Did you grab my attention?

Round circle. Sorta round. Doesn't matter, because it is far from a round table. There is no discussion here. You look left to see someone steal the spotlight. You look right to hear some chit-chat about a topic that you have little interest in. It's kinda awkward, so bump in with some senseless thread on how you think she might be loving her job. Wrong assumption. Did you grab my attention? You're a small mind for a big child. As you pan the room with eye-vision, you want to sink into the floor, absorbed like a bad wine stain. You flip another card, laugh off the stupid premonition as poor taste, and go to sleep later thinking about the coulda-shoulda statement that would have transitioned you from lifeless to full of life. Square, not round. All too mathematical, not chemical.

Time

The senses fade in, The senses fade out, as the lights go out.

The Walk.

Options Set 1 (the hand):
With dog leash.
With beverage.
With broken leaf.
With tourist map.
With cell phone.
With other hand.

Options Set 2 (the feet):
Skipping. - vibrant/hippie/playful
Brisking. - end is near/busy workday/unfavorable weather conditions
Skimmering. - superficial/sneaky/silent
Wheelchairing. - handicapped/stolen cart from supermarket
Hopping. - silly/minimize ground conduction
Running. - athletic/late/being chased by police
Staggering. - impaired/calling attention

Options Set 3 (the head):
The you that you want to be.
The you that you are.
The you that others see.

Above the law, below the surface.

Chill That. West Coast style with a hint of policeman misuse of power. This is the line, a geometric concept describing a threshold. He takes those handcuffs and puts them on the innocent, getting high off the feeling of control. It couldn't be just one, it had to completely contain, to make the recipient cry. Once they cry, you know you've really had your fun, and so reverse the process. Let her recess to her apartment, but you aren't getting away. Sometimes, just a common observer will come by. Chill on that. It's that boiling temperament that questions the man of blue to shine that little badge in your face, all the while firmly stating the absolutely irreversible unjustified actions like prose on a white board. When you swallow your pride, you realize you're a little wrong and a little right, a little emotional but alot clearer in the head. At that moment, you know what it feels like to be put in the mud just because you challenge authority. First time's a first, but it makes your bones a bit thicker. After challenging age and intellect, separate paths follow a firm handshake. Sip in that warm twilight air; it's the only free thing you might have in a few years.

The Hindsight P.S.

P.S.: I'll proofread that breakup letter you're working on.

PS: I like being underneath you while you work. Don't drop that hammer.

P.S.: I won't be making your wedding, so can you send me that package you received in the mail?

PS: Thanks for the birthday wishes; I'm pregnant...best gift ever.

P.S.: I'm going to the moon. The Martians are requesting Space Cake.

PS: I wonder what the essence of life is. Oh, look at this neat site I found: Scientology.org

P.S.: Could you unbuckle my car seat before I crash? That would probably be the sweetest thing you've ever done for me.

PS: What if I promised you I'd never lie? I promise I won't. Honest!

P.S.: An asteroid is headed for your house. Pack your bags and crouch under the nearest table for ultimate protection. Call OSHA. This might be important.

Note to self: I'm too self-righteous

Thinking more clearly because my head is in a daze. Make sense? Hardly. Oh well, I guess the only way to really make a fair decision is to flip a coin. The hero really doesn't need applause. I bow when you don't clap. Epic Failure, I think I'm craving attention. Don't you use things to your advantage too? If you were just noble all the time, you wouldn't have anything left of you to give. Save some, store it away in a nice little bank account, that relative money you've accumulated through years of what you call work. My work involves digging through my bones, picking apart the cells and seeing how they all fit together. Why so serious? In that moment when you thought you had it all figured out, could you really feel good and evil? What makes you so different from the rest of them? My monologue isn't really anything more than a publicity stunt, minus the publicity and lacking in attractive stunt qualities. It makes it nothing... it makes it self-righteous. Look in the mirror, and who smiles back? Haha. Laugh it off, you were funny looking anyway.

(H)2(0) %CLUSTerClump%

BLoTcHY. Aggregated in one demographic: Solution #1. I'm high on the -e totem pole, hydrophilic. @FRiZzLy. HOH. HHO. OHH. 2 H's and me! Unclumped from the blob. Puppet cuts the strings, hydrophobic || "CLUSTerClump" || Transitionary stage - ut oh! - prone to evaporation. Absorbed into new clump. Little breathing room. Dammit - where is (!)freedom(?)(.) Is He > Ar? Nope - I'd take more valence electrons anyday. Or just an exotic >100 p+ [shhh, don't tell Na that] : bond me later - ok?

