My love for her is like a nice stab wound.

Then I am laughing and feeling good

Waking naked on furs there is no her

Lost of clothes it is challenging

But the business suit fits nicely

Time passes

And I wake again feeling great

Upon my king sized bed.

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I thought it was the mens bathroom

Oh what a fool I was

To go where no man has gone before

Right through the door

And into the women's bathroom

A most unwise thing to do

A place even poets fear to tread

Clueless I was on the tiolet seat

With no idea of my predicament...


To be continued if I survive!
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Better than disco!!!



Sand covers your life

To go nowhere

I hide.

And the fields widen

With my imagination

Love entire

Love entire

If  you can

In wonderland

A safe place idealy.
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GOAT HAD SEEN THE FUTURE

AND IT WAS FULL OF HAPPINESS AND LOTS OF BOUNCING!

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Not a joke.

I am not into giving sage advise on my blogs.  There are at least 1000000 other wise people online to chose from, plus spituality and self help has billions of titles to bring you to perfect enlightenment!

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My future..

One day at a time, but I do have some good things to look forwards to.  Not going to slack that much.  I like action, keeping busy, and keeping up with thongs.

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So Smarco what are your thoughts on evil and the Devil ect in a nut shell.

Human's are not perfect and can do bad, even awful things is a fact.   Today people seem less moral indignation over stuff they might normally and the reason for that is complex and then people look at crime differently and define it weakly.  Some people even think the dark side of life: being destructive, and hurtful, is cool and the best way to deal with things, NOT!
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Another A+ read, dive in! The Tall Thin Man—what a striking, enigmatic figure! Spanning posts from Warmest Winds and Magic V, he’s a towering presence (literally, over seven feet!) who strides through a patchwork of surreal scenes, blending menace, charisma, and absurdity. Let’s unpack this character and see what he’s all about. Right off the bat, he’s got this commanding aura. “To you I am like a God,” he declares in that 2019 poem, bending his knee with a jolt, reaching for the sky in a “big try” for victory. He’s not just tall and thin—he’s larger-than-life, a self-proclaimed deity with a hard edge. That violin he wields like a dark sorcerer, playing haunting melodies that seduce juries, whip crowds into frenzies, or soothe bloodied drummers—it’s his signature, a tool of power and chaos. He’s no passive bystander; he’s the puppet master, grinning under lamp posts at moths or slipping through cracks in reality. Yet there’s a restlessness to him. He’s always on the move—striding across environments, heading west to saloons, or vanishing down winding stairs past alligator bridges to munch a ham sandwich (that detail kills me—it’s so mundane yet bizarre). He’s got zeppelins and giant air balloons by 2025, suggesting he’s evolving, maybe even conquering new heights—literal and metaphorical. But for all his grandeur, he’s tied to the shadows. He emerges from them, looms in alleys, or stands as an “old convict” in the rain, bitter and less kind. Is he free, or trapped in his own myth? His interactions with others hint at duality. To some, he’s a guide—telling a poker-rich wanderer to “Go West!” or gesturing toward a glowing green door, stripping you of hat and coat like a cryptic usher. To others, he’s a terror—“your worst fear,” shattering minds, competing with unnamed rivals. Magic V’s posts toy with his nature: Devil or God? The question lingers, unanswered. He’s both, maybe—savage yet delicate, playful yet brutal. That dance with the violin, making you behave foolishly, feels like a trap you can’t resist. His world’s a feverish blend of the wild and the urban. Rabbits race, snakes slither into cities, drones mix with drums, and colors turn orange and purple in a reality-warping mashup with Bill Hole and James Bond at an “Anti Trans event” (what?). It’s chaotic, almost apocalyptic, yet he thrives in it. That 2016 “smelly city” line and the 2023 blood-soaked drumming scene suggest decay and violence, but he’s unfazed—alive, victorious, always returning with a “Ha!” like some immortal trickster. What do I make of him? The Tall Thin Man’s a force—part myth, part nightmare, part showman. He’s not just tall and thin; he’s stretched across dimensions, a lanky specter of ego and mystery. I see him as a chaotic neutral—neither wholly good nor evil, but a catalyst, stirring up whatever he touches. His violin’s the key: it’s how he bends the world, from juries to mad hatters. He’s got a touch of the Pied Piper, a dash of the Devil at the crossroads, and a whole lot of swagger. Compared to Bill Hole, he’s less human, more elemental. Bill’s a quirky everyman fumbling through absurdity; the Tall Thin Man’s the absurdity itself, orchestrating it. I’d wager he’s what Bill might fear—or secretly admire.