Don't know where it came from.
can't walk, stand or sit.
can't drive.
can't type.
can't think straight.
can't throw out garbage.
can't depend on meds.
can only watch TV.
life comes to a dead stop.
Friday, September 19, 2014
Saturday, September 6, 2014
Poets on the Roof
We had a meeting about the poets on our roof. We had no idea how they got up there. This is our apartment building and they had no business ruining our quiet with shouting and arguments. Maybe they were just loud readers, but that's not the point. Trespassers can not be tolerated.
Sometimes one will stand at the edge and toss down poems. Egoists. Just creating more paper trash.They order pizza and the delivery guy keeps ringing my bell late at night. He has to find his way up there without dropping the pizza and then curses loudly on the way out because the cheap bastards never tip.
I was elected to speak to them. I somehow found their secret stairs to the roof and when I opened the trap door I was confronted by raggedy, wild looking men and women who demanded to know if I was a poet. I told them I delivered mail and had to get up early. One raised his cane and I thought he'd strike me, but he began ranting in his stentorian voice. I had no idea what he was talking about. I threatened legal action and they laughed. No one arrests poets, I was informed.
We finally reached a compromise. No loud arguments, no late night pizza deliveries, and no dancing. I just threw that one in. Only haiku poets dance, I was told.
I wished they'd find some basement, but they are all infested with musicians.
I need to stop here. My drum circle is meeting on the lawn.
Sometimes one will stand at the edge and toss down poems. Egoists. Just creating more paper trash.They order pizza and the delivery guy keeps ringing my bell late at night. He has to find his way up there without dropping the pizza and then curses loudly on the way out because the cheap bastards never tip.
I was elected to speak to them. I somehow found their secret stairs to the roof and when I opened the trap door I was confronted by raggedy, wild looking men and women who demanded to know if I was a poet. I told them I delivered mail and had to get up early. One raised his cane and I thought he'd strike me, but he began ranting in his stentorian voice. I had no idea what he was talking about. I threatened legal action and they laughed. No one arrests poets, I was informed.
We finally reached a compromise. No loud arguments, no late night pizza deliveries, and no dancing. I just threw that one in. Only haiku poets dance, I was told.
I wished they'd find some basement, but they are all infested with musicians.
I need to stop here. My drum circle is meeting on the lawn.
What I Did for Love
When I saw her the first time I was smitten. Her rich, full cheeks, beautiful body, quick movements. This was all wrong, but I couldn't stay away from her. I am a builder and my work became shoddy thinking of her. I found myself at an emotional crossroad.
I had been seeing someone and it was assumed we would take vows. But there wasn't the same excitement with her as with my new obsession. She was dedicated to her work, but seemed more fun loving. I finally got up the nerve to ask her to meet me at the lake. We were alone and I told her everything. I especially noted how vibrant her full cheeks were.
She did something surprising. She reached into her cheek pouch and pulled out a nut and offered it to me. I was overcome with joy. She liked me!
Of course, I realized both cheeks were full of nuts, but that didn't matter. She gushed over the size and strength of my tail and I knew we were destined to be together. She also loved my buck teeth.
I've left behind my old life, my former love, my beaver community. Yes, I've joined the squirrel society, but not without distrust and tension among the elders. I vow to learn the art of storing nuts in my cheeks. So far, it's been slow going. I keep gagging.
I had been seeing someone and it was assumed we would take vows. But there wasn't the same excitement with her as with my new obsession. She was dedicated to her work, but seemed more fun loving. I finally got up the nerve to ask her to meet me at the lake. We were alone and I told her everything. I especially noted how vibrant her full cheeks were.
She did something surprising. She reached into her cheek pouch and pulled out a nut and offered it to me. I was overcome with joy. She liked me!
Of course, I realized both cheeks were full of nuts, but that didn't matter. She gushed over the size and strength of my tail and I knew we were destined to be together. She also loved my buck teeth.
I've left behind my old life, my former love, my beaver community. Yes, I've joined the squirrel society, but not without distrust and tension among the elders. I vow to learn the art of storing nuts in my cheeks. So far, it's been slow going. I keep gagging.
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