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Brinesanity – an abide jar, filled with all the fuqs given.

By

Therapist Ingrid.

“The seeing of the therapist is an answer for some.”

The years that it took to get there, that is another thing – and the fucking chair, fuck.

The bullshit of having to hear her repeat, just one more time “but Ingrid says” – Ingrid has become a fucking bullshit voice that represents the ingrown toenails on your big toe, that you can never remove from the crown inside the meat of the toe, you know, where all it does is torment you, in any position. Fucking ingrown hair, right on the inside of the legs, in the special spot that all of the magic lessons are supposed to come from.

Ingrid believes…” sang the ball of confusion to my single daft hair. It was the left ear, and so it was kind of special, all the fuckers on the right got the front row seat, so with an equal opportunity for my disenfranchised friends on the does not feel like your own side of things, I kept my attention on the fish in the tank.

Wonder if fish would enjoy weed? Soggy munchies would suck tho.

This is how fucked society is, we are allowing others to tell us what to do, and how to run it.

“Listen closely, and do not think for yourself. There is a process to the paperwork.”

That would cause you be aloof, and obscure, you would be running amuck, and not in the right place according to the charts. These are the papers, that tell you that you shall be real, and well again. Do not worry about the other thoughts in your head, those are your own, and not for us to deal with now.

“We must take care of the social side of your performance,” she said with great curiosity.

Fuck, are my movements to apparent for this interview? Is she going to know that I did that, and where on the scale of the Klondike Bar would this fit? Is it ok to do that much, or should I have done less? What if it was a real hot day, and not only hungry, but thirsty?

Why in the name of all that is holy would anyone ever pick the vowel u? Who the fuck has to pick the vowel u, other than some – yeah, there is something hot about those legs, and with age it may come off as sounding sexist, but fuck. Wheel of Fortune has been on long enough, and we are in an open society. Physically attractive legs, are beautiful things, and we should be able to admire them. That is why they are groomed and made to look so delicious so we can enjoy them.

There – I thought it, that is a step.

Now telling Ingrid about what I imagine Pat’s legs to look like under those cuffed wool chaps he is wearing is going to be a bit of a challenge today, so maybe I can wait until after Maui Week.

“You must adhere to the rules, or you will not get any more assignments.”

Listening to the word is offensive, so don’t call them assignments anymore. Just hear objectives, sales objectives. The number had to be grabbed by one of the cogs. It was to be fed to another one, and into the machine went the dreams of the living, no regard for anything but keeping some kind of motion in tact for the performance reviews. They mattered, and not the lives of those vested in the funds.

The tulip farm was an ecological wonder, it was not without some pride the clogs just snapped into place. It was as if rhythm was a dancer, and he could feel it everywhere.

The sound of music the clogs made, three very distinct tones, Ingrid would never forget.

Wood across carpet, as it blended with the chords of metal along a zippered trail made for the Docker in you.

The small swift glance along the leather Herman Miller’s that were locked in place, long enough for three complete open and shut lids, in hindsight she wished she never allowed to get past the first blink.

The river dance of wood on wood was the golden pond of peace for him, for just that moment, for as the heels rocked him in his comfortable squat, he lay perfectly positioned over the papers on table and stared directly into her eyes, as he shit out dinner from Appleby’s the night before.

“Moon landing, shit cakes say what Ingrid?”

 *abide*

By

Slaves.

“how to keep from going through your comfortable, prosperous, respectable adult life dead, unconscious, a slave to your head and to your natural default setting of being uniquely, completely, imperially alone day in and day out.”

David Foster Wallace

Slaves.

Salvo and sauce
diminutive munitions in charge
colon pesto
lobe olives for the peace.

Bricks of hope surmise
scanning horizons
for paper mines
claws break earth to find triggers.

Hairs.
Softly blowing years away.

Odious skin peels
tears hard to come by
we all age and crack
in some way. So do ensure
that you dry the heels
on the ledge with sun
dried tomato a cousin
but never so wise
as the heel skin
that has walked
days
months
years
a lifetime to be
here.

Bring the peppercorn grinder.
Quick.

The noodle is soft, cooling
micturition approaches
if we are not obliged.

Awareness can not be undone.
Hope can not last forever.
It too will fade.
Replaced by knowledge.
They are different.
Real.

One dies at the expanse.
So grand, and aware.
Calm even.
Reflecting still.

