Ha!
Ah-ha…yeah!
Mess, good stuff
Thnx Reg, kind words but don’ check the facts though ‘cause the fact checker’s on the leading-edge of sum picket line, … reading headlines from…The Referendum Times or the Ins & Outbounds of Irreverent Rhymes packaged in time-release earmarks, peepes; yo, earmarked & allied 2 the productive efforts o some really, really, re-heally decent sorts.
...the title,
the turtle? ... …Oh, …the title. Okay.
…to me, was a notion I had about the survivors of our apocalyptic future
cool: Survivors. Always a plus.
…bashing each others brains out with what would sort of represent mankind's first and last weapon in the halls of a museum surrounded by our great works of art.
So we protected our works of art but the whole of civilization was annihilated? Good we had the foresight to protect the art. Maybe we could’ve used what we used to effectively protect the art…to protect the earth sciences and the media and the writers who are members of the human race in general and individual livelihood, sentence structure, informative energies, the nature of whole healing, the bulk of more good feelings, all those too satisfied take a look in the faces of people while they look at new prospects for another day’s hands-on participation in civil liberties & humanities for our nation, civics is a study we may best be rethinking about updating and serving as a side dish in the lunchrooms and cafeterias of the smartest smarthouses in the West, what a trip it is to breath in breath out breath in breath out breath in, there’s vital piety like a wind in the trees, not a rosary but a symmetry like respect to the people who plant far more trees than they duh! Decease; …as well as good theatre, good music, the good of art and athletics and free-thinking academics of good conscience and benevolence, every kind of singer-songwriter festival from the east coasts to the west’s, & not the love of it but the humorous and definitive use of apt profanity in our forums for sake of the widths & breadths of openhanded social decorum; we all got our normalcy as a second-hand trait, salad or meat…just as fine to me…if it’s all free range, no factories for things I eat: go build my car, my tar, shoes for my feet, our water, her paintbrush, my high-hats, our heat-ing costs, the materials we use 2 build strong sailboats, & who likes 2 sit on broken commodes, or in the poorhouse, for that matter, some people like to build their own homes...so factory the materials & employ the people, pay them one-tenth what the CEO makes, from all walks that vary so much in their means of home & well-shelter, it pains me to realize just how many kids cry over thirst and huger and basic protection from the night-time critters and taser packing cowboys outside of bars and hoppin wineries yeah, there are so many worthwhile investment opportunities that would improve the economy realistically for the whole of humanity: hospitality is still a human trait I think, and we walk the streets past entry level sidewalk dynasties & think, “do you wana stop and eat?” While they’re growing industry of labor on the cheap…beside our schools and excellent universities and coffee houses and restaurants where they serve good coffee on the house, and rhetoric that’s not on the TV as well as some of it that’s still on the TV (not dropped by the boardroom boys and their database toys…chuckin’ every drop o everybody’s livelihood out windows down into alleys full of grime & crime because people are broke and not smiling tonight). & then…the campout promises, and the car-caravan to the east coast was a blessing, …and the symphony in Pittsburgh on the way, that day was impeccably itineraried, I didn't shoot myself just to spite and you didn't cry once except for that happy cry, and the two-night stay @ Concert Park & Canoe Livery out by the ol’ wooded handcraft haberdashery & fishing stream-fed pond & holistic eatery next door to her great-grandpa’s Museum of Forestry & Coldwater Footwear & Prerogative Sanctuary for Mutual Good Hygiene, Massage & Recreational Outdoor Comfort, and the routine of liking to play tennis near the pine trees twice a week @ Inshore Melody’s, it’s such a gathering for one sing &/or two sings and another thing, one across the street, …jam with the been brass but now woodwind and brass band in the grasslands and field near the 500’ waterslides and the weeping willow canoe livery where she met me beside the coi pond and the sacred circle revelries; remember that she’s always been a groovy lady facing Friday. She looks hot in a semi-formal evening dress, & it’s a pleasure to escort her anywhere but to the store, sometimes, when she really just wants to look around, …okay, sometimes I will but I still rather let her shop while I do something else...& I most dig her in her 20 yr. old fresh-kill roadkill handcrafted light-skin moccasons and black denim pants or the burgundy cotton slippers she wears with her matching bathrobe after we come downstairs from our favorite southern facing window scenes, or that flannel we call, “her Neil Young Jersey”…in the comfort of all chill situations around a real good fire, with our favorite mix or mixes long to retirement, & the atmospheric conditions tonight are just right to bring that look of contentment to her eyes ~~ you know, the one that says we’re gona be alright, so let’s just enjoy the night. ~~ Whoops, no doubt I went off on a tangent here, I’ll get back on track:
It was a riff on James Joyce and how the last sentence of Finnegans Wake leads right into the first sentence of that novel...and so as mankind begins, he will end at the start again.
Okay, you had me at, “begins.” Please do take another minute and elaborate as such for sake of the fulcrum, therein before the grave ~~ no, stave off the grave, per the use of words & concepts that lead to something worth the toils of even trying to come up with dialogue and plot quickens, ‘cause I’m awful on both ends of that particular spectrum, …slim with those picking’s, Joe, so ya know…it’s gona be like punches in the nose. & nobody likes one of those. At least I know I don’t, …really I don’t have a clue what anybody else is thinking anymore, if I ever did; there’s just far too much going on, Micky
Of course, I'm fucking nuts so where I go so goes the madness...you coming?
That’s what she said… ; …no, just joking, yeah why not, lets go…keep it on the downlow…hehe…nah…, there’s far too much in a story like that so what the fuck anyway. Quid pro quo, it’s only just writing: You only live…what, how many times? On the lines of cartoon-informal and know the goof it is all the time in the 21st Century ~~ hey, idn’t that Tommy Chong & Liza Minnelli? …Oh, …no….Whoops, I went and waxed poetically, such a moot dam balladeer of some nonsensical tea-stained and boutonnière chucking brevity @ the low-rise tenement across the street ~~ not ever high on anxiety, …because she’s here with me and it’s our 20th anniversary come next week; well fuck me the longevity, look what it’s done to me, & what I’ve done to myself; what’s done is done so lets keep goin on as long as it’s interesting enough to reap some wind here in our sails w/ time on land to run or walk the trails; …who, few, can resist the twisted joy of angry sentiment, choreographed fight scenes of shillelaghs cracking wood & bone on 35 mm film and a score/soundtrack that is so packed with poignancy…it hurts to see it again & again, but I go to see it again (compelled to revisit like it lends good air to bad air: a fuckin page turner of a novella, treatment, screenplay for those apt to put into production on a budget that’d knock yer father down, my father too but he’s already down for the count, counted-out & sent on a heady journey o'er the Ol’ Rock Candy Mountain.
There's more to it
…I betcha…
but chew on that...
yeah jee-whiz, Reg, thanks for the chaw. Nothin like a good chaw ‘side the fishin hole.
we're off!
Off our rockers maybe. Yep. [this whole thing is just a goof, Reg, I’m only shreddin’
…hypothetically speaking, overridden, …wouldn’t put much credence in a lot of it.]
