Bus Stop Havoc

I did it all at the bus stop. I dropped off the information at the post office. When the first naked lady of the day exposed herself she winked at the man behind me and filtered through the sunlight as they normally do.

Sinking my teeth into a juicy grape I sit with my phone on speaker mode as I listen to the hold music to the DMV. Golf carts and tennis rackets surround me now and I live freely within my little hut. A turtle, a mouse, and a snake are playing chase in the backyard while I wonder in and out of the kitchen.

Secretaries and robots all function with the same micro chip. The micro chip is about 8GB and you won't get much use out of either of them after 10 years. There's a complicated blue and gray checker pattern that lines the walls of this bathroom. There are monkeys that come to visit this cathedral from time to time. The monkeys are kind, not like the red butted baboons.

Without charge, or a care in the world a red cardinal flies in through the window. There's a blondish red fox with black eyeliner who hangs out around my feet. There is tan carpet and white walls, too many white walls. The sculls of artists' efforts are left behind in living rooms, bedrooms, and office spaces. On Friday the cleaning lady will dust all of the things that stand still.

Moving into the near future there are moments of shattered glass and busted tires. Curious waves of ocean style filter through this girls imagination. Meanwhile, there are Christmas trees and thoughts of electrocution bumbling about. Fingered steal and bleached meanings leave a lot to define still.

Found Notes

#1

"I did nothing special today. I went to work. I stayed honest and true as the minutes went through and through."

#2

Sigur Ros will Scoop your Heart Out and Serve it up for Everyone to Stare and Cry at.

#3

Went home just to wake up and do it all over again. The weekends are when I sin. Love me light, Love me hard.

#4

Peter Pan Honey Roast Creamy Peanut Butter

"normal"

Possibly considered a "normal" day. After waking up, having a cup of 'joe' with my man, dog at our feet, and kitty in my lap I cross into the routine of the day. Grab some clothes, lace up my shoes and have one last tug o' war match with the dog on my way out the door. A bittersweet goodbye from my husband and off I go again.

Driving down the 215, crossing into the west side of town, over the border and into Henderson, NV, I reach my daily destination. My job. My 9-5, but in my case it's 11 - 7. I function through this job with a strange level of pride and understanding. I know at the end of the day there's a reason behind what I do.

On my way home, the sun has already set, and if I'm lucky I got to watch it go down over the mountains. I don't normally have to fight through rush hour, because of my strange hours at work, and I'm home in 25 - 30 minutes.

When I step through the door I look forward to the smell of my home. The bum-rush from my dog to jump up and give me a kiss. My cat meowing insistently until I pet him or give him some attention. And the "hey baby" from my man as I reach the top of the stairs. I never know what we'll have for dinner or how it will be fixed. I never know if we will have to change our plans last minute or not. I never know just how my day will end, but I know just enough to know for sure that I'm home and I've had a pretty good day.

Paitently Passing Through This 2011

2011 -

Here you are. Here I am. You know that with the passing of time I will gain a year and you will disappear. So now I've decided that I won't focus on this year, but next year as a part of my new years resolution.

Finance. Age. Growing Up.

We swim, we survive, we pay, pay, pay. This year I'm gonna keep on paying, but I'm finally going to PAY OFF some of this expense. Debt or no Debt, the idea this year is to get ahead.

I was thinking about going on a bit longer about this, but I think you get the picture.

Book

This book has no beginning, middle, or end; just a juxtaposition of moments, thoughts, memories, poetic failures, morphed dreams, lucid love, transient sickness, and genetic recording. From time to time there's an inspiration that keeps you going. Some days or months you are stagnant in life, love, structure, health, and even intelligence.

Finding a way to marry the old & new has been a battle. When it all comes into focus the exposure can save your sanity. There's no cycle in this life, battle, or system. We live, stretch, cope, and speak within a recognized relevance and propel the muster of gumption between our hours of sleep & work.

Markers, ink ones, staked ones, they are tools. We use them to bookmark, locate, and draw aesthetic flow. Giant numbers, films of films and roadways to somewhere, no where, there, and everywhere. Broken guitars, strings of solitude, and music that provides a religious release.

Houses are built to live, protect, and clothe our naked, exposed, lives. When we shelter ourselves in the inconvenient, convenient, style that America (particularly) is good at we end up, ironically, not having a defense system. Guns. Guns, are the defense, or not. There's a false security everywhere in the world. The entitlement of our current generation will be a significant element to a crumble society, but how will we rebuild it this time?

Mindless rambling of an artist. My thoughts, my river, my time. You read, respond, anticipate, assume, project, and place value. This "book", a symbol, is not mine, yours, theirs, hers, his, it's, or attainable by any atom. Science verses what? How will this book contend with the "BOOK"? How will you add a chapter, sentence. Respond.

Posting, publishing, functioning. I. AM. HERE. Solid, burnt, Midwest, scarecrow, pulsed, and pummeled. Respond.

And then, some days, I just wanna play the slide guitar.

Tomorrow

Tomorrow I shall write you a book.