Snow Is Gone, Snow Is Coming

My gift is being goofy. There’s not a lot of it in this world. There’s not a lot of respect for you and I to enjoy. Take some time for Dr. Seuss. Take some time to masturbate. There’s nothing wrong with masturbation unless you’re a politician shaking hands, ‘cause they don’t know how to wash and they wipe their hands on the back of your shirt if they can and they infect you with disinformation to sell their particular brand and I believe that run-on sentences have their place in this great land, the mind it turns, the mind it spins, my mind rattles like a penny in a coffee can. Hello, world. This is me. Look real quick. Too late, I’m gone. My gift is wanting to be loved. My gift is wanting you to care. In a perfect world this would be a song, I would look so damn good in underwear, but it ain’t perfect; we haven’t made it so. We muck about. In the fashion mag of our life we strike doofy poses. We never think of what could be, only concerned with what we saw…on…TV… My gift to you is foolishness wrapped in words and cellophane. It’s a smile and it’s a wink saying “Tag, you’re in this game.” To play you have to chase me, have to follow where I go, but I warn you I’m a ninja on a carpeted floor. So close your eyes and stop your breathing: listen for the molecules’ flow…

There’s a lifetime’s course before you. College credit guaranteed. The Paradise Foundation is an institution with an open door. In a perfect world a man could wake up and say his luscious dick was available for consumption, a lady would say these breasts are amazing; she’d look around for who could please them. She’d wonder if this world was blind to everything she had to offer; she’s amazing and she smells good and she remembers Pythagoras’ theorem. In the morning her body’s like wet toast but buttered up and really warm. Her brain doesn’t turn on till late morning, but when it does it gathers energy for a storm. She’s been alive before, she knows it, but there’s a grocery list to write for her husband, who’s a dear. There’s a lifetime’s course before you. There are books you’ll never read. There’s a singer singing for you a special song you’ll never hear. Just knowing this is important. The books and singers will persevere. In seven lifetimes you’ll never see them but by number eight they’ll be right there.

A gift is often elusive. Who gave out that crystal chair? There’s glass under my ass. Hope no one looks up under there. And yet it’s comfortably contoured, and the peanuts I dropped from yesterday are sitting there. My gift is being goofy. There’s too much of it in this world. Goofy like remaking terrible movies first made in 1982. Goofy like watching Spring Break guys on a cop reality show. I’m waiting for my car to get fixed at the dealership. The TV on drags me to boring reality. Matt Lauer is stupid; maybe a midget will run on stage and choke him. Maybe five minutes can be devoted to more than trained seals clapping clapping.