jpaulgorman

time to shine. guns up everywhere. final four cred. the techies of Texas. undercover horn. amped on amber vision. lets make our free throws. conga drums and wild jumping. name the fruit contest. the United supermarkets Arena. that oughta be a technical. 44 works. don't let 4 shoot. time out on the floor. Rodman showed up for the gorilla toss. shoot. sweet caroline. andre emmet day. the weinerschnitzel dog race. winner ran off the track. airball from half court for the grand prize. 5 grand from caprock. for heart deezeez. not time for that. to go cold. the pom pom girls were right on. karaoke cam. get loud geico. lockdown defense is all it took. sent them techies home crying. this ain't your scene. lines ain't my scene. blue jean blues and dusty pebble roads. windshield breakers and tumbleweeds.

In darkness the blinking light is constant, a beacon to guide the landers, the birds of the night, the propelled, the lifted up, the crow flyers.  Everyone knows of straight lines, it is practical, reasonable, possible, and preferred to float above.  The ground is busy, crowded, and confining.  Air is the high road, spacious, and liberating.  Piloting is obsessing, an alternate lifestyle complete with siblings, secret codes, and Crown Victorias. Commerce was a jump, Magnolia was a leap, the Arkansas morning air was fresh and cool.  Full of tree farm oxygen, smelling of pine.  The soggy bottoms, the muddy fairways, the weedy greens.  Sloppy, sloppy golf, but glory shots by all.  Wal-Mart bags of ice beer, an overpriced pool, and one working cart at Magnolia Country Club.  Evidently, El Dorado Country Club, up the road, has decimated the membership, and for good reason.  No one wants to be a part of an electrocution. A spirited start ...

With a flip of the glorious bird. Tweet tweeting and chirping. The twin finger on the other hand. Ready for the double flight. To all the judgers and branders. The smug, the superiorists, the ridiculers. Shamers, the behind-the-back slanderers. The fucking thieves, the idiot racists. For no other reason than liberty. Certainly not in anger or malice. More like punctuation for the apathetic. These two wings from the same bird. DD7G CG DD7G DCG

This Berniac claimed if Bernie was a commie, then I was a commie.  Just trying to break it down, the overtaking of capitalistic institutions, the classless society, where basic needs are met, where the rich become poor, the poor stay poor, the government decides, and public protests are disbanded with tear gas, tanks, and Wi-Fi blackouts.  It is true every Russian I've met I've liked, they seem proud, funny, although, a bit guarded.  Like they know something I don't, but it's too depressing to bring up, we were alive and aware in the 90s, when the commie crack up happened.  When the boogie red nation, the CCCP, the USSR, greedily crumbled. But superdelegates don't care.  Who are these people?  The shadiness, the shadows, the vape filled back rooms, the creeps of these national committees, whipping up the money, greasing whatever, saying whatever, doing whatever.  Run by the parties, whoever they are, whatever they do.  Elected by nobody, that's...

Saw one with European towers. Checked out the Mexican Flowers. Walked the place for 2 or 3 hours. On display at the DMA. Postcard about a retro session. 9 separate screens of voice inflection. Can't miss the wood carving lesson. On display at the DMA. Wall art from 500 BC. Rooster in red, looking mean. Crown worn by a Mayan queen. On display at the DMA. Fisherman with one glass eye. Safety matches in perfect light. Cotton balls and Texas skies. On display at the DMA. Yes, the Dallas Museum Of Art. Across from Clyde Warren Park. Best art around these parts. On display at the DMA. GGCG DDCG GGCG DCGG

The waiting is the hardest part, it's my petty pet peeve.  Sell Cheap, Tell The Truth was submitted weeks ago.  The rules and timelines of The Anthem Contest were clear, I knew February would be a challenge.  The anxiety will nudge a bit during the early March initial judging process, prior to public voting.  Referring back to page 7 of the fully capitalized NEBRASKA FURNITURE MART SONGWRITING COMPETITION OFFICIAL RULES, a tremendously formal document, all submissions will be screened by one or more NFM designated judges.  Then, at NFM's sole discretion, up to 10 submissions will be chosen for public voting and will appear on the competition website.  The rules also indicated only submissions that are chosen for public voting will receive prior notification by email or phone.  Don't call us, we'll call you.  Ruthless, but the most pragmatic method for sure.  Take it on faith, take it to the heart, the waiting is the hardest part. To even c...

