Rashes
Plumber's Butt
Spilled Juice
There are more, but this is just a start. A friendly warning for your day. You can never be too careful is my motto, although I am rarely careful at all, more careless if anything but whatever. What you see is what you get. Trust your gut. In point of fact it's all you can do get through the day because at the end of the day, it's anyone's game. Speaking of games, it's more important to play than be a winner. Winning isn't everything. Keep your eye on the prize, it's waiting for you at the end of the rainbow as you know. Just follow your heart and you will find yourself in the bottom of a well with full knowledge that your future is bright just as the world comes to an end.
From my heart to yours in cuddles.
Love,
MM
39 comments:
MM!I got a rash of tiny little hearts on my gut from reading this. Thank you. I am playing the game and will accept tall beers as the prize, if offered. I think I won the plumber's butt competition.
Peeds we are neck and neck in the butt competition. Beer is the prize for living.
MM, your words are wise beyond your years. It is better to give advice like that than to recieve. You are an honest man and honesty is the best policy is what I've heard. I am keeping my eye on the prize; it is on the edge of the earth.
Oh Krix. I see you really get my meaning. You see the writing on the wall, right next to the prize that your eye is also on. The edge of the earth is farther than the mountains are high, so take care and god speed. Your horse, he is at the water, no? And he will not drink. These are trying times.
MM, I don't know if it is the passing of Kurt Vonnegut that has affected me so this mourning, but your words read like the end of "God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater."
So inspirational yet cautionary:
“Hello, babies. Welcome to Earth. It’s hot in the summer and cold in the winter. It’s round and wet and crowded. At the outside, babies, you’ve got about a hundred years here. There’s only one rule that I know of, babies — ‘God damn it, you’ve got to be kind.’”
Sniff.
spilt juice and plumbers butt are a winning combination raising the possibilities of plumbers butt as juice container, replacing those stupid juice boxs. And you can get your juice carbonated with a little luck
that Vonnegut is lovely.
I think he believed that we would eventually be replaced by machines, I'd like my replacement machine now please.
I'd like it if my "Me Machine" resembled the pimpley chin lady. I live for rich textures, it's part of my sensuous nature.
sorry MM. I'm on a lonely tangent rocketing into the void.
There is no "me-machine". Textures like the pimple chin only exist in pictures, there are no cocktails made with urine. I'm getting a grip, hoping against hope, holding on with everything I've got in due time, looking on the bright side of the glass half full.
Oh Corny. Your sensuous nature that leads you to embrace rich textures in the form of rashes along with your forthright acknowledgement that certain things WILL only exist in image or words makes me cry like the Vonnegut babies probably are.
I consider you all a part of the granfalloon in my mind.
Granfalloon (according to wikipedia): a group of people who outwardly choose or claim to have a shared identity or purpose, but whose mutual association is actually meaningless in terms of fulfilling God's design. The most common granfalloons are associations and societies based on a shared but ultimately fabricated premise. As examples, Vonnegut cites: "the Communist Party, the Daughters of the American Revolution, the General Electric Company, the International Order of Odd Fellows—and any nation, anytime, anywhere." A more general and oft-cited quote defines a granfalloon as "a proud and meaningless association of human beings."
But can we please be more like the Electric Company?
What is our shared premise?
The hope for urine-based cocktails?
Continuing hope against hope that there is a me-machine?
And I ask you, is there anything more depressing than shouting into the void of your own blog, alone? Doubtful.
There is no glass of anything to begin with to fill so if you insist on thinking it will fill you will only be murdered from the inside out. If you think it isn't true file a complaint with the Office of Warning from Danger and then tell me if I didn't try to tell you so like I am trying to right now. I don't have time for this.
I exist!
smile-smile.
moron the wolf-fish smile.
What is our shared premise?
-To understand what the mirror feels
-Biedermeierism
-applying the rigors of sudo-science to the understanding of nature, especially mother nature, especially mother nature's rear exit.
Pimpley-chin, lets you and me make a pilgrimage to romance.
The chin train has already left the station. I'm already on a pilgrimage into the wilds, into the wild woods to build a cairn which is also a monument to _____. It'll be built out of pimples and will show the direction towards something like the backdoor of mother nature, which is not what you think it is.
