|
|
|
4 out of 7 scientists prefer Chewbacca's crossbow
meanwhile, behind the facade of this innocent looking doghouse...
copyright 2002-2009 ultrablognetic |
Monday, November 09, 2009
 The paragraph below was opined on Friday. Today? still a bit under the weather, but better. Friday I was hacking like Buddy Hackett; today just like Gene Hackman (while he's asleep, dreaming of United Airlines checks.) Gratz for caring.feelin like shit, thanks. Both metaphorically and physically. Metaphorically’s the wrong word, though. Spiritually, intellectually, shit, shit, gratzi, you’re welcome. House deal appears dead. A last minute fiasco with the operative teaching of shit ain’t over til it’s over, words to live by and cry by. Appearances can be deceiving and I ain’t giving up hope, but let’s just say I’m not skipping to anybody’s lou, least of all mine own. Opening up the damn thing again Sunday for all the tire kickers. Back to square one, er, two, one of those. Got a cold with a cough that digs spikes in my throat, like a mountain climber just jamming those boots into the Cliffside. To cough or not to cough. To clear with pain or to subside with constriction. The age old questions all seem to have universal applications. Maybe that’s why they’re age old. Anything that doesn’t translate dies with the dodo birds. A nice challenge would be to generate something so hyper specific to a period and/or place that it seems diametrically opposed to transitive potential, but styled in a way that allows for appreciation despite the complete lack of relatability. I miss my wife. I miss my daughters. Turkey day is close but not close enough. The house formerly known as home is quiet, too quiet. You know you’re lonely when the lack of sound prompts you to wish the neighbors would scream at each other for a spell, just to let you know you’re alive, that it’s not all just some drastically boring decrepit dream. Tuesday, November 03, 2009
 At the top of a secret mountain, Kevin’s thought daggers were bashing steadily, though slowly, through the madman's marble granite composite, knowing Cassandra could be dead, or worse, at the heart of this stonework cocoon. Only the Shifter himself aside the parties would ever know, the old man lamented. His to be betrothed's father had shed any blandishments of civility upon immediately calling into question his part in the ensemble piece that had emerged. So what can we say about kevin’s thought daggers that haven’t already been said themselves, folks, I mean, we know a crazy dramedy has landed in the corn field when van de kamps is selling for 5 bones a share and no one's sacrificing pigs in the street. If you want to meet the right people you got to be the right people & then get in line for the 2 for 1 special at doodad’s, on Crenshaw, you remember ms. Crenshaw. Abandoned ink café. Saturday, October 31, 2009
one of my best friends asked me today "so have you been writing at all?" and I didn't know what to say. well I knew that the answer was "no" and then I said "no", and then a bunch of excuses & then clarifications that of course said excuses were indeed bullshit and then I thought why do I even make excuses fuck it and well then we talked about other shit. so i'm writing out of spite. yes, spite. plus some sort of righteous indignation. aaaaannnnddd ok i'm over it.
Friday, October 30, 2009
 Super fast one while boss man scoots home and then hears words and then grabs phone and then phone rings and then I speak and then he listens and then bits of data travel across the negasphere to the other side of the island with long term ramifications in guam. Don’t forget to tell Edna that the babysitter is not dead, she was faking, and then the cavalry came in, as they're wont to do, and, circumspectfully, reincarnated the ghost of Walter Cronkite. I was gonna say, eh, you don’t need to know. Secrets of the trade. Not everything has to be in black or blue ink, some of it is invisible, a la man or woman or the most world famous invisible alley. It’s where everyone’s invisible, but the invisibles cannot see the other invisibles even though they imagine that they can. They’re totally wrong, but when they don’t bump into anything they think they’re right. The problem, at least for them, being, that invisibles, while solid to us non-invisibles, are intangible to other invisibles. Their particles slip through each other en route to wherever it is they happen to be going. What they are seeing is where each other either were, will be, or might have been, in another dimension or reality perhaps, per se, not to mention the possibilities of black hole emergence. Step into one of those and it’s lights out Sally, but it rarely happens, hasn’t really been seen in the land of the invisibles (but then, what has been, seen? Ha ha, don’t hurt me). In any event, don’t forget to wash your hands. Safety first. Loose lips sink ships, and the latrine on deck is a fastidious example of when keeping it real might have actually not gone wrong, but not necessarily right either. Just in some inexorable vortex involving washing machines and cow manure, but not in the way it sounds. I’d say film at eleven at this point, but with the time change, or lack thereof, this weekend, the noggin clock does get a little wonked, so we’ll leave it at adieu, see ya later, pick up a pencil or stab a key. Shalom.
