Face in the crowd


Maybe I’m wrong or only thinking about this from my perspective but I think one of the reasons men like bimbos or ditzy slightly superficial girls is because they are easier to make happy and put in a good mood. A women who feels good with a compliment or noticing their makeup or nails or whatever takes less work to get satisfaction. Women who are more complex and expect more from men require effort and work which many men are not up to, not good at, or can’t be bothered with. The quintessential female is a mountain for mole hill men.


Chitty chat fat rat gonna get some scat.
Dirt devil snort and grumble, pick a pithy end.
Devil details and second mortgages.
Poverty no snobbery, tittle tattle ends.
Petty pet pack rat gone and used it all.
Falling for flavor favors and sucking off the wall.
Thriller killer bj filler.
Glory hole and dollar toil.
Codine, oxy, every pill.
Down the chute down the hole.
Mighty mouse mighty speedy.
Cash crash last hoorah bash.
Down the drain to sell that ass.
Manic mousy oh so chintzy, drooling dragging on the floor.
Upside down powder clown, frothing at the mouth.
Overdone overdose party packrat so morose.
Giddy up getter done, coffee coffin cup o fun.
Mortadella mortuary, white stuff white ash none to bury.


You know, I don’t usually say this but all these pussy white cops shooting black kids multiple times need to get bitchslapped and stuffed into a black history class. Get some courage and integrity fools.


Ahh what to do what to do? All this misanthropic hateration is really chiving my hide, if that’s even a word. Going back and forth between like and dislike as an indecisive youtuber. Caught in the hustle and flowing floating along emotional dramas I have lost use for many a moon ago. Those two sides, they come in many forms, they play tricks on the midsummer spirit and wink ever so coyly at monster mash in me. Oscillating between moody blues hues, it Getz me nowhere in a white rabbit hurry.

It is a tiresome lot this fickle fuck of a twoface. The mask of comedy and tragedy painted on my furrowed face in Hexadecimal fashion. Maybe a reboot is in order. Unplug, disconnect and attune myself to peaceful dispositions. A Buddhist template to reawaken the love bug in me, in the proverbial soul of a hollow fellow blues man. Sights unseen, travel the world young man, see a life not yet taken, voyages remarkable, destiny at the helm.

Maybe the hermit small world creates animosity and resentment. Maybe I’m fooling myself into anger and delusion. Guiding my existence towards solitude out of fear of pain, relationships, broken heart social scene. I confuse the real me when really what I want is red rover red rover, come on over hugs and kisses. Isolationist grump holding out halting hand at all the bystanders. Tempted to use the force to block arrivals. Bridge troll delighting himself with cryptic behaviour and riddles galore. Making that life-affirming connection thing a task for those seeking kinship and camaraderie.

Being some phantom of the opera with twisted face and mind, stagnating in dank dungeons never to grow, evolve, into the man I used to know. That bright imagining I had once, the projection of the idolized self-image. The hero that does not falter. Unwavering knight brushing up against challenge without this nagging, questioning self. The Woody Allen neurotic filling in for the passed out protagonist. Scoping possibilities but holding himself back, refraining to move forward and adding pressure upon himself. Using that weight to make excuses to not grab life, not risk in the usual sense. The old nights of debauchery and drunken sloppiness and avarice a faint memory. Just wild nights of stupidity. Ahh what to do what to do?



- War and Peace
Leo Tolstoy

Sometimes life seems like a slab of stone, other times like a dovetail fluffing itself ever so daintily. This delightful romp, let’s all go to the lobby trala la la ing. I’d get off the ride but I don’t see a carney at the controls. There is no stopping, just progression through the fog.

Photo Set