Things are rarely what they seem. The hand is quicker than the eye. Birds in July. Working on writing more like my poor, mentally deranged pal Elliott, who suffers in delusional glee, an abstract world of self importance.
I don't get it, but he probably doesn't get it either. Oh well. The trick is getting to a place in your mind and heart and say. . . hey, it is what it is.
Climbing the side of the canyon, snaking back, forth and up and up. Feeling inspired with every step. Even found myself praying. . . SHUT UP! No, really, didn't even understand it myself. It's just not like me to pray unless I really need something or I'm just in BIG trouble. OK so there I am asking god to give me courage to see things with clarity. I prayed to maintain a sense of balance high on that hill.
A Seattle day in LA, cool and overcast. I wonder how all my friends in Seattle are doing. If you are a friend. . . and you are in Seattle. . . leave a comment and say Hi. It would be nice to hear from you.
Feeling my creative self returning. Glad. Time to get busy. The universe is expanding. . . like I care?
This was a car I used to have in 1988. An old Checker Marathon. Huge back seat with extra fold out seats. Talk about making out in the back seat. . . I'm telling ya.
I guess I should quit farting around and get some work done. I've already dropped off Buster at school and been to the Burbank Airport near my house to continue and try to resolve the double charge issues. After yelling at the lady very loud and telling her I had a bomb strapped to my chest. The flash of electricity ran through my body instantly putting me on the ground flopping around like one of Tim Flynn's salmon. I woke up after shitting my pants in a dark room with a neon sign that said Welcome to hell. Elliott Blatt was bartending and I ordered a double Crown on the rocks. He spit in my face and laughed hysterically.