Gonna be lighter than this when I wash it off.
Side note, I love Wadio.

She sat on the floor, cross-legged, among spread out newspapers and magazines, with scissor in hand. She carefully selected a newspaper and cut out a small word and laid it on a crisp white paper. She placed the newspaper back. She then reached for a magazine with a landscape on the cover, and laid back more comfortably and began reading. After about ten minutes, she cut out a word from the magazine, and set it on the white paper, reaching for a Women’s health magazine. She folded it hamburger-style, aimed for the trash can, and threw. She missed by a yard. She got up and placed the magazine in the trash.

so he sits in the dumb bin.

This August has 5 Sundays, 5 Mondays, and 5 Tuesdays all in one month. It happens one time every 823 years.

But I feel a bit better now.

Full fledged flesh-eating zombie.
And I won’t even know it.
Zombies don’t know they’re zombies. They don’t go around saying, “Hey, I’m a zombie.”

Don’t read my blog out loud in a stupid mocking voice. YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE.

it was … questionable. I will try it again, probably a different flavor and less balls.

adapted from the John Kenneth Galbraith quote .. [:

You can’t read poetry all day expecting to find out something new about yourself or the human condition.

Poetry does not contain secrets about love that you must decipher.

Poets write poems to vent out their emotions. To get rid of those scraggly barnacles that hang on to the heart.

They hang on and try to change you.

You already know who you are.

The poets didn’t.

Passion is a virus that feeds insanity.

Don’t go insane.

Keep moving.

Don’t question things.

Accept truths as they are told.

Do the only thing you can do. Be.