I wanted to take some photographs
Of sports and stuff
Like swimming ‘n’ all
And that thing they do with the girls and the balls
And the stuff that defies all known physics
So I took a whole bunch of Olym Pics.

Old Me

The Me from then
With every ounce of me-ness slowly and symphonically
Syphoned away, Adagio.

I hold this former Me in my RAM as a reminder of how not to be. And as an example of a decayed decade.


Insightful and inciteful….erasing and ungracing nature’s disgrace where confidence escaped ya where ya missed th’bigger picture and took it to your bin with arsenals of diabolical farcical particles of affordable proportion that purports to unenforceable and your friendship unendorceable: it’s subliminal, sublime, this uncriminal untexted crime.


War, huh? What is it good for? A bit of ethnic cleansing here and there, pretty little lab experiments in this petri(fied) dish of a planet? World “leaders” getting their cocks out to compare size? Yeah. It’s good for all those things. War, huh? What is it bad for? Absolutely everythin’.




That moment in between asleep and awake…..when the sheet tickles your leg and your tired, pathetic subconscious decides that two and two equal five and that it must be a spider. That moment when you shoot out of bed, heart racing, as if said imaginary spider spans eighteen feet and is holding a stabby weapon in one “hand” and a shooty one in another. All this whilst he waves at you, menacingly,¬†glaring with his far-too-many eyes. THAT is what happens when a sheet dares to tickle your leg. And THEN, standing at the light switch that you right-hooked to ON, you scratch your thigh because, damnit, it feels like there’s something ON IT. There is. The remains of a little tiny eight-legger who chose to crawl under you for some warmth and perhaps protect you from flies. And then you feel exceptionally guilty and decide to take on the day like some superhero – Arachnoman, maybe…or Rachnobabe, vowing to save at least one of the little critters from a squishy demise.


You know you’ve met someone amazing when they don’t question why you want to sell your soul….but instead, they ask how much you want for it.