Wills.
Wills, and fields of them.
Flowing in the wind, it too, willed.

There is not any thrill left.

Surely, lacking surety
so close.
No need to press.

Just on.
Ink on to paper
thoughts on to neural
identified fabricated objects
to skin and bone
dredging.

Finding, hope.
Not dead.

(90s)

*abide*

By

The ultimate compliment

It will be the one that comes in the simplest form, and in fact is made that with the affirmation that you have enriched someones life.

You have left them better than you found them, and the heart of the matter this is that this simple present is not mine to have discovered, but rather the one I uncovered in my life and it was but a grain on the beach you all were part of.

It may sound like one fucked equation, but the integers, they were there with me, and the four years almost I have been around her, I have seen many that are part of the half the number of the Beast that is.

It was a small gift that did this today, and this is my gift to the ones that abiden even in the chastisicity that can be a board, you have been part of this.

So I thank you, and welcome you with open arms, only tenticles until you have been part of the ink.

My one real hope, is you all really give no shit about the haters, or the one’s in the gulch.

Do you not see all of them?

Them in the other gulch?

Wave, and stand tall, if you have made your life any better…do not be the cunt that eats two gyros for lunch and order water to flush out the garlic you just consumed in whatever the fuck you ate…your ass is that fat, and blaming the bag of honey roasted, sugar dripped peanuts you just ate is as futile as wondering how the fuck the corn in your life got chock full of corn…it just is, and you made it so.

The best part is that I appreciate the good, the bad, and the ugly cause the flickers on the screen are different unless all three parts appear.

So to you who have appeared, in all of you glory.

Welcome to the “whole”.

Not so bad if you are a fox in it, and you can find joy in being in it.

This is a taint grenade.
Pull the pin, grin.
Sin.

It is only such if you are a contrarian.

Me, I am the Greek boy who had dinner with his mom, to tell her how much she means to me on this, a glorious day in my year.

My saints day was the 21st, but then again, I have nothing to hide about failing to meet the qualifications of say’nt so.

It was Heleni that bore him, raised him and shaped him to what he is today.

It was really her that allowed me to become a man in this world, and for that, I am beyond pleased.

Thanks Joe, it was a great part of the day, a great part of the year. A great part of life. Yalc, blessings…ltb?

Just about how you look at it.

May our lives be richer for it all, but only if we are open to it.

I am.
That is why I have the smoking gun in my hand.

Look for the number of the beast halved, just add the fourth dimension because it be no digit, it be your dimension.

So walk it.

Smile with, fuck off with, kill…but enjoy it, cause that is what being human is all about…of course I would not know.

Afterall, I am just a piece of stinky cheese.

*abide*

By

Stupidity, knot cot…

“In a closed society where everybody’s guilty, the only crime is getting caught. In a world of thieves, the only final sin is stupidity.”

Hunter S. Thompson

 

By

The sight you seek

What would you choose to be the last thing in your life, you would like to see before you go blind?

How would that feel for all of your senses…last taste, last sound, last smell, last feel?

Think about it…or not…me, I choose the last letter.

*abide*

By

Orange skies.

A great place to stand, under the colour of life.

*abide*

By

What the first three days look like…

Calvin J. Hobbes

I can tell you, it is one wild trip…I mean, talk abou walking into a near unreal experience…it was bizzare, and the concept of sitting in a pit was all about having to make the leap to a new place, with a new territory under your feet.

In there was the real deal, in there was the gig. Deep in there…deep…how can you really have to go nuts on the balls out flip, and still see what the deal was all about…somehow…do you dig it?

It was a field of cubicles, or a cemetery.

There was hate from the first second, and it drove me to snap, and now just use the Roman 12 pt embossed cardboard for filters.

Oh, those were some wild days. Always a story. Feel like tapping the glass?

Careful, the watermark is not that easy to remove.
It’s made of water and bone.

*abide*

By

Attack, defence, beautiful.

“For every moment of triumph, for every instance of beauty, many souls must be trampled.”

Hunter S. Thompson

By

The Kleenex Directive

“You are the master of your own ship, pal. There are lots of people who fall into troubled waters and don’t have the guts or the knowledge or the ability to make it to shore. They have nobody to blame but themselves.”

Evel Knievel

By

Dirty, filthy…

…soul…be careful who you tell

*abide*