There is a desolation in thought
thirsty when the cup is full
drowning in dust.
Is it the thought of slaughter and butcher; succulent the choice cuts?
or,
to dab the mouth with the napkin called experience.
A Narcissistic Point of View
“Anything you can do I can do better. Anything you can do I can do best.”
And so, differently?
I can fly higher than you. Swim deeper than you.
I can fight, fuck, hate, love, kill, sleep, steal, create, destroy…
I am perfect.
I, I, I, I,
you only exist to be my blank paper to write my story.
It is all about me.
And so, differently?
What could you do differently?
I could learn humility while you could learn to love me.
Pictures are a memory enhancer
Properly placed on a freeway used to go to work daily:
(picture of car keys with caption) “Honey pie, where did I place the car keys?”
Sotted Piss
Piss and Sotted are like peas to a potato
Sitting here thinking of either blowing up this ass fucked planet…
or
Pondering the nuances of Lladro figurines based on date and size
and then onto thoughts of parched rice recently arrived from
Wheee!
What do you think world, if I were to take a piss in your fountain of youth?
Not Eden, that’s for sure.
as for the garden, that’s where I puke.
A Challenge
WordPress has daily writing prompts of which are too basic.
A question better put would be such as the following.
- Two people. You and me. Who gets eaten first?
- If you were a demon from Hell and given a chance at redemption, how would that make you feel?
- Write a cooking recipe using lies to be the opposite of the truth
- Play poker with God. Bet it all. Or is it, all in?
WordPress Is Getting Silly
Seriously?
The greatest gift?
No brainer.
God giving me Life…
Itty Bitty Bugs
They come crawling and creeping when the people are sleeping
Slithering and sliding
and then…
A large foot on a sleepy man, stepping outside to take a pee
stepped on an alien who screamed…
Headlines read: Man vaporized by itty bitty alien bugs.
Writing
A poem written by: Black Fungus
Slipping.
A smoothness of satin fabric and soft skin.
She was, she is, seduction of such sensations… (How dare you stand foot on this ground)
He is, he was, tempter of the locks of passion.
Tongue slipping now, even deeper…
Can you feel it?
Inside there feels the tingle of loin
joined
the tender spot of bliss
sighing.
***
And this is how writers play daily. The rest is just the mundane.
So Why is it a New Year?
Why do humans cling to numbers of sequence with a fervor of some bizarre calendar relating to time.
A baby is born today, or tomorrow, or maybe it was a thousand years ago. And people celebrate. “Oh my what a fine little girl!” “What a fine little boy!”
Then just because of decay and ‘time’ the baby grows, and then fails, and then dies.
What if people started to believe time is nothing more than a tool? A way to bookmark a page. Instead of worshiping time as god. Paying homage, prayers, and even pleading to control what inside so many already know.
For me time does not exist and why? Why does time mean nothing to me? And the answer is simple… i can never die.
Gifted with memories and dreams. Knowledge and passions. Able to manipulate seconds, hours, days, and years.
Can you remember the day you were born?
Let me help you remember…
You were born today, yesterday, and tomorrow.
Nothing is a challenge
Trapped in a time loop.
Same thing every time in every situation
and you know what?
We all die over and over and over…
Thankfully there is pizza and potato chips to help make it all interesting.
Robin Lipinski 