why tell us?

Inside my head this morning, it was quiet. Normally inside my head it feels like i am running around in a very confined space, and I try to run, but there is no room, but I can't stop trying to run, so I just get stopped and turned and stopped and turned, over and over again.  Once in a while, I do get out.  But this morning it was just quiet.  I am dying.  We are all dying.  But maybe this unusual quietness is an indication that I am dying soon.  It would make sense.  All the signs.  All the warnings.  The aging.  The days.  The nights.  Wow, it's practically been written out for me.  Bye.  It was briefly quiet.

clearly

It's too bad my skin isn't transparent, because if you could see my innerworks - what makes this beast tick - you'd be even more impressed than you already are.
Beside the impressive showcase I clearly would be, there is a practical angle.  The transparent jimmy would be easier to diagnose, medically.  Much easier to see if something isn't quite right with the gutworks.  Improved preventive look-sees.  "Hey jimmy, that liver looks a bit sallow, no?" Etc..
Evolutionarily it would be advantageous and hence, most likely, preferable.  And right about now, if I were God, I would be really embarrassed that jimmy thought of it before me.

Please be aware of uneven terrain

Bring to me all of your best thoughts and ideas.  I will synthesize and synergize them in to this one:
I am grateful for being tired, because soon I will rest.

For me?.

Every day is a gift.
It is an unopened box, delivered to your doorstep.
Every morning when you open your eyes,
you can just ignore it.
If you leave it alone all day, it will be removed,
and a new one will be put in its place tomorrow.
Or you can open it.
You can then look inside and see the same lump of clay
that gets delivered every morning
and ignore it too.
leave it in the box.
Or you can take it out and make something glorious with it,
something fun, something stupid, something lazy, beautiful, gracious,
Every day the same gift.
And everyday, a choice.

Who's Law?

Law be damned!
It is never okay to poke your dog in the back of the head with a curved stick.

idiot magnet

When I travel rural backroads, I often see shot-up signs similar to this one. What is it about a No Trespassing and No Hunting sign that makes it an irresistible target for the people who are trespassing with a gun?  Like mice to cheese.

Burnt Wood

Burntwood.  Oddly enough, that was the name of the butler I had growing up. "Burntwood," I'd say, "fetch me my slippers and the latest edition of Rich Guy magazine." And then my dad would hit me really hard on the back of the head and say, "Quit calling me Burntwood, you little idiot!"

rainbows

I started to write a book about rainbows.
At some point it seemed better suited for treatment as a screenplay.
Then it was to became a thesis for a peer-reviewed scientific journal.
From that it devolved into an article to appear in a popular magazine.
I shortened it, tightened it up, reduced the excess, pared the fat,
and it became a blog post.

Smooch

My lips

have been described as

"heaven's dewdrops".

Yesterday

Yesterday, the sunrise was at 7:01am.  

The sunset was at 7:01pm.  

Symmetry.  

Balance.  

                                                                    Gone.  

Gosh darn

When truth is dismal, it is temporary and not the truth of eternity.
But that type of knowledge is not all that useful when truth is dismal.

The shelves at my corner grocery have recently become noticeably understocked.
It is nice to have a grocery store so close to my house.
I am sad to see them struggle.
I wish I had a swimming pool,
with penguins swimming in it,
and that the corner grocery store would stock penguin food and pool supplies.
Last year I visited a zoo that had a penguin pool/habitat.  While we were there, the caretakers were hosing off the fake rocks and fake icebergs at the side of the pool.  The rocks and icebergs were covered with poop.  A lot of poop.  But, of course - in perspective,  there were a lot of penguins at the zoo.
I only want about 3 or 4 penguins in my penguin pool.  That's probably a manageable amount of poop for a non-commercial penguin pool operation.
I hope.
I hope that corner grocery stays in business.
One less penguin-related worry for jimmy.

just like me

Spring makes me want to start a band.  Too bad I can't sing or play an instrument.  Maybe if I had friends who could sing or play instruments.  I wish I had some friends, all of them just like me.  So what if the band sucks. 

verily

As the snow piles, of a winter passing, melt away in the slow heat of an approaching spring season,  I am reminded of life - as time melts away our lives.  What began as pure soft white powder wears down into something old, dirty, and a bit crusty.  But be that dismal, it is no cause for sadness - as the advent of spring's own unique death spiral commences thusly. Rejoice!

go team!

I almost applied for a job washing cars at a car dealership in DeKalb, Illinois. I walked within eyesight the glass-paneled overhead door near the service department. They don't remember me there.  I never made it in.  I didn't try.  I wouldn't have gotten that job.  I don't have the calling.  I am passionless in the face of bubbles, a hose, and a sponge. I display the failing nearly every day. I know there is something wrong with me.  My high school football coach knew it too.  For that one long half-day of freshman practice before I quit the team - coach saw it, he smelled it, he endured it and me...I made him sad, inside.  When I turned in my helmet and pads, I didn't smile, but only because I was still there. The story doesn't really have a clear happy ending to job hunting or football.  I walked back to my apartment, temporarily jobless, and I took up tennis.  My guess is that coach is still sad, inside.

ours

There is a spot in the sky that belongs to you and me.
Sometimes it is easier to see with the trees as reference.
And the clouds.
And a bird.
But there it is.
Right there.
Ours.

The City of New Orleans

I remember getting on that train to visit you.
We were in college.
I remember packing my duffel bag.
I remember how my jacket fit.
I remember how quiet campus was in that early hour.
The train platform.
The tired family.
The conductor.
My ticket.
You. Then and now. You.

I love you.

love note

If I could deconstruct the construct, we would be left with love.   
Every complacent day I try to write a new love song.

Everyday.
In my heart.
On your heart.
I write.

-jimmy

another today

I forgot to be happy today. It just got away from me.

performance art

No one needs questions.  We all need inspiration.  Meaningful inspiration.
The sun doesn't only shine on one person.
The darkness doesn't envelope only one person.
I cannot love everyone.
I cannot hate everyone.
If I hit you, or a local innocent, with an electric bass guitar I never learned to play, it would not be because I did not like you, or local innocents, or that I had no musical talent.  It might be an expression of the art that lives inside of me, an art that is looking to be expressed, to get out.
Sometimes the art needs to escape the artist.
Sometimes the sun does shine only on me.
Look out.

it's done

i have a friend who is like a folded piece of paper.  his fate, like yours, rests in the creases.  and if he was crumpled, rather than folded, his destiny would be no less determined.
i am no different, except i went to a camp for special kids.  we folded paper.  into shapes.  and not.

not too far from my house

Somewhere or sometime, on that bus, I forgot to be light.   I forgot to create light.  I have not forgotten how, I forgot why.  The last step off of a school bus is a long one, but not as tall as the step onto that bus.

If

 
 










There is a little something inside all of us.  I like to call it, stuff.