Rough Shape on the Diamond

I find myself guilty on more than one count covering multiple charges against my character and behavior the past 13 human calendar days.  

All crimes committed were legally negligible, ethically unoffending, and by no means indictable in a court of law.  No persons or sentient animals (beyond the mental capacity of 4 trout (all of which survived) and 1 walleye (deceased)) were harmed during my living of these past 312 hours.  In addition there were no objects of legally recognized property (aside from two coffee mugs (one christmasy, one futuristic) and mankind's champagne supply) damaged, burglarized, vandalized, or in any way set fire to, removed from proper ownership, or illegally broadcast over 2-meter amateur radio; nor was any offense directed toward public policy or morality in either physical or verbal modus operandi that would be worth documenting for use against me in a small claims court or the Supreme Court; nor was there any conspiracy to commit crime or inspire a conspiracy to incite a crime that would result in criminal conspiracy to incite a crime; nor further were there any lasting damages suffered upon the planet Earth as it exists as a sensitive amalgamation of geo-formations, bio-organic habitatry (habitatry (hab-i-tat-ree) is not a real word), and systemic climactic structures that would permanently alter the global dynamo (assuming that our planet has been ravaged to a point of insensitivity by centuries of human expansion).

There was however 1 cat removed from the windshield of my 2001 Daewoo Nubira (again no animals were harmed during my living of these past now 313 hours) via wiper blades while the the vehicle was in motion; a general elevation of volumes outputting from my voice, apartment, and overall adjacent vicinity during New Year's Eve from neural and electrical breakdowns caused by imprudent consumption of champagne; an excessive discharge of Buzz Bee Air Blaster's brand foam dart weaponry; an irritating but not illegal chatter transmitted over 2-meter amateur radio frowned upon by the FCC (by no means punishable (though stern lecturing from anonymous local Ham Operators was reported) or feasibly traceable); a failure to spend a week with the woman I love who was enjoying a week off from work (because I was on some sort of anti-vacation where I could only be at work all day and night); and a disgusting amount of tobacco cigarette consumption (for someone who has allegedly quit smoking).

Foremost and sternly mentioned is a first degree conviction of letting two weeks elapse without writing.

Judgement will be carried out swiftly and painlessly.

Sore Throat

Follow these easy steps and you too can feel like I do!!

Take a farm-fresh cactus, dip it in your favorite hot-sauce, then let dry.

Place the sauced cactus in a remote amazonian jungle, allowing poisonous ants to become attracted to the sweetness of the sauce.

With your bullet ant covered cactus, add 1/2 cup silver nitrate to the exterior killing the ants but allowing their toxins to remain, adding a delectable layer of cauterizing goodness.

Tie this to the back of a bus servicing Mexico City's slum districts with a ten foot rope, collect after 24 hours of service.

Bake in your oven at 375 for fifteen minutes, then immediately shove it in your mouth.  Allow it to settle directly behind your tonsils for best flavor.

Enjoy!

Receipt

This 'poem' was hastily scribbled on the back of a lengthy receipt while driving from Helena to Missoula.

It is dated 5/17/08

Seat-backs,
flapjacks,
relax,
it's Cinemax.
Must focus,
plague of locust
hocus pocus,
smog will choke us
sharps will poke us,
politicians still joke us.

For now alright,
shits all tight,
no need to fight,
blind your sight,
ignore
at the door
all the poor
Horsemen four,
their unsettled score.

Trim your beard,
as you feared
it will get weird,
the end has neared.
Hit the dirt,
less you hurt
your favorite shirt,
your blood will squirt.

Take this sign,
not as mine.
Nothing's fine,
husk and rind,
of a world
all unfurled,
lost and twirled.

You now ask why?
With a sigh,
but can't reply,
want to cry,
time to die
in our filthy sty.

My grandpa,
at see-saw,
wrote the law
of fist and jaw.
Then we took,
his ancient book,
moved our rook,
dice were shook,
all were six,
down in Styx,
sins will mix,
take our licks,
too late to fix.
The broken game,
of words and fame,
beasts we tame
never the same.

So love em',
hate em',
ad infinitum.

Do your worst,
try your best,
Alea iacta est.

Electric City

Took a drive down to the Electric City,
Kenwood 2 meter mobile transceiver unit
at 146.420MHz and a .5w input SMC-30 mic check.
Non-ionizing radiation and beef jerky check,
well-studied and half-assed check.

CQ CQ CQ this is Blackwater,

do you copy? Over.

We met the hams,
we took the ham test,
we shook the ham hands,
we became ham-handed hams in hand.

Impedance and resistance, Ohm I God!

They radiated in from far and wide,
curiosity frequencied at the speed of light.
They said hello with their mouths,
said who is trying to join our club with their eyes.

They wanted us,
They wanted anybody,
They needed anybody.
They reveled in showing us their ARES station-
I owe them this - it was awesome.

We left the Electric City as licensed Technician Operators,
with a hundred dollar tab at the Sip n' Dip.

Mission accomplished,

Over and Out.

Thoughts on the Annelid population

Where do the worms go in the winter?

Do they dig extra deep to avoid frozen dirt, getting closer to Earth's molten core?

Do they tunnel south?

Do they all freeze to death as they lay winterized-eggs that will be the new worm herd of 2012?

Is the one that I captured and put in the soil of my ficus the only surviving worm in Montana?

Do they simply have a high tolerance for low temperatures and continue to thrive all winter long?

Do they enter a cryogenic stasis that allows them to resume worm activities in the spring?

Do they have an elaborate underground worm city where the homeless worms sit around tiny barrel fires warming their mucous exuding clitellum?

Trust Me

It doesn't need to be
                                    Here

It doesn't need to be
                                    Seen

It doesn't need to be
                                    Known

It doesn't need to be
                                    Felt


It's There

A Cold Witch and Warm Beer

A cold witch and warm beer
That's what I like on the weekend

Beauty mouths her cryptic curse
It is not mine to understand

Driving fast down curved highways
Clenched digits and my simper

Down down into the deepest dark
She won't stop, she can't stop

Road unending, coping with infinity
Just sit back and bathe in it

Reality is danger, danger is tangible
I should have just stayed home

Another two days on the road
With a cold witch and warm beer.