Yet again

Traffic is rising

What am I supposed to do?
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Today women are oddly more about the one things.


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There is a fine line between observing/judging and being overy critical/complaining


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Breath in love

Hate is an awful song

In f major.
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You got to know when...

It is love

The open wound

There in the dark

A light flashed

Lighting in your eyes

We can see

The winds colide

Lights arrive

It is love

Queen of the sea

She held herself

Queen of the sea

As the window flew

As the the glass shattered

The bridge came into view

Queen of the sea

Dreams flash.
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It is the madness of life

Tripping us again and again

Become empty at times

Disconnecting with stage freight

The stage gets teeth

Then we worry

Yet the place of heaven is simple

Being blessed to be people

We are free

The thespian thing tumbles

While the cats learn.Tee
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Underground horse.

The cave glowed

A pale blue light

And it guided me down

Deep underground

Where she was

Or perhaps she wasn't

But the painting by Chagall

Was saying something

In a whisper hard to hear

She said hi.
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I say a child with a peace and love shirt.

SHE SEEMED TO BE SADLY LOOKING AT THE ADULTS NEARBY AS IF TO SAY COULD YOU PLEASE STOP THE HATE.

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I try not to give unsolicited advise or crazy sounding opinions.


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I must confess

Seems like the the muse of the past is maybe gone

It used to be a she

Not sure it's a she now

I'm sure it's a dude now

What kind of dude

Hmmmm

I just know he's got big eyes

Yet he prefers sleeping.

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What ever life is:

It is not lame.
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Setting: Inside a dark, echoing bathroom plumbing line, right before a major flushing event.Urine: (Splashing aggressively against the ceramic walls) Look at you, slacking off as usual! I’m in and out of here six times a day, keeping this body filtered and clean. You show up once—maybe twice if the human had a fiber bar—and expect a standing ovation. You're slow, you're heavy, and you take forever to get ready!Poop: (Thudding heavily into the water, sending up a massive splash) Slow? It’s called craftsmanship, you watery amateur! You’re just 95% water and a little bit of leftover urea. You require zero effort. I am the grand finale of a 24-hour digestive masterpiece! I represent the steak, the potatoes, the complex carbohydrates! I have structure. I have presence.Urine: Presence? You mean odor! You completely ruin the atmosphere the second you walk into the room. People have to light matches and turn on exhaust fans just to survive your presence. When I arrive, it’s a quick, polite zip and a wash of the hands. I am civilized.Poop: Oh, don't act so pure. You turn bright neon yellow if the human takes a single multivitamin! And let's talk about urgency—you make the human panic and run like a maniac just because a movie ran over two hours. I have discipline. I give a polite, rumbling warning hours in advance.Urine: (Steaming slightly) I am the frontline defense of the kidneys! Without me, the system shuts down from toxic buildup in days. You're just the stuff the body couldn't even use. You're literally the leftovers!Poop: Leftovers? I am the ultimate metric of gut health! Doctors study my shape, my color, and my consistency on a chart like it's fine art. No one is out here making a "Bristol Stool Chart" for your boring splash patterns.The Toilet Handle: (CLANK)Urine: (Swirling rapidly in circles) Uh oh. Here comes the swirl!Poop: (Sinking into the vortex) See you in the septic tank, water-boy!