Green expanse
Low rolling hills
Land-locked ideals
political dance
Twenty-one hundred miles
away from home.
Disaster waiting,
Thunderstorm trials.
High wind, high water.
sheet lightning,
blinding rain,
crashing thunder.
Natures opinion
is "flood this place."
None to soon,
Quicken the pace.
Limestone hills
Hollow inside
Shelter from the Mother
a place to hide.
A beautiful and miserable location.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Thursday, July 17, 2008
An endless expanse of white.
Salt.
It stretches on for hundreds of miles in every direction but West.
I sit on the far edge of the Great Salt Desert, an area so desolate that even the surrounding parched landscape seems lush by comparison.
Devoid of any life save the people driving East and West on the I-80...........
Sorry, I lost my train of thought.
Fuck it.
It stretches on for hundreds of miles in every direction but West.
I sit on the far edge of the Great Salt Desert, an area so desolate that even the surrounding parched landscape seems lush by comparison.
Devoid of any life save the people driving East and West on the I-80...........
Sorry, I lost my train of thought.
Fuck it.
Friday, May 9, 2008
Downtown on a Friday...
Friday, May the Ninth, Two-Thousand and Eight:
There is a loose band of howler monkeys on the street below my apartment. The monkeys, along with the barking of the occasional dog make this city, and every other major city that I've ever been in, sound like a zoo with no keepers. The Simians I speak of are wandering groups of twenty-somethings, horny young beasts that know no end to their appetites.
It generally starts sometime around Eight o' clock with the whooping and hollering coming from the early starters at the Babylon-style date-rape club that sits kiddie-corner from my small apartment. I tell you readers, these kids have less class than a herd of goats. They look better, but they are no different. The Thompsonesque scene at my company retreat a couple of weekends back was one-thousand times more civilized, AND we had better drugs! We just knew how to keep our behavior above the level of common,(or not so common)animals. But i digress...............................
One of these horrible creatures happens to live directly above me in my building. A young woman with bright green hair, she has the predisposition to coming home at 1:30 on a tuesday morning with thirty other companions,(how she fits that many young men in that small space I have no clue!) and the continue to make libations until 5:30 A.M. Keep in mind that I've only twelve days until my thirtieth birthday, however, these children make me feel like an old man. And I don't want to feel like an old man, I like to raise hell as much as the next debaucher. I just feel that there is a certain common courtesy lacking in most of my fellow upright primates.
Death to all the party kids!
Manners are on life support, please don't pull the plug.
Let's all stop Drunk-Dialing, as fun as it seems at the time.
God, I hate how old this makes me sound.
Goodnight fellow Bastards
There is a loose band of howler monkeys on the street below my apartment. The monkeys, along with the barking of the occasional dog make this city, and every other major city that I've ever been in, sound like a zoo with no keepers. The Simians I speak of are wandering groups of twenty-somethings, horny young beasts that know no end to their appetites.
It generally starts sometime around Eight o' clock with the whooping and hollering coming from the early starters at the Babylon-style date-rape club that sits kiddie-corner from my small apartment. I tell you readers, these kids have less class than a herd of goats. They look better, but they are no different. The Thompsonesque scene at my company retreat a couple of weekends back was one-thousand times more civilized, AND we had better drugs! We just knew how to keep our behavior above the level of common,(or not so common)animals. But i digress...............................
One of these horrible creatures happens to live directly above me in my building. A young woman with bright green hair, she has the predisposition to coming home at 1:30 on a tuesday morning with thirty other companions,(how she fits that many young men in that small space I have no clue!) and the continue to make libations until 5:30 A.M. Keep in mind that I've only twelve days until my thirtieth birthday, however, these children make me feel like an old man. And I don't want to feel like an old man, I like to raise hell as much as the next debaucher. I just feel that there is a certain common courtesy lacking in most of my fellow upright primates.
Death to all the party kids!
Manners are on life support, please don't pull the plug.
Let's all stop Drunk-Dialing, as fun as it seems at the time.
God, I hate how old this makes me sound.
Goodnight fellow Bastards
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