Monday, December 26, 2005

Finger-lickin', finger-lickin' good, y'all...

The results of the poll below were fairly lackluster, resulting in a resounding win for "Piss Off."

Nevertheless, since I aim to please, I can get you an email update everytime I update this thing.

All you gots to do is send an email to and you will be added to the list. Then, every time I publish a new post, you will be automatically notfied.

Lemme know, yo.


My knee feels better. The fact that it is currently dumping at Big Sky helps the healing process. I will probably head up there tomorrow or Wednesday. And Sunday. And Monday.


I ordered a brain bucket. I will try to avoid scrambling my remaining 10 brain cells before it arrives.

Family trees are molded
No longer grows in summer
Holds it closer lets it go
Picks a fruit but keeps it whole
Can't keep the submarining

Can't keep the light from fading.

The snow is coming.

Awake with a start.

"Are we flying?"

A glance... only white.

An odd sensation.

To myself... I don't remember taking off.

"Are we flying?"

The gloaming reveals nothing.

I wonder if I could disappear completely into the white.

A scent of citrus triggers memories of stripping stain off a very old door.

Need to get above the miasma.

"Are we flying?"

Still can't tell.

I... don't ... know ... why ... I ... feel ... so ...

Clarity gradually cedes ground.

Dandruff flakes on the polyester headrest cover.

Stretch marks unfurl on a pregnant pause in the conversation.

Driving fast over a crest, stomach drop sensation.

Did the wheels leave the ground?

The jolting return of clarity flenses the psyche bare, leaving it naked.

You Are Suddenly Aware Of Who You Are.

You Wish You Weren't.

"Are we flying?"

Nobody knows.