Condyles and Haiku on How Even Concrete can Crumble

Ask me what I think of
When I'm not with you
-Big Kid

Ever hear about the old comedian who just finished his set on how corporate business meetings are a lot like funerals, then to the applauding audience said, "Thank you. I'm here all week," and died?

I lost my new kite

and found something else to do

That's foreshadowing
-A Haiku by DMM

Why write anymore? What is it about NEW that so thoroughly fascinates us? When everyone gets 15 minutes, no-one gets 16. A real shame 'cause, kudos to democracy and all, some people truly are more deserving than others. Namely, me.

Catch up lost child

In a time when Old stories told New ways sell out multiplexes, when you can lose your job to a kid because the company won't have to pay him as much. In an environment like this blog. Where 'you complete me' meets 'let's have sex'.
Where writers' identities take shape like icicles, glacial-drip slowly and someday lethal. Let's use 'unappreciated' just for effect. Smart stupid vivisections of humanity and words that don't make any sense in hindsight like tergiversation or stupefaction.

Jobs are lost, love is lost, fame is never found. Sure, I'm not the first to identify and harbor fears of not finding fame until I die. Weird monumental ideas by could-be artists who could-have-been, but weren't.

Don't worry. There's no one there.

SuppleSextusCinString: remember how you said: "Don't ever fall in love in March"

DMsqdMn17: I don't think like that anymore
SuppleSextusCinString: don't fall in love on saturdays?

DMsqdMn17: No. Don't love.

Why hold on to anything old when y'all can have something new?
Isn't that how society tells us we should think? ISN'T IT?!?

SuppleSextusCinString: i always look for the same woman
SuppleSextusCinString: she's beautiful, way up tight and in need of a moral holiday, wearing a black beret, a black mini skirt, white blouse, and a black leather jacket. the woman who is standing alone, new to the group and detached from everyone else just like Me.

Just some beautiful people finding life's meaning in the weather

DMsqdMn17: Your quixotic quest is painfully familiar and I want to discuss unlikelihood of an attractive girl sitting alone and other flaws in your canvas at length, but also, don't, because its such a beautiful dream that I'd hate to have any part in crushing it with crestfallen reality.

Ignorance and thinking absence. Absence, that's what I thought. Night lessons, hunger, the myth of the female orgasm and El Dorado, Coors Light, live chicken, dead chicken, airshows and no stars

What if I told you insane was working fifty hours a week
in some office for fifty years
at the end of which they tell you to piss off;
ending up in some retirement village hoping to die before
suffering the indignity of trying to make it to the toilet on time?
Wouldn't you consider that to be insane?

-Garland Greene, Con Air

Why go to work? I used to work in a factory with a blue enamel bordered meeting room where everyone wore uncomfortable clothes and wished they could be doing something else and the head honcho said unsettling things like, "I thought I ordered a shipment of 200 million [things] to be made," and I used to sit there fidgety thinking "you can't just order something made. We're only made when we want to be."

SuppleSextusCinString: i used to work in a factory too
DMsqdMn17: The burnt petroleum story?
SuppleSextusCinString: life is nothing but burnt petroleum.

Bags of old paper

blowing in the sighing winds

as fiery sun sets

-Another Haiku by DMM

Why fall in love? We hang out together all the time and then call with nothing to say. Will it be like this in a week? In five years? When I draw into myself, take off on that trail to my innermost soul and curl into a fetal position, I want you to be there wrapped up in me. When I'm alone, I want to be with you. You who could own anyone in your sweatpants in the morning before your makeup, but no one could own you because they wanted you. Once they said please they were gone.
I'll remember in the last rays of light your eyes flickering, hands cupping a cellphone, trying a smother a smile, until the end of time.

Thoughtful decay. Decay that thinks. Sawdust, crowbar, Gnostic souls, rubies, condom, shame, blue hospitals, alliteration

maybe i'll explode into a color
that has never been seen,
and what then. who would clean it up.
-e