jpaulgorman

Wild trip around the sun ahead. Time to slam it down. Things racking my peaceful head. Going underground. It's morning. Again. We're awake. Again. Let's all ride. Again. Hold on tight. Again. Kick the garbage out of they way. Send it to the city dump. Think today is your trash day. Get rid of that chump. E DAE AEx3 DAx3 E

One house manager had his pants pulled up to his chest, the oddest thing ever.  He talked fast, he stuttered, he smacked, he seemed unclean, he seemed washed out, he seemed someone to avoid.  Could only imagine the odor, was watching through the TV, but those around him kept their distance.  No shame in B.O., but it is an infringement on others, especially with anti-sweating deodorant products getting better and better, and readily available.  We pay our congresspeople enough to expect reasonable hygiene. Diversions upon diversions, proof that hasn't been proved, ridiculous proclamations, theatrical flops.  Binders, post-it notes, cufflinks, microphones, a robe.  We the people, we know a Pinocchio, we know how rats operate, we can smell.  These are wasted days, but no one needs them anyway, this is not the people's branch anymore.  Yes my fellow Americans, these days are full of waste. This next question came from the back row, the head honch...

The constitution is nothing like apple pie and baseball!  This house manager must be on something.  First off, apple pie has light, fluffy crust, and next, baseball is more about steroids, surveillance, and TV contracts.  Still don't understand the vileness of the offenses, or the righteous reactions, or the ramifications.  It will all be made clear by spring, in the meantime the TV heads are cheering for their side, insulting the other side, and likely washing down lots of pills with lots of booze. In a victory for male attire sanity and practicality, ties are out.  An unfunctioning burden literally wrapped around the neck, tucked under a collar, and in the way.  At least bow ties stay cleaner, and look especially sharp on those with moustaches, but somehow they add a clownish tinge.  Suspenders seem a thing of the past too, and rightfully so, gone the way of overalls, the athletic clothing revolution has done its thing.  As for females, their...

One if the house managers just plagiarized Mick Jagger by claiming the President is "practiced at the art of deception."  He did not, thankfully, go on to talk about blood stained hands or Mr. Jimmy or receptions, but clearly it was an intentional ripoff of You Can't Always Get What You Want.  This is the worst movie ever, the acting is awful, the cinematography is a joke, and whoever is in charge of wardrobe should be replaced.  These aren't legislators or statespeople, these are mostly thirsty lawyers.  Snore. Pens for everyone.  For no good reason, it's not like an actual president used them, the pens had no worth.  Perhaps they were a reminder of all the praying that was being done, perhaps somber symbols of dastardly deeds done, maybe the ink was black, maybe the ink was blue, maybe they were purchased from the office supply budget.  Or the office party budget.  Either way, seems a waste, pens are so last decade. A live video feed could ...

Everywhere I saw them now, the Nebraska Furniture Market trucks, as I went back and forth on the great Sam Rayburn Tollway to and from my daily occupational responsibilities, passing their huge Texas location in the ever expanding suburbs north of Dallas.  Like a sign, like an announcement, like kind of weird.  Oh well, similar phenomenon to when you buy a new car, I thought.  Or shoes.  They were everywhere, rain or shine, even saw a picture on Twitter of a delivery in a blizzard in Des Moines.  This place makes an impression.  Over the previous week as I told folks of my anthem plans, many had declared devotion to the place, each with stories of satisfied experiences, notable memories, and overall affection. I agreed.  As a 2 time customer myself, I had been happy each time.  A natural clearance browser, I once bought the very patio lounger I'm lounging on as I tap these words on a sweetheart deal.  I was there to buy a double recliner c...

The moon balls were mooning. It was her only chance. The other player was better. But mentality changes things. Thinking thinking curiously is wise. Day by day sublimation. Keeping with the rhythms. Keeping time. Sure about the fires, they warm up good. Once the shot is decided, all in. Partial aggression will not work. This is good company. Lines and angles. Back and forth. Side to side. Move the feet, hop. Point it out. Smash the moon before it bounces. Take it from the sky. Make way for the sun. EmAm

The appliance entrance was huge.  An impressive first impression of a retail experience.  The signs out front directed those interested in 'seeing what all the excitement is about' to the far east front doors.  The signs were helpful.  The Nebraska Furniture Mart is holding a contest to identify its anthem.  It's being facilitated through their 4 urban/suburban locations:  Omaha, Kansas City, Des Moines, and Dallas.  I was there to attend the Dallas area Launch Party/Packet Pickup, carefully following the instructions from their website.  The song was written already, during lunch the day prior.  After researching the story of the company and its culture, the song came easy.  With an almost 100 year old motto that serves as a nice chorus, and a story worthy of modern capitalistic folklore, it was really a fastball right down the middle. Sell Cheap, Tell The Truth is immediately an anthem in its own category, melodic marketing velcro t...