Kiss the pimples and release the venoms in a spray of rot explosion. Call a plumber to stem the flow of leaking orange juice out of the soul holes. Use the thing with feathers to sop up the spillage.
bats, can you see the whites of my eyes rolling in the dark? does your sonar or radar or whatever pick up the eye-whites?
bats, who is the wind beneath your wings and a window onto the world. It is Mountain Man, a man above all others, shining brighter than this little light of mine. MM, of course I get you. You had me at Hello.
I too am saddened by the news of Mr. Vonnegut. As my friend Meattooth said, "He was one of the good ones."
Meattooth is a nice name for a friend.
Pimpley Cee, I can't believe you left without me!
I am running after you, running backwards actually and with my skirts over my head, bent over so that you can see my back door and model your monument to mother nature after it. Running like this is hard, I keep tripping on debris and falling on my ass which is leading the charge, ripping new cuts which bleed actively into my socks. Yes, I am wearing socks with my clogs.
horrors, I cam hear your eye-stems creaking and popping with the strain of extreme rolling. careful, they'll get stuck that way. I bite your whites.
Fort of Krix, you're right about the mm, he is a hot breath of cuddle stinks that whooshes me up to the cave ceiling where I feel sleepy and dopey and finally I fold up and drop to the ground in a pile of scrap leatherette.
corny, the socks-blood is spelling out a message, telling you to slow down, stop and wave. even a little hand-car is faster than the backwards stumbling and tripping. take good care, wrap your scrapes in neon duct tape. The woods-tangles are dense and unknowable, and are tearing open my chin to make small smiles.
also I have learned that the mother of nature wears a heavy toolbelt, which reveals the howling vortex and also the braille textures.
I'm polishing your small chin smiles with The Rembrandt® teeth whitening system. I'm eating crisco Shortening from the tub to bring out the shine on my own chin pimples. If we rub our chins together the pus will cast a spell upon us as it flows like the mighty Mississippi, our bodies naked and trembling like animals before a coming clot-storm
Hi bats and pimples, corny ham and krix and whatever cave concoction that emits from the trauma field, this is tuna that I never expected for my bathing suit area. I am one with the blows that are doled out, I am one with molestation. Please let's cleave together in the shared premise, whatever it is.
Just for the record Krix, you had me at hello too. There is more to life than meets the eye, no one loves you like I do and once bitten twice something, right? Over and out.
Corny the clot storm is coming but the protective Mississippi River of pus is missing. What to do.
Ham I want to hear more about fingers cut off in a fan. When I was in middle school there was a legend of a girl named Jennie Greenstein, the hated Greenstein, who threatened to commit suicide in class by putting her fingers in a fan. She couldn't take being made fun of anymore. Instead they laughed harder because they knew what she didn't - that fans don't kill by cuts. Poor Greenstein. I wonder if she is ok today.
yes, I am alive and well and although I did manage to finally amputate my fingers in a fan I was able to sew them back on with dental floss, the minty kind. I sewed them with my toes, which I preserved. As everyone knows, toes are necessary tools for survival.
Hi MM, how was Myjammy?
mm, I hope your travels were good, and that you were not adversely affected by the wrath of jesus? please tell.
Hi. Miami was ok. rainy & windy on Sunday. We were on the beach getting natural exfoliation from hard blowing sands for about 15 minutes until it started pouring. Oh well! Uncle Fritz's show looked great. But we had less fun times than when we went in the fall with the pals. That is for sure.
It only took us 10 hours to get home yesterday which is much better than last March's blizzard-delayed adventure wherein it took 22 hours to get home.
How were you guys in the Biblical flooding? So crazy. I hope the leaks are not terminal.
There is hope in love of sausage.
Dear MM:
Glad to hear the show for UF went well. loved the description of the beach visit...a spa treatment for free..glad to hear you missed the deluge.
Was shoving in pansys into the garden in the freeezing cold and rain last weekend to cheer up US. It worked -I was an ice cube, he was thrilled. Rehearsals generate high anxiety...but this is normal.
I just want a lot of dark chocolate.
Hi MM. Are you feeling better? We missed you last night. We sat next to 400lb Mario Batal at the resturant and watched him eat 200 plates of food.
Fastinating, disgusting...
I want to go to the zoo today.
I made some really bad smells today at the opera rehearsal. Mountain Man, you would have been proud....
hi ems. i hope you are saving me a teacup of urine today.
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