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Whatnot and whatever, here I am, still and again... after a day, but facing another, as always, ever onward, Morgen, morgen, immer morgen...

Toss back a brew and listen to a Bob and reading words of a fellow genius, I grin like an idiot, in love again, but twisted as usual and failing every test. Just another test, cast in eyes and oh's and you's, and hey, what will be, will be... And might wind up as incomprehensible as the bumblebee, happy to hover though some law or another says he really shouldn't...

The font dries, ink disappearing as it's only bits of the reality, lousy attempts at conveying what lingers... And I'm frustrated by those bits, or some other bits, it doesn't really matter, bits and bites I took too soon, perhaps, and now chewing I'm realizing this apple doesn't taste so good... Skin getting on my nerves and I wish idly for it all to go poof once more, a cloud of smoke I blow leaves (burning) nothing to the imagination and I desire only more substance for these lungs of steel...

So I read, and idly, thinking if only I could write! not read, not just a consumer, but a producer, a green plant (spying) with unselfish motives, just a natural response to life and light, grow/bloom and fall into treacherous cycles. But perhaps be of some use, feed another, bend light to my will, its will also... Just willing and ready, but small from failed growth spurts, maintaining a status quo for the masses and the mass, holding mass, considering weight, and I eat my flesh, drink my blood, find it cheap, unsatisfactory...sigh in relief.

Grow an inch (worm) towards death and I shrug, unconcerned... Knowing it happens as it will, knowing any old anvil could crash down on my skull tomorrow (or a water-filled Ziploc(tm) bag to make just a dent)... But I can't relax, will not relent, mouthing the words, but silent in resignation.

All comes 'round and says "Hi!" and I wave at it, All, and turn it up a bit, via remote control (duck!), thankful for hand-me-downs and all that's hidden in every word... each and every one, conceivably impossible and impossibly conceivable, I nod, and accept my lot, though rent's due anyway.

Always comes back to haunt me, memories of moments, and Loki's tail wagging, my precious and mischievous Buddha-dog long gone on to lick some celestial faces... And to follow, Soup, another baby, but at least found dead in the road, an end to questions as I grew blisters digging...

Meanwhile, Avalokitesvara blooms eternal, Mickey Mouse on her pure side, not a greedy corporate rat, but the perfection of a rodent with a happy high-pitched voice... Perhaps much like the tiny field mice I find dead sometimes, just twists of fate like my own, thrust into unknowns and confronted with variables that make little sense, just varying for the hell of it, to keep me on my toes...

And so, I am, drinking fruit and eating meat, disgusting and profane, but an accurate reflection, and as I shrink into the coming year, I wonder how much farther...

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