I asked my daughter,
What dya want to be,
When you are a big girl?
Her answer made me
Want to dig my own grave,
On a stolen plot somewhere,
And jump in, without a tank
Of Oxygen or Oxycodone.
What an oxymoron!
I didn’t even want the grave marked,
For she said she wants to be a “socialite”.
Continuing with the photography, this was pre-meditated. Four Budweisers down, I wa able to carefully peel off the stickers off the bottle and label them on the tabby.
He has been my billboard for most anything.
🍻 Do not drink and drive. Put the bottle aside, pull over, take a swig, and then drive.
Nooo… seriously, it is not a question of capability, it is a question of safety. Drink at home or Uber. 😬
Whoops! I just farted.
Lucky nobody’s around.
Smells terrible too,
Like a corpse in the ground.
There’s no meaning,
To anything in the world.
It’s all there and not there,
At the same time.
I am trying to rhyme so hard,
It hurts, because words were made,
To communicate, not heard.
Payback’s a bitch, you’re right Stephen K,
But there’s also good karma,
And all that bullshit people sell you.
The world isn’t dead, just not “woke”,
For every struggle two hands go through,
There’s six more to help you.
Is this good enough to rap, I wonder,
Heck, who cares, as long as the beats are thunder.
I have so much to say, I forget what it is;
I pay a shrink to remind me this.
Catharsis is getting it out of your system,
But what if your system is full of holes?
Shouldn’t all the pain escape through the pores?
I make no sense, but I see the light.
Not at the end of the tunnel,
But right here by my side.
A little birdie pooped on me today.
And they say it’s good luck.
People say shit about shit.
The shrink said,
You are clinically demented.
I said, I shouldn’t be.
Because a free bird felt,
I was good enough to be shat upon.
As my Michelin paunch strolled down the road,
My four eyes spotted a skinny mom,
Not a hair out of place,
A little black dress,
With a toddler at her heels,
Bet she’s never heard of crisps.
Then I looked at my shoes,
But oh my!
The lipids got in the way.
The ogling goblins,
In their mid-forties,
Would give an arm,
Just to see her charm.
Can’t blame them skinny women,
They work hard and reap the rewards.
While us lesser mortals with a glass of wine,
Dream of a fairy tale like a swine.
A mangled, half eaten frog,
It’s mouth and eyes open,
Ready to leap and kill.
By the bark of the tree,
In the mangy grass,
Stood the shadow,
In the pouring rain,
Shielding it’s eyes,
From the brightly shining sun.
Cymbals and tambourines,
Knocked heavily above,
As the ant-troops marched.
Dotted with water,
Bathed with light,
Specks of blood,
Shards of bone,
Splat! on the dirt.
Nine times nine,
Neighing in denial.
We will live,
In the future.
We will be wrinkled.
Cars will fly,
Ants will rule.
Grey garbs everywhere,
Mind and matter,
No battles there.
Laughter will be chaotic,
Extraterrestrials far away.
In the summertime,
Butterflies will be chased.
Pagans on hearth,
Church bells toll.
Miracles and sins,
Washed in a tunnel.
Like a pillar,
That can blink.
But cannot move.
Goes around the focus,
But never in focus.
Take me over,
Guitars and cymbals.
I have love to give.
I know not where.
My head spins,
The mother and children,
To sleep and forget.
Clouds in sky,
Clouds in mind,
Rain in blue.
Thirty four years,
And four years.
The love, for two men.
Dotted by tears and smiles.
Happy and sad,
Part of life.
If death comes by,
I am camera ready.
Something that he had forgotten,
It was uttered in disorientation.
It was etched,
Upon his very being.
After eons in his mind.
Hiding the loss,
Smiling at guilt.
That white line,
He breathed in,
Happiness, still remained,
Shorts were made to not wear pants,
Pants were made to hide the legs.
Legs were made to walk with,
Walks were made to emancipate.
Emancipation was made to free.
Free was made to not hide.
Not hiding was made to do good.
Good was made to run the world.
World was made to be a better place,
A better place was made for the innocents.
Innocents were made to be trampled upon.
Trampling was made to prevail upon.
Prevailing was made to conquer all.
Conquering was made to usurp the lands.
The land was made to be covered in snow.
The snow was made to make snowman.
The snowman was made to have fun.
Fun was made to live happily.
Happily in shorts, now that spring is nearing!
Upon reflecting back, I despise myself, for overcommitting. I wish the phone was just a black box, like it used to be. I wish there were no cobwebs of the internet that existed on the phone. I wish the computer was only for computing. I wish calling people was difficult. I wish, I wait, I wonder..
This morning, Matchbox 20’s “If you’re gone”, kept on doing the rounds in my head, like an old record. I quickly got the contraption out that plays music out loud, not just in your head. This included a phone, a Bluetooth connection, a Bluetooth speaker and of course Wi Fi. I wondered what Wi Fi was short for. Hail Google! Wireless Fidelity?! I’m sure I don’t have the right answer. I’m not much for the electronic, electrical or any frim-fram devices or things. So I left it at that. My dyspepsia piqued, when Rob Thomas’ silky enunciations were interrupted numerous times by the hyena-meets-Skrillex ringtones of the phone, that were amplified by the little amplification device. I tried silencing the many demons on the telephone, but in vain. They kept hounding me. I finally gave in and cast a spell to exorcise them, at least till the time Rob Thomas convinced me to come back.
After a few peaceful moments, the electronic postman chimed, bringing mundane tidings. I had won a gargantuan sum of money in an unknown part of the world. And it was confirmed and reconfirmed by the National Aeronautics and Space Administration, no less. For a fleeting minute, I dreamt of what I would do with the money. Build a cottage in the snowy woods, hire help to help me live off-grid, buy a snow-mobile, maybe even buy the entirety of the woods, be the protector of the huskies and the penguins. I understand, geographically and virtually, the plans make no sense, but money talks, doesn’t it? I only had to get back to the electronic mail and let them know my details and such. Even to my undoubting mind, this seemed quite peculiar. So I left it at that.
After a while, someone knocked on the door. I had moved on to Tim Buckley by now. Who else could it be, but Amazon?! They had sent me that golden jar of honey I so loved. I put away the jar and safely saved the corrugated box for an impending diorama. What happens with those in the end, I wondered. There must be so many by the end of a school year. Anyway, I remember clearing cobwebs from mine after decades and finally throwing them away muttering all the while, “Stupid, stupid, tremendously stupid!”
I looked at both the Buckleys and realized how similar the father and son looked. How strange to share a face, and music flowing through the veins, but not knowing the person at all? My mind hopelessly wandered to musicians. And painters. The entire multitude of them fought with demons, and the pain brought about beautiful work. Not to mention writers. What demons? I don’t know. They are there. I know some demons. And I fight with them, sometimes using humour, sometimes using a bottle. Speaking of fighting with demons, why is Eminem so angry, all the time? I can understand anger pouring in one album, maybe two, but in the subsequent ones, shouldn’t he resort to anger management? I don’t know much about him or his music, mostly because he always sounds so angry. I like Adele. She first sang about meeting a dude, then breaking up, then meeting again. She progressed at a normal pace. So, getting back to Tim and Jeff, such pretty faces and such lovely voices, am I right?
I realise now that I’m coffee-drunk typing and should probably stop before I’m banned from the computer-world. My neighbour’s dog peed on my radish-patch yesterday. Thought I’d write about that. But oh well. I like the dog anyway. I’m friends with him. I’m friends with a lot of dogs, both dogs and human-dawgs. And now it is time to turn off the music, because as one can tell, it takes me to strange hinterlands and there is no flight back home!
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