morning. Was considered by many to be quite shell-shocked and for him far as he was concerned that was nothing new and his gravity was matched. As a result this this whatever, zoning, or whatever, redlining downhill stencilfixer was fixing to become the surprise and he didn't even know it. The fix was in the mix."

...but I digress...

New pup Bonny is a heartbreaker. She's doing well and promises to be just as difficult as we thought she'd be. She's kinda like a teenager on four legs. More like a lot like a teenager on four legs.

puppy hell in a basket

today is the first full day around here for the new house mate: a 10 week old cow dog that flew in yesterday from out of state. she's kept me up most of the night with congestion, loose stool and general lack of sleepiness or remorse to which all i can do in response is sigh and say to myself i told you so. to the vet the first thing this morning when they open for her shots and maybe some antibiotics to clear up her chest, another day resting then to boot camp.
so far she shows a lot of good sense and great temperament and when housebreaking is done, maybe i'll get some rest.