Back on the Rails

May took off like a ten mile long train down an icy rail.

Fully loaded and front heavy she saw many stations on her journey.

Cinco de Mustache, my birthday, Melissa's birthday, Zipp's bachelor party in the Tobacco Roots, a wet and rainy Dustapalooza in Turah, St. Clair fish fry in Boulder, and very few days of recovery at home between it all and work.

Two more days left in May, and the train finally careened off the tracks.  Not in a bad way.  It was a good derailing.  Haven't got much writing in, but got more than enough living in to cope.  Time to put her back on the rails though, and herald in a wonderful summer.

The tent is almost dry, should have it folded back up nicely and repacked before June.

The camping chairs, coolers, coozies, and other camping crap are clean and put away.

Yes, May was a fun and crazy train ride through the spring of my life.

Silence

My own silence is sometimes the loudest annoyance in my life.

Dismembered

It took over a week but Cinco de Mustache has been planned for, executed, and then rebuilt from.

There is a certain leap of faith one must take in order to sanely invite thirty to forty people to their yard for a day of aggressive tequila drinking.

I will spare the details, mostly on account of them not being remembered.

I have heard that people who lose an arm or a leg with still have phantom sensations shortly thereafter as if the appendage were still attached.  I feel that way with my mustache.  Any man who has ever shaven off a mustache of over 7 months can attest to the oddity of taking a drink of anything and then going to suck it from the hair above the upper lip, only to find the duck bill that is the upper lip, dry as a bone.

Alphabet Experiment at 5:39am

A is about all I have to say
B is bout ball buy bathe to bay
C is count cool cry crab to crow
D is do not die in drab dew
E is forever M.C. squared
F is fountain foam flab to flow
G is giant gnome gnat to know
H is Hawaiin home hearth to heat
I is Indian igloo idea to beat
J is a Jamaican jamboree jumpin for joy
K is kalling it kwits

Alphabet Experiment at 3:15 am

A is an alligator's anus to start this shit show.
B is the best botched bingo tournament when you are 83 years bold.
C us before you judge us.
D is a dangerous dingo in the dirty dining room with a dull dagger.
E is obviously M C squared.
F is the finest finger food in France.
G is for gangster.  As in Original Gangster.
H two O?
I is definitely not an Indian igloo in Iceland.
J peg.
K should have been the C...  Koin... Kar...  Kandy... Kunt...
L is what you would say if you had a tracheotomy and you tried to say Hell.
M is my middle name!
N is on at least every compass ever made.  No nonsense.
O is for original.  As in Original Gangster.
P is preferably for Professor Peabody please.
Q is a quiet quail quilting in Quito.
R is a raunchy movie rating that randy can't review before royal reigning age (18).
St. Clair Road is where I want to end up at.
T is what an Indian drank 10,000 gallons of before he drown in his own teepee.
U are still reading this if you are still reading this!
V looks an awful lot like an upside down A without the middle bar...
W has all the question words on lock down.  Who? What? When? Where? Why?
X can only be a xylophone.  Or maybe an X-Ray.
Y is it that gravity attracts towards instead of pushes away?
Z you later!

When It was Young

Late night of memory,
pupae of concentration,
thinking of and knowing that;
mute pulse of TV breeds lithe snores.

Ear and belly on cold linoleum,
the smallness of debris,
crumb and dirt;
feels strong on acute skin.

Out of sight refrigerator hums,
choired to my silent serenade,
it is felt and it is heard;
it is known.

Sensory experimentation of isolation,
just a young boy,
snuck from bed lying on floor;
playing alive.

A cell of the house I grow with,
too young perhaps,
for deep contemplation;
yet time is utmost in consideration.

Acknowledging the moment,
grasping back then and till then,
sensitivity for the immediate;
a snapshot of the senses, dog-eared in time.

Always available, always free of charge,
reach back and feel then now,
a gift from myself to whatever I will be;
a gift from myself to whenever I will be.

Steam Boat Randy

My brain feels like a 19th century Mississippi Queen chuggin' on down the choppy line.

Toss out the Mark Twain...

never read him.

Toot Toot