jpaulgorman

This small world. .....following directions. Closing in tighter. .....for the good of humanity. The mental toll. .....an incredible test of still. Months and months. .....the vast awaits our arrival. Shut off the escalators. .....our soft lives of $15 drinks. Ground all the airplanes. .....and their unrighteous fees. Patrol the neighborhoods. .....on the search for gatherings. Suit up with your masks. .....zombies in a movie scene.

The underdog is ready for the show.  Don't care about the tax collector blues, the cash finds its way there somehow.  These billionaires these days are highly leveraged, they don't miss out, they pay the tolls, their accountants are worth their weight in gold.  The loops and deductions can't hide, the cash flow is what matters.  More assumptions of idiocy, the art of the belittle.       Gullible, stupid, and confused, add them all up and go for broke.  Throw in the irritated and irked, the embarrassed and ashamed, the envious and stuck up.  It'll all amount to 2nd place, and to 2nd place goes the crying.  They will scream in people's faces more, they will throw fits more, they will delude themselves more, for delusion is part of the washing process, otherwise the brains could get dirty.  Simple minds must be clean to work right, dimly and dull. Big 10 football is back!  The moderator has picked sides for sure, seems to ...

  ...broken bluebonnet pottery. ...someone lived here long ago. ...rusted red bicycle fender. ...bout a mile from the railroad . ...earth covered relics of the 30s. ...when times were the times. ...live on swine meat and geese. ...berries and roots whatever they find.  ...fish the river for carp and cats. ...the o'malley family story. ...wind and its incredible loud. ...to the north, Indian territory. ...on the southern ridge, Texas lookouts. ...channel 12 gets all the scoops. ...chainsawing and splitting stumps. ...plenty of firewood to warm your blues. ...owls watch it all from their perches. ...and the flock waits for ole shotgun.

  Most condemn rioting, of course.  And most call B.S. on looting, no doubt.  Targeted assassinations of peace officers is universally rejected by most, without question.  Seems most have come to a level of agreement, something most can peacefully protest together. Screw the few. This Kay girl must be really rich.  Not sure what 401 means, but evidently she's worth trillions upon trillions.  There's old rumors about her hula hoops or tax loops, something or the other. Details escape me, but there was scandalous infidelity and betrayal involved.  If you see Kay, tell her I need her, if you see Kay, tell her I'll be here. Mojo can never be taken, ever.  It's only given away or abandoned.  Reluctantly, unwillingly, knowing of the oldness to come, conscious of what it all means, but fine with it, inclined to it, realism of days and time and night.  Let it rot in the road, for nothing rots in vain, Mojo will find another ride.  Take...

  Instead of the word politics, use the word game.  The gamers are lined up and ready, this gaming campaign has gone on long enough.  Insults are flying, reputation trashing has begun, shit talking, comparisons to evil historical figures, planting seeds of fear and doubt.  This gaming scene is tough, need the best gaming advisors possible, need to break out all the gaming tricks.  Gamers will say anything to get picked.   No dying wishes here, l ots of appreciation for getting to be a human for awhile. It's all been free, except for the painful tax.  Reliance is the way through, rely on and be relied upon.  On each other, and things, and intelligence, and faith, and peace, and music.  Mooch away.   Thankfully, most d on't care all that much about the self-righteous.  Especially the stupid self-righteous.  More sore losing, more crying, more Mao shaming.  Snore.  B oring games, a bunch of boring gamers playing...

No comment, my Lords.  The glowgods were all gathered, Zapp and Bree were bossing all the other gods around, talking about search engines and algorithms.  The social club protested, Geka and Lars were completely aghast, calling them old fogies and mocking their bossing.  Bont and Tona didn't care, if they coded it, they coded it, Scol and Kish could worry about the transmissions, that was their job.  Mostly, it was petty god bickering, I didn't want to get involved. The capacity to ignore, like turning the cheek, like avoiding primal instincts, like chilling.  Not immediately, a chance is given, an open mind, an attempt to understand and reason, but wasting time is a no no.  Out of eyes and ears, out of mind.  It will nag, this something being ignored, it will remind, its annoying little ways.  The tune out still has some static, but the volume fades and fades.    Step 1 is deciding what to ignore.  Next, ignore any judgement by o...

