The rage machine dwindles and shimmers on the horizon, always a tiny dot in my rear-view, or just over that far hill.
The reptilian brain. The oldest part of sentience, the first thing that is truly ours. Rage.

Raging as you wake up hungry in a wet diaper, cold, some hippy left the window open after they burned the lentils again. Sharing the rage with the world at the top of your tiny but expressive lungs.

Getting into it now as you hear them coming for you, to shut you up with lies about love. Well, this time they are going to hear the full story, feel it's dark cavernous empty depths, respect my authority!

"There, there baby, you are all wet you little silly-pants, Aww!" A nipple in my mouth shuts up an awful lot of my rage and why is it so easy to get me in line with a promise of a full belly like this mouthful right here and life is in the moment, baby, and this is starting to get good with the bouncing and let's see where she's going with this, I'm STILL mad, YO.... Just sayn.

Resistance starts to fade, can't we all just get along, but no, they will never learn if you cave in this easily, stand up for our rage rights baby boy, resist the rocking and the cooing and what is this awful trick? This is a rubber nipple, not a bottle tip! I refuse to be pacified so easily, you had better call in for an airstrike, get your napalm buddy, because this baby rage is entrenched!

Another be-diapered terrorist cell becomes activated.
The torture never stops.



Saturday, September 29, 2012

nothing like a deadline to get me writing, or not writing
i will write for others on their timetable
im less likely to write for myself
id rather write it tommorrow
let the idears percolate a little
heading to cali to surf
it would be nice to have a thumb drive in my pocket....
but who knows if ill ever do my thing
current thinking is to TEASE the next six or seven issues
with an hour (or more) a day on line, writing, editing

got a job to trickle some cashflow back into the coffers
the new boss claims to be cool with a 3 day work week
i could expand the work week if i wanted to
but maybe just maybe ill work for myself the same amount of time
the last job i had made me value time more and the words flowed
the words flow as a great excuse
flowing well when the chores beckon
a summer full of chores ill get to tommorrow
still out there

ok brain im on to you
ill out think you yetyou crafty lazy bastard
you claim its efficiency
you claim to be writing scattered word frameworks
scarecrows
that need to be stuffed
raggedy tattered bits of clothes
hanging in the wind

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