Weathered Ideas

My goldfish was 15 when it died.
I was in Japan.
My dad used to call him Mr. Fish.

Can I name one of my children, Mr. or Mrs. Child?
Is that too forward?

Hell if i know.  I've been watching the same Olympic game every night.  They always show swimming and gymnastics while I'm home.  Why?  Are you trying to tell me to get off my ass and swim and jump and do twirly things so my muscles can become bubbled and toned?

I'll drink a beer to that.

Do you know when you meet someone.  And you talk... then the conversation gets real weird real fast.  So weird, that it becomes comforting that you are able to continue this strange ass story with another.

I think those are keepers.  Keep them in your life.

I've adopted some moss babies.  If you don't know what I'm talking about then you don't know me.  Which is great!  I hope no one finds who out who I am.  Though, it's not hard.  And yes, if I'm approached  –then I'll react in a manner one can only call "unique" with a long stare and irregular breath.

I talk a lot to myself.  More than one would think is acceptable to talk to one self.  I stumbled on this gem on my quest to find a salvageable piece of writing :




Now, why would I send an email to myself like that?  Did I really feel the need to be my own best friend and give myself advice via email? HA yeah.  This is when I was sad as shit thinking about a someone I had no real chance with because you know, you can love someone so much and the return is that you are sitting on the floor of your shower drinking a beer wondering if aliens would beam you up and give you a pity party.

Then again, I wasn't grown myself.  I had a hard time handling feelings like that and tried to find everything in my happiness checklist to get over it.  Time was the only thing that healed me.  It wasn't another person.  And it wasn't playing music on stage and making new friends and smoking cigarettes till dawn and drinking beer like it was oxygen and exchanging punches with your best friend and riding the train on an endless loop and singing into a little mesh device that projects voice along with light up words and wandering for hours lost because THAT was not the right train track and doing the same damn thing again because there are way more train tracks than you think and pushing the flight back hoping to live longer in a dream and then finally getting on a plane and texting that someone goodbye before takeoff and landing in a familiar territory and sinking into depression faster than sinking into the old self before any of this happened.

Now i know better -- and the reality sucks the real world is not a story you can really control.  But you can guide the damn thing.  Advise it.  And live through it.



Fuck it's Wednesday.