Everybody watched the war.  TVs, iPhones, Androids, tablets, World War III, run for the hills, panic, freak out, stock up.  Rockets and laser beams, destruction and chaos, confusion with reporters on the scene.  Was a time when reporters cleared up the confusion, but no longer.  More about intrigue, frenzy, suspense, speculation, whip it good, then back to the studio panel of dumb experts, former insiders, and uptight stiffs. World War III was over quick, thankfully, I should note.  No invasion, no draft, no electro-cyber attack blackouts, no gasoline shortages, and no American casualties at last count.  The SCUDS were duds, then they quit.  Best to stick with other strategies, best to keep the lights on, best to keep their heads.  The hackers, the drones, and the 2 trillion dollar army. Some will never quit, the blame must be put on to something or somebody, or both.  Never can there be humility, faces have to be saved.  Minds are ...

Mrs. B from Belarus. Sold cheap and told the truth. Started with 500 bucks. Caught some breaks, caught some luck. Now it's worth a billion or two. Warren Buffet had a clue. Absorb the lessons from Omaha. Lessons not taught in Ivy halls. Sell cheap. Tell the truth. Sell cheap. Tell the truth. Sell cheap. Tell the truth. Sell cheap. Tell the truth. So come on in, make yourself at home. We'll help you out, we'll leave you alone. Whatever you need us to do. Keep you clear of the overpriced blues. A couch, a chair, a floor, a bed. Need an appliance, need to get fed. Count on us, we'll do our part. At the Nebraska Furniture Mart. D7C GC GCx8 *written for Nebraska Furniture Mart Anthem Contest.  #NFMTheAnthem

All night long, I thought of you. All night long, I cried too. Cleared my mind like you told me to do. Didn't sleep much last night. All day long, stared out the glass. All day long, thought of the past. Reality has shown me of the truth at last. Didn't sleep much last night. All week long, been low down and blue. All week long, had a low down mood. Accepted what alread knew to be true. Didn't sleep much last night. CGx3 DCG

In that summer of '80, when the creepy Ayatollah spooked everyone good and kept holding Americans hostage, against their wills, under threat of death, blindfolded.  Heat wave in Texas, London calling, peanut Jimmy and the Gipper calling each other names.  Death to America, death to all, they kept screaming, death to your flags, to ashes with your flags, fire to your flags, they hated our flags.  Like an Iranian high school pep rally without any women, the Revolutionry Guard team runs through the smoking mouth of a snake, ready to burn flags.  The tailgate parties have ended for most, the game has started and it is no game. Huddle up and let's all decide to call him a crazed person, irresponsible, dumb, a phone calling, qid-pro-quoing, orange-faced billionaire monster who has the gall to threaten a promise.  Kill them before they kill you seems the strategy, and the robot drones don't miss.  Rough day at the Bagdad airport.  Heaven awaits, hell is ri...

Ancient people walked through here. When they were alive.  Art of Africa, art of Rome. Leonardo da Vinci, nouveau, The Lonely City. Surrealism, the Byzantines, the Renaissance. Steampunk, Picasso, the Modernists. No fear King Lear. The Dunlop Tortex Sharp 1.14 mm. More about Sophia Loren, about Mailer. To Singapore and beyond Singapore. Old maps, new cities, eternal heavens. Downtown from the 2nd floor. Free rides and historic parking spaces. WWII eye witnesses, to hell and back. From Pompeii to Babylon, the Cities of Eden. The four corners, the pale blue dot, the seas. Code girls, between silk and cyanide. That mile high fever, that Pueblo revolt. Dallas myths and La Reunion. Generation of Swine, Volume 2. Defining moments of the gilded age. Orwell was an English rebel before 84. The real deal, the eyes have it, patient zero. Mind over meds, no second chance, atlas. The monk...

All attended, a table had been prepared.  An upstairs enclave, a darkened round, a nook with a slight cranny.  Music played overhead, the invisible sound systems of the modern world make everything seem movie-like.  Soundtracks of melody and comedy, and blues.  Wine was ordered and discussed and discussed and ordered.  It was admired, it was swirled in glasses, it was sniffed and gargled, it was drank.  Cheese came, with olives and dried fruit, with exotic grapes, with salami.  Bread with jam, then more wine discussion, certifications and travels.  A smooth crisp South African white filled my mouth with an earthy spice taste.  It was very good.  The legs hinted at the drinkability, and the aroma was enchanting.  Pitted olives are preferred, especially on a communal breadboard, but it was a minor indiscretion.  Mercy you, mercy me, it's all we'll ever need.  Then the meeting was called to order.  Keck, Joe Vita, BV, A...