Thursday, October 01, 2009
 I’m good for writing about wac scores and predicting victories. The wee small hours can be a bitch, I’ll tell ya. They’ll getcha. Grab ya by the cojones and jingle jangle all their merry way to Saskatchewan. Yeah, Saskatchewan. Spelled it right the first time and thought I was wrong. Had to clean up with the wrecking crew last night. Code name for not being hizzle fizzled in the crizzle. Promise no mas. Promeso in el nombre de diego Montoya. I’m on a diet. It sucks, but I love it. I can feel it eating my stomach, like an animal. I’m feeding the animal only what it doesn’t want so it will eat the rest of me. The animal is the enemy and my friend is the friendly koala bear that lives in my throat. Thursday, June 11, 2009
 Sigh odes on Romanian urns just don’t do it for this desperado eagle loather on this fine tursday afternoon; I could regale you with merlin olsen gallantry, but what purpose would that serve but starting another jurk storr type era of which no one wants nor needs nor even is vaguely aware that it was ever a possibility. Theoretically if I’m the only one that give’s a rat’s jenny say then it’s still something holding validity in realms near/far, but bridges weren’t just made to go through Madison county, they were fictitiously created for sale with swampland real estate, but only in your/my mind. Choose your/my own adventure. If the end comes up, go back to where you held your finger in the dyke little like peter porker, that semi-amazing ham that eats no eggs. I have a slight headache, and ibuprofen is in my field of vision. I’m blasting the Dixie cups. Don’t axe why, just truss that elmer wanted it glued that way. I had an amazing picnic with my wife & daughters for lunch today. they are professional park apparatus players, mein tykes, they swing like monkeys and I swing like a gorilla, someday we’ll all swing together like chimps and try & remember the old days. The new days will be good as well, but moments happen and you wanna grab it, put it in your pocket, get a zip lock bag & never lose it. Memorex can only do so much and Kodak gets a nice piece of paper & digital eye, they’re reflections of what is and then later it will be what was via the eyes of what is & that’s pretty cool as well. Ironically, (verify w/ ethan hawke), no photos were taken of said event. Happy Kamehameha day. Monday, June 08, 2009
 My little big girl started, is in right now, preschool today… it’s exciting, anxious, crazy, worrisome, beautiful, insert adjective here and make a raspberry soufflé out of it… you gotta let those little birdies fly, or else they’ll never, you know, attain their schwan, and schwannness ultimatum is what you have to want, you gotta propogate it, why else we here? For your kids 10 time more than for yourself… the journey never ends though… my language lord may come rising at opportunistic avenues to get the scrilla goin to allow for a supreme pathway to caviar dream escapades…crazier things have/will happen(ed). Ah, and there I got lost at an alleyway leading to noggin valley. So yeah, first day of preschool. Wow. Mom’s at the park with our little(r) one, wiling away a couple hours until it's time to pick up sister… they learn so much from each other, with each other, and don't forget, batman, what we learn from them; they are each other’s blessing as well as ours… you definitely do get back what you give tenfold, to quote haphazardly someone, a beatle possibly, but he probably got it from some zen Buddhist manuscript while pontificating the most serene Grecian urn that had ever been thus pontified. It’s a mad rush to clear the cellar the basement and the wooferwill caverns, so much stuff so many cubbyholes for it and so much of it, hmmm, just sittin there collectin dust bunnies and waitin for a chance to shine, well shine on crazy diamond, but por favor y gratzi, do it somewhere else. I guess you’re technically still mine as you pine away for fjords in a turquoise Toyota, but not for long, lassies, nay, not for long, thou shalt find a home and those that appreciate your certain oneness with thine own being. An era in my life and that of my family is coming to a close; I got no complaints past or present… I’ve lived a charmed life filled with amazing guest stars and shall continue doing said enterprise be it in different environs and with more (!) personnel to spice up the tail of woebegone misadventures and optimistic ponderosa rides… it’s a leap of faith, aye, as a wise man told me this weekend, but one with a soft gentle landing pad and a friendly smiling welcoming committee…. Bottoms up, parachutes on, set phasers on stun, giddyup. Tuesday, April 07, 2009
