jpaulgorman

  The happiness is there for the taking.  Remember back, look ahead, feel the now.  This is a minor miracle, our very existence, no telling what's to come.  The wine was cold and tasty last evening, the antibiotics were kicking in, old pictures and talks.  Bust out of this imaginary maze. With investment democracy, the swift survive.  Just when the heels get worn in, then the scramble of gathering balance, then the squeeze.  The arrogant deserve their fate.  Hold on through the panic, this boat will float fine, no dumping things overboard, no mutiny, no unity in the dark shadows.  Only light. The fencing is permanent, entrance is for 'authorized individuals.'  Those with authorized papers, apparently.  Inside, the fumes are oppressive, oily and bitter.  Snide and awful gangsters.  The smell of them can be detected from 1,000's of miles.

Imagination is best.  All the colors, flashing.  Remembering late drive homes, windows cracked to get some air flow.  FM Radio stations played classic rock too much, just ran the same old tunes.  Needed a talk. Compositions on a grand scale, like a nest of hot rats, 1969 was an interesting year.  What to do, what to do after peace and love.  Bring me dead flowers, we'll make it through, bring me dead flowers for these January blues.  Twinkle on, lights, twinkle on.  Darkness is easy, darkness is a lie. The minute is now, write the scene.  You're superiors are waiting for the scripts.  Corrections, alterations, nice effort with the demo, strong lyrical moments.  Needs some formula, maybe a few shots of conformity, another somatic pill, a tone down, the forbidden must be hidden.  But it's no demo, no, no, no, it's ready to knock, it's ready to roll.  

  Loud and proud, with a message of exclusion.  The negatives don't lie, the tape was running.  Played out to its inevitable end.  Mutually assured destruction, just scram and let it dissolve.  Nothing is without end. Book companies are signing on the dotted line, as they melt.  Words matter now, not books.  Say exactly what you mean.  These muters are criminals of America, these muters are pure conformists, these muters will be muted themselves.  Ignored and avoided. Simon's Schuster, the House of Random, Collins and Harper.  And the others.  Mush publishers, only mush allowed.  Write this mush, read this mush, think this mush.  Robots write those ridiculous books.

  The waters will draw back, like they do.  For a surreal bit.  Gathering and gathering, swirling and rushing.  Nature's strength, accumulated.  At its most. We'll see, hear, and smell the decay.  Grab your cash quick, that's what this is about.  Navajo will get ripped off again.  The sad clowns do not care, but they smile like sad clowns anyway.  Blame it on the system again, blame it on the way the world works, blame it on each other. Generations from now, the people of this place will know, they will know of the scam.  The robbers of DC, the oozing class.  Robotic manipulation of minds, glowsoaped, lathered, and rinsed.  Crank the mush machine some more, bring out the entertainers, let's all giggle.  Bye, bird.

  Pride is dead. Thankfully. Let it be exposed. Misplaced trust. Just an ideal. That is no longer. A trap of sorts. Sort of a riddle. There is no calling. The city's not answering. We are alone with each other. Dignity is worth the cling. But pride is dead.

And we were absolutely free. There was no hassle. Not one invasion of my personal space. Utterly liberated to do or say or think anything. This was ludicrous, this oppression. Even if it was imaginary. Like the twisted stories. The rage and the craving for injustice. Let the crying river fill up more. Its banks will be overwhelmed by the surge. Emotions cannot contain the tears. They must flow, yours must flow. But these eyes are bright, they sparkle. They care less than they used to. They mourn no longer. They see visions, the colors of the future.

  All the righteous gathered to bathe in their righteousness, completely without understanding or shame.  The cameras were rolling, they were masked.  Sure their glass houses will hold, even as they crack into millions of pieces.  Sweep the chards off the floor.  We see you as you are, not as you wish to be seen. There was crying and moaning.  Crocodile tears mostly.  Made up, the Boo Boo of the Nanny Nanny.  Crud.  Pure crud, pure and simple.  Plain, without flavor, without seasoning, with bitterness and manufactured rage. Arguing seems useless, even if won.  The righteous already surrendered the intellectual high ground, they don't need it, they are righteous.  Dimmers, Muzzlers, Censors.  These are the hateful, washed, and dumb among us, the downers.  A waste of your infinite mind, a waste of your finite time.

By the middle of the century, the American minds were mushy and dim.  Unthinking.  In their glowing heads, there was no need for thinking.  Others did it for them.  Computers, robots, and applications were excellent for practical functions, but they could never replace the more impractical aspects of thoughtfulness.  The magic, the intuition, the risky, the outlandish, the intolerant, the humorous.  Predictably, it made America extremely dull.  Dull in all aspects, culturally especially.  Begin with conformity was the sense, the vibe.   With American intellectualism and creativity on the decline, Texico welcomed those who thought for themselves.  Thinking robots seemed a sure sign of lazy stupidity, there was no fun in that.  Texico was a place of ideas and debate, conversation skills were taught in schools.  Avoiding mush head, using your own brain, and free talking were also popular additions to educational curriculums...

