Texas Flood...

The water main in the street broke again last night, the sixth time this year on our street. Everyone gets a taste of the carnage left before the maintenance crew gets out to shut off the water. Our neighbors from Texas are an interesting study. They lost part of their driveway during one break. Water has been a problem for them lately… backed-up drain field from runoff from the hill. They sit on their deck and bark things like:

I’m billing the association for my gravel.
Better move that truck before it’s under water.
Next time we’ll call a realtor instead of maintenance.
It’s gonna get worse, you’ll see.
It’s going into your yard next.
You guys are next, we should sue.

Other statements I’ve logged the last two years:

We gotta get that sumbitch before gas prices hit $1.50.
That $300 assessment for water line repair is illegal and I ain’t payin’.
I’m getting a lawyer, somebody is getting sued.
You better call the neighbors, their drain field is leaking down hill.
They’re doing that all wrong.
Hey, we should clean up that dead possum off the road.

… all this from the stance of armchair quarterbacking. Misery loves company, right?
George Bush is from Texas, right?

Absorption...

Soaking up sops through porous catch-alls,
Consuming bountifully… the quicker-picker-upper.
Pumping the sump of knowledge,
Mopping the seeping residuals.

I shoulda worn goulashes.

The shock is devoured and jarring muffled.
Balance is maintained as abruptness ricochets away.
Forces unyielding are engulfed into a meaningless void,
Suspension smoothes the ride.

I shoulda buckled-up.

Gobbled-up light not easily reflected,
Red, green, and blue guns aligned.
Maximum spectrum soaked,
Infra, ultra, and beta be damned,

I shoulda worn shades.

This much I know is reasonably okay...

As life’s end is apparently closer than it’s beginning there are a few things I know for sure…

I don’t need to engulf perfection when just a taste will do.
Walls can be as easily circumvented as slammed into.
Demeaning subordinate work is fruitless.
Creative expression is as close to God as I will get.
My word and my life are one.
I need to allow myself to dance more often.
I may never learn how to make real money, and I no longer think I need to.
George Bush is a pimple wit.

Oil and Reasoning...

T’was 3am and all the problems of the world were not solved, but at least reaffirmed and a consensus of commonality reached. Approaches were defined and suggestions bantered about with interspersed expressions of frivolity and experiments with libations. Thus we introduce to the world a martini born of such contemplative magnitude never before attempted while intellectually basking in the bowels of the delta where art and life merge:

The Skagit SMASH (Serious Mellow Authentication Served Happy)

The ingredients of this intensely calming concoction are currently a secret as the participants ponder the ramifications of unleashing such a creation spawned from pure reason upon an unsuspecting public. Will economies crash? Will elections be altered? Will religions be sacrilegiously defiled?

So with heavy heart and threats of guilty conscience, we tuck away the recipe until another day when the Zombie Woofs and drunken dull nasties have subsided and clearer minds prevail.

50% off at the Nerve Rack...

The house is now quiet. It was never really noisy except when audibly challenged noise receptacles, dampened by age, required volume from devices best kept muffled, especially when marketers and those wanting your attention blare their sales pitches. What filled the room was nerve-racking. The warring factions have separated. Years of the pent up irresolvable had reached maximum intensity. The residual fallout was nerve-racking. Even the animals are now amusingly subdued. Freedom of movement with regard to textile coverings and access to private moment rooms have increased exponentially… I still look around the corner just in case. That is still a little nerve-racking. I’m sure surprises are lurking in the crevasses where the nerve-racking trolls play. They will rear their ugly heads and the tranquilities of auras and energies will burst. But for now, I’m safe. The breathing associated with sleep fills the room and guess what? It’s day one and it’s not nerve-racking.

News - Bush Warns Americans They Are 'Still Not Safe'...

Today the president announced to the American public that they are not free from the consequences of happenstance and well, just life in general. “Hey, shit happens,” a cavalier George Bush pronounced as his Secret Service department ushered him and his family aboard an armored and fully F16 escorted Air Force One to vacation for the 30th time this year in Crawford Texas. “Hell, I could be hit by a sausage truck driven by Osama hisself, at any moment, even on the golf course. That’s why we need to re-elect me so I can keep us on the right path and get the job done.” Polls show half of all Americans are still scared shitless almost all the time and think Salem style witch-hunts are probably a good thing, agreeing with the Bush administration that the Patriot Act powers should be increased. Bush and Fox news both think this is a reaction of “sensible” Americans and Attorney General Ashcroft is more than ready to assume the post of chief judge and executioner for the State saying, “God’s word is best served with a stake burning here and there and this just plain proves it.”