Good mawning bishes.

I walked to work this morning, joyfully, under the same fucking empty bird’s nest. Passed by a landscaping crew. As I’ve described them in a freeball a few weeks ago, I don’t have a problem with illegal aliens and them working here, sending most of the untaxed money back to Mexico to their families. Later, coming home to a palatial suburban home and an Escalade in the garage. Sincerity and sarcasm dance in my pants. Probably a terminal illness of mine. Something else to look forward to. Yay. Really. Anyways back to hispanics and how much I respect them, I certainly would not be found raking leaves at 8:29 a.m. on a hump day for some old lazy yuppie or old lady or anyone really. Especially at my old age?….pfffft.

“In everything I quickly saw the opposite, the contradiction, and between the real and the unreal the irony, the paradox. I was my own worst enemy. There was nothing I wished to do which I could just as well not do. Even as I child, when I lacked for nothing, I wanted to die: I wanted to surrender because I saw no sense in struggling. I felt that nothing would be proved, substantiated, added, or subtracted by continuing an existence which I had not asked for. Everybody around me was a failure, or if not a failure, ridiculous. Especially the successful ones. The successful ones bored me to tears.”

“I had no more need of god than He had of me, and if there were one, I often said to myself, I would meet him calmly and spit in His face.”

From the first page in Henry Miller’s Tropic of Capricorn

Anyways, blah. Happy humpday folks.

A poetic convection that should at least warm me. Some of you may be too cold. [southern accent] Colder than a well digger’s lunch box. [/end southern accent]

It’s like a switch. Remember. I am a……nevermind.

immigration in world of fragmentation i.e. the south and me321

capricorn in heat-
inhaling, choking
roping, letting loose,
my own pipe dreams.
mexicans are yes-i-cans
pulling weeds in lieu of cards
race cards
all not interested
in fucking with yards.
excessive periscope
morphed into microscope
i will analyze women ’til i die
same goes for life,
aware, we live, die.
proactive in knowing
rubbing our trees against one another
not worrying about our seeds
falling on zoysia, promiscuous weeds
a handsome sapling becomes-


perpetual cycle of worry-less nothing
fluctuating at a fast talk auction sum-