Now I’ve started what?

Now I’ve started what? Trouble with substance and wit. What is behind this wind blither of wander and malpractice? I find the locals sparse and on the move. The winter wind is in effect and the temperature is well below skin comfort. The pavement contracts and grows colder. The peoples eyes shrink in diameter slightly narrowing there point of view to complete objective, mine too. How can you not? Spokane in this mid November works the same as it has for some time. The few months of defrost have expired much as the microwave cheese foood in the unit. It’s completely come to this. The Unabomber having lived in a warmer climate might have held a productive job. This weather is built for manifestos. Perhaps it would be an appropriate climate to construct the gibber into a readable and printable completion. But to live with out point here… might make one blow something up with fire. This is not to slander those who dwell here but damn I lived for 18 years and nearly put a bullet though my teeth. That was the plan, though the teeth. Seemed more integral. Seems sick now, what with the warmth of the SoCal to melt away the mind flu. But this trek. What of the people? Our races are all different and not in some idiot skin tone, but the brash adrenaline that courses us to our immediate point on earth. And then some. Where in fact is this mind bus taking us? Currently I have clue but akonloeged no permanate outcome as to what my years will bring. Making sense out of words. Simple letters to prove what? That my mind can leak? Yes exactly thanx for asking. That I might have any profound point is irrelevant when post marked. You the simple viewer has the attention span of a nat’s life, even quicker if you blink more. And it’s all dribble, the presidents puke in some toilet on a bender contemplating rationally whiskey and world domination sqwed with coke and trippin power hits. Cavemen knew as much. Simplified. But now we’ve multiplied and broken ugly doors down opening things we may not have been ready for. A new rubix cube glowing with radiation that we play with and throw in our near by compost heap turning our losses into drastic fertilizer. And still there is no point. A drunken bum face down on a sparkling sidewalk has the same number of bones you do, so what? Creative appreciation has little to do with skill. That’s not true. But people… Bukowski? Burrows? These people are fucking Neanderthals. Who gave them a pen? Who? Initiative. And a damn thank you to those who took the time to sift through the garbage. Some of the best treasures can be found in the trash of americA. But does anyone stop to smell the garbage? Yes. And until appreciated are looked down upon by Bill. A. Dollar. And that’s supposed to be a name. What a bitch. Art has died and been reanimated many times perhaps we are all clones of a different planet, that we are just refabrication of the genuine, the dinosaurs in the earth, merely yabbadabba doodoo of a different planet, a pet graveyard. Trash globed out of zerogravity until crust and us formed. A shadow of a memory. Trash. Trash with art and soul, so that gives us hope. Add hope into the ingredients and anything is possible. The remake of a million things has 2 million possibilities, maybe more. How many times has the wheel been mocked and called original? The wheel was spinning before this mud heap began to dry, round and round in circles. Revolution. Give thought to that. Advance I think can only be made when harmony is out of whak. What? Yes unbalance is the key to our history, and we manufacture it, starting but far expanding from out own will to walk as a child. Pushing ourselves, the uncomfort of out existence. Willingly! Damn if we are not our own best friends posing as our own worst enemies. To push us. This I’ve learned from a teacher in high school his last name translated directly in my memory as viewing from a vantage point above. Should I print it? Yes, Highsaw. A current world affairs teacher. And all the shit he threw, was it honest? Was he deep down republican? A deep hearted jock? In my face I know he was. In my heart I’m not sure. It was because of his relentless good points disgracing my ideals until I found the checker to jump him and was in return jumped twice that fueled my fire to strive on. God bless teachers, all of em (I meant all the gods not teachers, some of those wenches should be burned at the stake, god bless em) And It’s true they have the arrow wounds and they push on. There is not many positions that I hold in high regard higher than the highschool teacher. Now we find that action has reaction, individuals to the whole. We find that we can change the world and do change the world in our every movement. What a disaster cluster fuck it’s bound to be. I mean whose at the wheel here? If taken we will find the time line of all things and when we move far enough away we find with our primate eyes the facts point to are actions stemming from pure blither anarchy, and not anarchy on some political earthcurst surface. No, in the guts of the hangover, in the evolution of dirt, in the math that holds our skin together. With our random (at least to human comprehension) without random actions, my face would probably fall off. And of course this makes no sense and is of course not fit for a scholastic term paper. (props out to Nicole who observes and is working in this chain to eventually surpass this and make a significant dent in the whose who of respected written literature) None of us are. Fiord is just a druggie with a degree and some appreciated blither. Marx wants us to kick it and is aggressive. Gandhi the same with the skew to move it non physically. I know some hippies with good pot. So what? Published dents hit harder but not if no one reads them. So what’s the point. To me it’s drastic disharmony blasted to find order to then take a breath and throw the shit at the fan again to outrage our properly working ant farm that we might evolve and become birds. Then with a little hope the nature of it all will evolve beyond the point and blast us all to the next archaeological dig. Best of wishes to all and your frivolous indevers, fuck the heros, long live bums.

Very sincerely

A. freaking Sailboat