Three doors in my mind, all ready for the show. Don't pay me no nevermind, play it out, then I'll go. First door, it's the past, memories and dreams came true. Figured it would always last, time takes away our youth. Next door is the future, oh, the possibilities. Travels, love, and humor, peace and tranquility. Last door is right now, what I feel and what I see. Feel like a getting loud, need to find a jamboree. Then the doors all shut, heard the clicks of the locks. All the noises, they went hush, back into the silence box. AmEmDG

"Listen, if you can't keep your seat, of you can't quit name calling, if you can't quit throwing fits, I will march all of you right back to the 1st grade!"  The teacher eyed each one of them, a serious glare.  The cliques were already formed, they snickered and whispered despite the lecture, they simply did not care.  They started making bodily noises and laughing, they threw things at each other, they made faces, they slouched, they interrupted, they pointed.  Calmly, the teacher sat back down at her desk, guess it just comes with the territory, the way it goes in the 2nd grade. All the calculators broke in Iowa.  The phones were whacked, the tabulators didn't know what to do, the guy who developed the caucus counting application wasn't around, something about being arrested at a cartoon convention in Seoul, South Korea.  According to the police report, he was in a jail cell after attacking two convention attendees dressed up as Tom and Jerry.  Wi...

My own confidant. My own restaurant. My own debutante. Got me what I want. Ordered French croissants. Ordered whiskey shots. Ordered a robot. Got me what I want. Need it a la carte. Need it super sharp. Need it torn apart. Got me what I want. Have a topless car. Have Martin guitars. Have a chocolate bar. Got me what I want. To all humankind. To all unaligned. To all undefined. Got me what I want. Found some peace of mind. Found some good good times. Found some words that ryhme. Got me what I want. EAx3 DAE

GC DC GD CG DG CG Isolate each point. Focus in. Gonna rock this joint. Bout to win. Fighting off the yawns. Coffee up. Three hours til dawn. Filled my cup. Get the Melbourne news. Inslamnia. Down under Blues. Inslamnia. Sleep deprivation. Inslamnia. Infecting the nation. Inslamnia. Concentrate again. Check the draws. What's up with the men. King Nadal. Money's on Novak. He can't lose. Like inslamniacs. Hit the snooze. Check in on the gals. See what's up. Osaka went down. CoCo's tough. Serena won't quit. She can't lose. Got a nice outfit. Hightop shoes. **co-written by AJ Chabria

Our group was ready to hit the courts.  We had just enjoyed the featured exhibition match and formal ceremonies, which took place between separate 2-hour drilling sessions.  Each session featured 4 rotating local tennis pros working a group of 10 players.  The annual TeamConnor Smashing Childhood Cancer Event at the Lifetime Fitness Indoor courts in Plano, TX was not to be missed. Since my initial involvement the year prior, I knew what to expect.  Goes like this:  The tennis pro gathers the group at the net.  After quick introductions, a drill is explained.  We nod like we understand right away, but it usually takes a few minutes of confusion and further explanation before we get in the rhythm.  Then it's constant movement, swings, overheads, volleys, and encouragement.  After 25 minutes, the tennis pros rotate and we repeat.  It's a tremendous workout, the fellow players are generally friendly, although I wasn't so friendly when I s...

She was a killer caterpillar. Scooting down the lane. Avoiding the annoying. Groovy groovy games. Could get crushed or smushed. Wouldn't take much at all. A slip, a rip, or even a the yips. Could get killed by a tennis ball. Kept on going never knowing. What might happen next. Eventually, she broke free. Then I became perplexed. Then about then, she turned and went. In the sweetest little voice. My, oh my, I'll be your butterfly. Won't have to scoot no more. Then that killer caterpillar. With her blushing eyes. Got took by a bird, a swooping bird. Off into the sky. GC FGC