speck.

today i lose again. and nothing could make things better or worse than knowing that the fight i've fought was nothing less than a second rate emotion that no one cares to acknowledge.

mock prine

short-lived fancy from a freelance purveyor.

i'm an abandoned tray fill, perverse fort cross-
fame-tinged tremolo kick, 
canned for nitpick'ed and filtered trash talk.

swash and swim, buttoned down for the winter. 

we all take turns shifting grocery tangents and mock tile aversions. 
shift change, 
hula hip----

trans-vent ceo's and celibate thoughts, 
staggering lines, last before first, 

farewell badgery, no wears for thing wavering. 

untied shoes and callous hands, 
smoke befitted gallants and trim trunks of treasuries unfounded. 

oh we shave our beards and board our balances, 
true unto true face, festered with the reminder that fallacies weigh more 
than we could ever slate. 
clean slate. 
clean slate. 
clean slated periphery.

louis ck is still my favorite comedian (as of the last 5 years)

today feels broken.

happy anniversary Port Brewing & Lost Abbey!

some of my favorite beer & people!

chartered from the remnants of our survivalist fits.

' i.

love.

crazy.

chicks.'

she smiled speculatively, and took a sip of her bourbon.

'but i'm not crazy.'

i can't pretend to know you, anymore.

i can't pretend to know you anymore.

i read more about you and what you write more than conversations or appearances may provide.

i'm just an onlooker, still admiring, still piecing myself together.

and you are unavailable, in the sense that you have no time for me.

so let's stop bargaining chips and call it what it has been.

a passerby.

no more quotations, exclamations, hyperbole, excuses, partitions, wanderer's remorse.