  Idiot island with blue birds, smug in the evening, lazy in the mornings.  Brains of glow mush, waiting for more mush.  You are what you eat, same as it ever was.  That outlet has hit the outlet malls, on its last leg.  The parking lot is a jammed mess. Manipulation of the blue check kind, line up to be silenced.  The algorithm has the muzzle.  To deactivate is to speak freely, and quickly.  It's awful stuff, a dull decline.  There is nothing to exclusively admire, time is too important to be uninspired.  On the road again. Easy for me, neutral observer, network encourager, personal pacifist.  One step to heaven is all, paid half up front, rest is due when it's done.  Clean out the rubbish, consider your thoughts before speaking.  To listen is to understand, to understand is to love.  Said my own thought.

  an 1836 Revolutionary map. with its lines and grants. Austin carved out a heart. towns that don't even exist anymore. all the way down to Port Isabel. border towns up the Rio Grande to Laredo. the vast Comanche Lands. east to Santa Fe and up to Pueblo. protected by long bands of islands. immense herds of buffalo. the disputed Arkansas claim. those crooks. and on through Kickapoo Crossing. 48 battles to independence. from Anahuac to Copano Bay. Patrick Churchill Jack and the tarred and feathered. Capt. Antonio Tenorio had enough. took them in and roughed them up. til Travis sprung em loose. the little known Texas Navy. The Grass Fight and Coleto Creek. Deaf Smith and Henry Wax Karnes of the spy squad. then the siege at the Alamo. the massacre at Goliad. where the bloodthirsty drank blood. then Sam Houston took control. the Runaway Scrape. and some quick training. finally, the Battle of San Jacinto. arrogance always loses in the end. too much mercy and negotiation. that squirrelly ...

DD7A7A Apathy is radical now. The Gen Xers have arrived. Careful in their care. Grace all in thier eyes. Seen it all, broke some laws. Before pong, after pong. When numbers were memorized. And only 7 numbers long. GD7x3 A7GD Say just what you want to say. Say it any way you want to say. Say today what you said yesterday. Say it again anyway. With the flip, giving lip. Operating on the sly. Above the noise, undetected. Low key, between the lines. Liberated souls from the start. Welcomed abandonment. Don't need your key anyway. Can pop the latch without it.

  A Crypto Future Reminders of a recent past. The one you forgot and still can't recall. Like the story was never told. Or never happened. Write a crypto future. Governments will struggle to keep control. Centralization, diminished. No paper pushing. No middle squeeze. Confusing and wild. Like other changes within and without. The open roads are there. Take a thoughtful approach. Enjoy the day. Time is the thing. Its allocation, its use, its opportunity. Fall in or decide for yourself. Arrangements and accommodations. Compromises and agreements. The sensible way. To boredom. And fear. You are the user of your time. Every second, minute, and hour. Every day, night, week, and month. Then, years go by. And you are not dead. Positively 4th street honey. Bobby's truth. Shout a tune of rebellion and evolution. They are deserving of nothing. Open your mind and force it to experience. Then, close it to create. Pure art. The Block Age The block age. Chained to the past no longer. The sp...

  Amnesia makes it better. Forget the dirty dirt. Baby fit with exclamation points. Nanny Nanny Boo Boo. Pacifiers keep the quiet. Something to suck. Dignified and silent. Shhhh, don't wake the babies. They'll need to eat. Ready with the burp rag.

  EA.E.D.E. Ain't had a drop. Of soda pop. Not a sip. Has touched my lips. I'm done with Coke. Ain't no joke. Got rid of the fizz. Me and my kid. Oh, soda pop. Used to like it alot. But I had enough. Left it in the dust. Said Dr Pepper. Never, never, never. Too much sugar crazing. Too much carbonation.

  Decide to let your own thinking decide. The best way to think. Junk up the rebellion.  Make it crack. Let yourself be nice. You fools. Try out one of the independent minds. Confidence comes from within. Forged by reason. Instantaneously. Without filter. Pure thought. Cynicism will poison your internal hope. Comedians have lost their ways. Too easy to get paid. Flix outs. Hardee Har Har. Four letter lazy. Bide your time with internal gratitude. The system is working for now. Do a diddy. Shake, shake, shake. Best to move. When awake.

We had no clue.  Near the railyards, by the labor alley deals. Baseball stories from the 70s, when they smacked singles to the opposite field.  When curve balls bit sharp.   When we were tight.  Pulled off from the main group to check a scene.   Got caught up in a whirl.  Got mixed in with a wham.  Never knew what hit, but found my line and stuck it.  Wore a Vantaggio glare the whole time, but they couldn't take their eyes off the band.  A color for every season, a nod to all the people on the trail.  Like a concession, like an acknowledged status, just rode on through.