Danilo's Ninth Symphony

The god of this 'brane
can't be some fairy tale Jesus-type
Things diverge, but meet up again
like Vietnamese civets on the road to Beijing
What happens if you let someone drown?
The day of reckoning is at hand
when the shiatsu woman stands
on tiptoe with all her weight
on one point in your shoulder
Will it go down?
It may be time to renew your passport
Ask the old women how
Keep singing after the world turns on the radio to drown you out

Shrinkie the Bear says

It's so cute when you act out like that.

Lines in my head after waking up the past couple of days:

She gets all her news from the crows.

Can I say "Hello" to you? Hello! Hello!

That was a good idea until you ruined it with your penis.

Do you ever see ghosts of people who are still alive?

Dreamed I woke up with a uni-brow. Maybe this has something to do with Danilo's illness since I gave him a picture book about Frida Kahlo (and her childhood convalescence) for his birthday. Or maybe I'm becoming a werewolf.

Let the identity thieves come
Take my detritus
my penchant for snacking
my stuffy nose
My size 9 feet with hairy toes
My hyper-mobile spine and arthritis
My inability to return unwanted merchandise
My fear of calling the landlady
My poor circulation
The ease with which I become overstimulated
My need to please
My problematic mix of flipflopping gullibility and deep mistrust
My insecure physicality
My cluelessness at flirting
My stupid dedication to slaving away at work
My loose lips

Maybe I'll shred my deliberation receipts
and my confrontation card applications
so they can't assume my grooving accounts
So they can leave me the mothering of noisy cats,dogs,and guinea pigs
the aunting of good-hearted children
the capability for rational thought
the sometimes guts
the powerful humping
the mobilizing anger
and the tearful, last goodbyes

What up, Groovateers?

Please accept this hickory smoked, bada-bing bouquet. I've missed the sweet fucked-upness of not being on anti-depressants. Now I know why schizophrenics go off their meds. Enjoy the hating while it lasts.

Does the brain tell the stomach to growl or the other way around? Maybe the stomach tells the mind to growl. You probably can't tell by my mannered performance, but I'm dying vicariously through you. It feels like Maoris singing, which in case you didn't know simply cannot be captured by recording. It fills up a room.

Sometimes I can't wait to be alone for the rest of my life or at least for a few hours.

Like clockwork,
Mun Mun

R,
If aliens came down to earth and had a machine that could show them what's in a human being's mind's eye based on neural firing patterns and brain waves, they would see me giving you a swift kick.


Ha ha.

A couple of months ago at my job, we had a company luncheon catered by Hooters. I presume this was the idea of the morons on the Employee Activities Committee. Today I emailed the vice president of our department and asked if the next luncheon could be catered by Schlongs, a new restaurant where the waiters have 12 inch penises. Let the games begin.

Dreamed Margaret said Mommy was psychic. Mommy could start a fire with her mind. She showed us how on the poinsettia tree. Fergie was 20 years old and trotting around. Woke up and remembered even the pointsettia tree is dead.