  M ust be some sort of plan, surely the doctors have consulted, coordinated, and determined the best way forward.  Only the family can know, they certainly want it all to get better, for the better, the sooner the better, the drugs don't even kick it anymore.  For now, ignore the obvious seems the play, endure the embarrassment.  Couldn't happen to a sweller guy, shameless as ever, raging mutterer, indignant about the lack of dignity.  All the while, on the take, taking, indistinguishable from the other takers, an uncommon looter. The sound of snoring, the true anthem of the NFL.  Referees waving yellow flags, yawning spectators, ceremonial attire.  Like professional boxing and Elvis before their falls, bloated and boring, likely compromised, big paydays above all, nothing but a foolish spectacle, owned by Vegas.  Thirty minutes of action packed into three hours, players rarely looking tired, most of them playing less than ten plays.  For ...

  Entirely entranced.   The Chestnut Square Farmer's Market was going on all around.  Too many people, not enough space.   Melons, onions, tomatoes, okra.  It was all for sale.  Booths and tents and concessions.   Suddenly, a case of the pandemic panics hit.  Went south for a few Tupps brews.  Clear our heads, regroup.   Mexican Lager, the Oktoberfest.  Barley burger was delicious.  The way they crisp up those buns.   Hustled all the way back.  Flying on the downhills.  Like cars.

No one really needs a full time downer around.  Those bummer bums with long, meandering explanations of some personal woe-is-us, some horrible probable outcome, some reason why hope is lost.  Any reason, things just suck and suck, many days they have their worst day ever.  All must know of the down. Forget the good news, they say, it's not good.  But we know it is good, good news is good news, and good news deniers are downers by definition, clearly.  They seem the definition of downer.  Be an upper, a lifter upper, a proper upper, a shut upper if need be.  Down with the full time downer beat down. All the gates.  Water gates, Russian gates, sucker gates, Bill Gates.  It's all confusing by design, manipulation of useful idiots, washing, always washing.  Glad those ISIS fuckers aren't cutting heads off Americans on YouTube anymore.  That's good news.

  A weekend mob.  Mom, gonna need a $20, and pack a few Capri-Suns in my backpack, dad said it was fine to borrow his ski goggles.  Relax, Monday's Labor Day, I'll catch up on my rest, sleep late.  No worries on TP, we usually do # 1 on parked cars, and we all do our #2 business in the same spot so the shit hurlers can use it, we got tons of TP.  Its all really organized, oh, gonna need eggs, keep them in the carton for now.  Yes I took my chewable vitamin, yes I packed my blanky, yes I got a lighter, yes I'll cover my face. Rules are rules, I guess, but discretion is discretion, and the better the discretion, the better off, almost always.  Reckless discretion, and worse--no discretion, is doomed to failure eventually, and nothing is more reckless and feckless than blaming rules when bad decisions are made.  Weak and destructive, cowardly and lame, the opposite of leadership.  Every speeder doesn't get a ticket, every broken city ordinance d...

The dumb are back.  Those that say they heard, or heard of someone that heard, or knew, those that know what they're told to know, those that think it's all obvious. They've got the quotes, heard they've got the tapes, in pixels, and sound waves.  Off the cuff, paraphrases, assumptions, and innuendos.  Sources of the traiting kind. Nose deep in money slop, and kickbacks are down.  The honorable this or that, the esteemed servants, the upholders of freedom, our supposed finest, at senior levels.  Got to have that house on the hill, got to pay some bills, got to get some something something.  That twist and shout, do it like this.  The bribery market has crashed! The blinking yellow lights demanding 20 MPH maximum speed, local police suburban pulled up on the grassy center median watching out for the safety of the elementary aged road crossers, directing the action, making it all go smooth.  Fond memories, fantastic flashbacks, and DejaVu jolted me ...

  Think of those last days of the poor Branch Davidians, when the cult members bought every last word, to every last drop.  Sad, really fucking sad.  Signed up for peace and love and harmonies, a real wholesome group, supportive and everlasting.  Ignore the creepiness, justify the sickos, embrace the weirdness.  Isolated, manipulated, idiodic. Everybody nod.  Yes, yes.  I sing this, you sing that, echo style.  Form a line, fist up, why did the chicken cross the road, to get to the other side.  All together now, one, two, three! Anyway, Novak Djokovic is the greatest male tennis player of all time.  It's true.  We all have our favorites for various reasons from McEnroe to Federer to Yannick to Ashe to Sampras to Boris to Edberg to Pancho to Cash to Nadal to Connors to Vilas to Vitas to Agassi to Wawrinka to Laver to Tennys to Stevie The Grit to Monfils to Nick to Roscoe Tanner.  And others, even Lendl had some fans....