Caution: Speeds in Excess of Threshold may cause Permanent Damage

It started with a scratch. One on the left knee. The other on the arm. I stuttered from my stumble and wiped the blood sprinkling from the wound. It reminded me of those times I laughed at the slippery floor signs, only this time the pain drowned my overeager skater-boy tendencies. Those wheels were meant to turn, and Newton told me long ago that for every motion there is a counter-motion. I was that counter-motion. Fast-forward a few clips ahead, and you'd see me hanging outside the gliderport wiping saturated sunscreen from my chemically oxidized eye. It was more painful than blood, more acute than a cute asian, and vividly hallucinogenic. Just imagine my eye being one of those globes you spin at the pawn shop, only less entertaining and more personal. I dosed my eyelid with borrowed deli-shop water, enough to let the thick solution slowly drain out, leaving the world half-open and ugly for at least ten minutes. It couldn't compare to injuries to come, but at least it was a warmup for getting the stomach peeled by a surfboard and letting otherwise tolerable sun turn your back into a crispy crust. That ten story bluff didn't do much to convince you otherwise, for the space between your legs had rubbed dry from a salted exterior. I believe it was excruciating enough to bite the lip and shout explicatives at speedier travelers. For a little entertainment, you lost some pride. But, for a lot of entertainment, you'd be needing more to justify the part of you that you left in the sand. Physically punished, I wave my caution flag; you're just too fast for this world.

Pampering.

It's gotten out of hand. Why does society pamper those who deserve nothing more than a stern scolding and a kick to the rear. I feel like everyone is playing powderPuff kiddie sport, toying with a fake baseball while not even attempting to step up to the plate. You've seen those 40-year-old-somethings that protected little Jimmy even when he just sucked and should have picked up model rocketry instead of T-ball. You've seen those dirty dumpster punks who could have worked the greenhouse, but decided instead to go tear up some old lady's weeds, the alternative to planting in some smelly warehouse. You don't see the Principal take it easy on these chaps. You don't see them just pat their hand and pass over a Get-Outta-Jail Free voucher. They learn the hard way that life will not tolerate their messy immaturity. So why do we tolerate it when a politician jumps up and down like a toddler? Why do we allow that trashy prostitute to offer services to the cop who just arrested her? Why do we play hide-and-go-seek with greenbacks when the Federal Reserve gives inside employees Swiss Bank accounts in exchange for indiscriminately misplaced scoffings of hard-working middle class patrons? Did we ever tolerate straight up violence at the playground? I see the shortcoming in the adult work; life ain't fair for a reason. Adults are just as scummy as those junkies that burn wood in trash bins during the winter to prolong the high. All those nice barbeques and social etiquettes can be washed down the toilet for all I care; where is dignity? I'll continue to stare blankly forward next time I see the well-dressed businessman open the door in overly dramatic chivalratic form for that despondent secretary who can't wait to go to lunch to snack on some minimal-caloric granola bar, all the while talking about her ungodly new neighbors and that hot intern. It's all so wrong. Maybe that guy who just didn't fit in all that time really was the truest of them all. Maybe he just didn't want to pamper, or be pampered. Maybe, he knows life ain't all it's cracked up to be.

CDEFGABC

Pachelbel with his Canon;
Bach fugued Tocatta;
while Barber stringing Adagio;
Beethoven moonlit Sonata;
Copland commonly composing Fanfare;
a circumstance Elgar wrote Pomp;
Gershwin blue Rhapsody;
Handel sung to Messiah;
Mozart a Figaro;
Sousa Marching;
Tchaikovsky Numbers 1.8.1.2. Overture.

Lights, Rockets, Sky.
One, World, Gone.
All, Black, Notes.
White; Carbon; Paper.
Love, Without, Composure.
Composing, Life.
I,am, Music.

Riding the fence to work...

You're riding this fence. You teeter one way. You teeter the other. You lean back. You lean forward. How unsure can you be? There's really no other way to ride you see. If you hopped to the green grass, it'd be soiled with weeds. If you toppled to the pavement, it'd be just too rough. You've decided to stay collinear with the fence, but tilting to the front just makes the grass or pavement seem too close for you. Leaning back brings the sky into view, but at some point you know you're going to lose your balance. So you just sit upright... pedaling along at a moderate pace. You look left to see the fast cars in the fast lane. You look right to see the slow mowers taking care of a persistent growth of grass. As they mow on by, you can even see the green stubbly sprout reforming its original turfy stature. It's at that moment, you realize there's no real good way to ride that fence. Once you're off, you want on. Once you're on, you want off. Shouldn't have built that damn wooden boundary without thinking of the consequences it would bring you. Fences keep the criminals in, and the visitors out. I'd visit a criminal any day.

Puppet Show #4189

Your little indices are tickled with excitement. They dance along that carved out paper cutout of a set piece with vivid emotion. Without a mouth, there really are those times when you just have to imagine what speaking could have been. All that play and no words. You can't be very extreme when you're a puppet either, because once you leave that stage, you no longer exist. It's a temporary career, and usually only the kids laugh, but you have no real other career opportunities. I mean, you could go play rock paper scissors or join the shadow imaging club, but there really isn't much future investment in those areas. You are just waiting for that cold metal ring to slip over you for life, but I think you've invested too much in your dancing. After all, those silly paintbrush costumes wouldn't suit you for that long. And you tell me every night, how it's better than being shoved up some nose or used to annoy one of those human creatures, but I beg to differ. Maybe you weren't always cut out to be a puppeteer. Maybe fingers are boring after all.