On a side note, everytime I spell check because I'm a fucking flash card away from being
illiterate, my computer busts all up. The web site freezes and what I just spent days writing gets lost, so guess what, I spell like shit, take it or leave it.
Now, as for what I spoke of this evening.
Turtles in an Aquarium
I sip my Bass as two TV’s play shit.
Football on one,
shit.
Not even legit, it’s a scrimmage.
Commercials of the History channel
No history,
shit.
It’s all speculation anyway.
The better show is in front of my face.
Not you, dip shits,
the turtles.
Yes, the turtles in the aquarium.
That’s legit,
and not shit.
Then of course Dylan's Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie
Then finally, and a version of this originated on this site, thanks to Rachel:
Tick.
I was once asked what makes me tick. Here’s the answer . . .
Could it be the desire to find a connection, knowing only that it has been done before?
Perhaps.
Could it be that there has to be a reason for something somewhere and quite possibly I'll find out tomorrow?
Perhaps.
Or it could be that for all the absurdity, all the times I mess up, lose it, lose someone, give up, stop working, stop giving chances, stop taking chances, start riding fast, stop going slow, stop sleeping, quit reading Thomas at the Pink, stop writing about my day, my year, my decisions, my, my, this person, that person, that one over there with her head in her hands, me over here, face in a notepad, on the cusp of something, figuring out what someone else knows, thinking about what you know, or I know, or what Woody Guthrie knew and tried to tell, what I know and am trying to tell, or trying to listen, trying to keep my mouth shut for once, or open my mouth for once, for being honest, for saying sorry, or thanks or let's have a drink, or let's live, now, here, not tomorrow, today, the moment is gone as soon as you think it, but the clock still goes on and the apathy is enviable, especially when you stand on the rocks at the marina on a hot August evening when the storm clouds frame the sun over the water, a raindrop hits my book and the next line reads "and the rain began to fall," and makes me think, yes, this is where I am at, that is why I'm here, and I will see that again, and I can show this, regardless if you see what I do, I can show you this, and you can say what time is it, and I can say, "God knows," this is all worth it.
Bob Dylan said the answer to everything can be found at the Grand Canyon at Sundown. I'm not sure because I haven't been, but I can go and I will, and I'll see what he saw. That is beauty. That you can, I can, and yet those who can't, never will. That is all ye know on earth, and all ye need to know. Or in my own words, it's that simple.
Perhaps.
tick