 I just recently learned from larry david that I need to buy a small little notebook that I can keep in my pocket at all times & a small little pen to go with it so that any time I have an idea, any time at all, I can write it down & then later ponder on my brilliance & build mountains of media. It can’t be the spiral kind because that will nub up against my hip and I can’t be having that, it’s gotta be small and thin and take up like no space & I will always have it with me, it would be perfect if the pen could somehow attach but that’s negotiable; I would have to obviously have it next to my bed as I sleep because bombshells of wisdom just suddenly come to me & I’m always too lazy to get up & write them down, but now I will be able to and thus I will win. What, I know not, but it will be something better than a toaster. Friday, March 20, 2009
 If a snail was rolling by in a yugo in which the battery had died and he was waiting for the world to shift in paradigms enough to surreptitiously somehow roll it down an imaginary hill it would still be flying by and kicking ass in a clark barry fashion versus the current velocity of this day, that is inching (centimering) along in a style unknown since the byzantantians byzantined with chains around their ankles and blissful opium den induced nightmares in their hearts. At least it’s Friday, which means, uh, urkle’s on in some alternate universe in which jerry ford is still president and he ordered, despite ratings in the tanker, and despite jaleel going fictitiously bald, that the show should continue ad infinitum even if they had to digitally incorporate that guy’s belly after he went on slimfast 8000, developed by Hester Prynne Inc. that was revamped and given precedent over Dupont in the landmark Knute Rockne vs. Curt Connors case in which lizard monsters playing football were forever vilified by the socialist revolution of 1997, an odd side note involving corporate restructuring, origins unkown, but don't worry capitalists, 2 days later Ronnie ray-gun came in with about 83 thousand uzis and frank castle slash rush limbaugh diatribes. This insane universe's (but is it really that different from our own, quoth somberly) Reagan & Ford like to smoke mad cigars and watch the horses from the pressbox (the reporters sit in the infield and exchange horror stories) and then once the cigs are out they retire to an ultra elite luxury suite and draw tripped out impressionistic paintings of what they think everyone on the premises (jockeys, fans, horses, employees, mobsters, winos) look like. some days a ubiquitous tapestry is created that if left for future generations might bear fruit to the meaning of all creation, but more days than not, worried about being mistakenly misrepresented politically by their massively arcane modernistic capacities, they take a quick polaroid, light the parchment quilt on fire, and discretely file the snapshot in an album locked in a secret vault in a secret cave on a secret mountain. Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Today is a day for celebration for my strong girl. Her line was removed and in a day or two she’ll be able to take a regular bath and go swimming again and all that stuff that we’ve had to be so cautious about for months on end. It really is the last physical manifestation of her conquering of leukemia and I can’t overemphasize how awesome it is. I’m so proud of her, of my wife, of our younger daughter, of my mom, our niece, and myself for getting through this and coming out the other side with a healthy daughter ready to proceed with living a long full life. Wow. Would it be overkill to summon the thunder and get all Asgardian up in this piece? Nah. 
|
![[Powered by Blogger]](http://buttons.blogger.com/bloggerbutton1.gif){kind=small}
