An Idea Came To Me Just Now

The city of missoula has enjoyed a warm wintery season.  Very little snow, mostly rain, has been infrequently falling and drying up.  Thanksgiving and Christmas have came and gone, and most of my driving has been done with a zip-up sweatshirt and a downed window.

That is until two days ago.  When we received roughly 20 inches of snow in 48 hours.

It is as if our winter was delivered to us by a kinked hose.  All dried up as a bone, with pressure building and backing up on account of a hopeless curve, until the sharp acute burst open and we received our entire snowy payload all at once.

Now, artificially warmed by two glasses of Balvini double barrel single malt.

One of Speyburn ten year.

Currently enjoying a Dos Equis Lager Especial.

An idea came to me.



Tomorrow, on my day off, I am going to make a gigantic fucking snowman.

Instant Coffee

My heart goes out to anybody who has ever forgot to pick up more coffee at the store, yet for some reason owns a jar of instant coffee, and decided that the crystals will suffice for just this one day.

They don't.

Hourglass

Two more days will see me at work all day.

One day will see me drinking all day to celebrate the end of all work days.

One half day will be spent holding my head in recovery after the all drink day to end all work days.

Then it will be back to normal one half day after the half recovery day to the all drink day ending all work days.

Through Doors and Into Places

I will take memory
walk with it
hold it in my hands
in the folds of my body
through doors and into places.

I will buy it a drink
it will play for me
will burgeon and bloom
radiant and warm
in tandem we cherish.

But the sun always sets
and in the tomorrows
memory will whine
there in my hand
hungry for something.

And these days when it whines
needing what I can't give it
I will wish
to throw it away
to rid myself of its burdon.

I will try and hide it
in my pockets
in the folds of my body
for I will tire
of it's unchanging.

But my aching hands
they won't let go
no matter how I try
it stays with me
through doors and into places.

Memory will become my rumor
It will grow beyond my control.

Only then will we know
what we have done
where we are now
who we will be
through doors and into places.


(To be revised when I have more than 15 minutes to myself a day)

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.