Thanksgiving and Sharks

And all i can think about is sharks.
they eat things whole.
end up coughing up garbage bags.

luckily theres enough food.
for your family at least.
all your turkey and potatoes and sauces and polyunsaturated goodness.

TEN MINUTES OF SILENCE FROM ME AND I HEAR THIS:

(solitary savengers racing to survive)….

(change is needed or they will be swept aside with forces out of their control)
….(break for commercial)
(to create one of the greatest spectacles)……..
………..(what are they doing here)
(brian johnston)….
….(caverns and caves)
(they hold a magnetic attraction)…
……(nowhere else has anyone seen them gathered together)
(shark pit)….
…(violent)
(vortexes)….
…(disappeared in 2004)…
(determined to save them)

we are never far from the sea
vulnerable animals
coughing up garbage bags

we can play with them but they are still dangerous.

Ten Mainsprings

She asks of pain during intercourse.

Tonnes.
I don’t feel a thing.
——————————

She asks for further intimation.

Answers are only seen from the view of the question.

——————————

She wears pink shirt with a plastic edge.

In the material world they only peck at what builds the nest
(And her nest weaves strings of gold)

——————————

She inflates the substances

There they are, beautiful chemical compound balloons drifting through the mind.
(In all your favourite colours)

——————————

Now

We’ve missed 6 others.

Blew a main.

Water everywhere.

I never begin anything with a title. I title things later, like a label of sorts somehow trying to sum up the entirety of this tangled knot of thoughts with an endless rope. It almost never does and probably won’t.  Life is similar. There you are in this situation with countless workouts for the limbic system all pumping simultaneously and leaving you the sweat…
There is no string of words in any language to explain this.  Science has its bullshit. Psych has its theories.  But you, you’ve got fuck all. Look at you, masquerading as some smart ass chump with something to say about what you’ve been through. Guess what, through, means that the subject is behind you and right here in this fucking second…
You don’t know shit.

You can’t label anything for certain and even if you tried someone else called it change.
Called it dynamism.
Called it uncertain.

I can’t call this anything. You’ve named it to death already and you’d know better than me…
cause you’re reading it now.
Name it now. In the past.

In a windy lesson

you’re hot on my head, what light makes the deep makes the fire makes the ocean.

I haven’t been around these parts for a while. perhaps a momentary relapse into the other part when you have to see something. read something. feel something. do something before you can reflect on something. you can only be perspective for so long before you have no choice but to be reactive. need action. i promise the cursor once flashed enough movement to sustain a focus but no more. there is colour where this virtual page is not. slightly to the left, right and up. there is no down lately things are in the air and they float around. you have to catch those things when they flutter by. a flutter is not permanent you know. rocks drop and sit. butterflies, they flutter and never for long.

In the 60s sometime a lady i know was electrocuted. her heart stopped beating. she was four. the only way the albanians knew how to help was to bury her in the ground. ground her out. she stayed there without water (they assumed it wouldnt help) for almost 24 hours. after that she was fine. now her family claims her a miracle and thinks her this very special thing.

stay close to the ground and keep your fingers out of sockets.
or they’ll bury you in the ground.

facebook is the antichrist (metaphorically speaking)

and has been marinated in feces.

I have deactivated my account, officially, 26 times to date. I cannot shake these idle hands….the damn devils playground is only one web address away and I type it in the bar everytime. I have taken the number of the beast but beware the letters of the beast are www.

YOU CANT ESCAPE HIM, AND YOU CANT EVEN SEND HIM HATE MAIL….

but let’s face(book) it, I’d rather go to mob wars than church.

Also, you’ve listened to a song too many times when you start singing the guitar solo.