Aha!

An adequately adapted advocate administered advertising, adds added additional adoption addressing added advertising. Are any animals anatomically arranged around an area accordingly? Actually, accoladed acorns across actionable auctions, act autistically acoustic accents acidly among one another.  Another angle answers an automatic ailment among amazing analysts and any anecdotes are accepted.

I’m in the middle of the ocean,
Swimming on my back,
You’re up above, in the sky, tethered to a balloon,
You let down a rope,
I grab on,
You start flying up,
Soon, I’m dozens of feet above the water.
If I don’t let go now, we’ll be too high up, and the fall will hurt.
Balloons pop at a certain altitude.

Tiring tips

One tire out of balance, can over time wear out your suspension, axle, transmission, and eventually your engine. Wear travels. Pinpoint the root cause of the symptoms, to find the common problem.

Dancing strays and toe jam

I met you when we were on the run. We were running from our own tails. You had your boundaries, and I had mine. Our rhythm was off, and our mistakes were like broken toenails after a night of misstepped drunken dancing. We should have slowed, learned each other’s rhythm, and set aside time for our feet to heal. But we pushed on, running from our own tails, never letting our toenails heal.

On an old candle,
The wicks, like man,
Have piled upon themselves.
Do we reach our highest point?
Drawing up our oil.
Only to extinguish.

Pull, mule!

Do you know how fast a semi truck is?
Trucks without a governor and over a thousand horsepower,
You see them all the time, hauling all that troublesome freight behind them.
But without that heavy trailer, they are faster than a sports car.
Some peterbilts are faster than porches.
10 tons of steel dot approved housing moves faster than a one ton German piece of precision.
Drop your heavy loaded trailer.
Let that engine scream.

There’s a nostalgic feeling; that childhood giggly high of jumping in rain puddles, and building blanket forts. Why can’t that rhapsodic delight stay?
Where has that feeling of fullness gone?
Where can I find that feeling again? That feeling of being at the center of a perfect universe. That feeling of staying up late with my best buddy. Where can I buy that?
Nobody can buy that.
I know where to seek it, but it always rips my heart out when I get too close. It’s an addiction. I don’t know what’s worse, one quick knockout punch, or the slow, dull, ache of a wound that just won’t heal.
****, it hurts.

High peaks

Like a tick,
I ascend the backbone of the great mountain.
At the ridge, I feel the sun,
Scorching its way through my retinas,
The smell of singed hair.
My skin shifting under the weight,
Of the powerful magnetic force.
My gaze shimmering against the waves of hot heavy gas.
The air, thin with oxygen, is rich with euphoric energy

Endothermic Entropy

Endothermic reactions absorb energy from the environment, and store that new energy in chemical bonds formed from the initial reaction.

Reactants contain more potential energy than the products of reactions, because chemistry requires activation energy.

A catalyst speeds up a reaction by lowering the reaction energy, so that a reaction may occur at lower temperatures, pressures, and concentrations.

Therefore, if particular reactants get close enough, and become densely concentrated, or if the reactants gain temperature, or are under high pressure, only a tiny amount of activation energy is needed to start the reaction.

Don’t have an endothermic reaction.

Babble on

Woe the subsonic Teutonic bubonic tonic that has corrupted our mainframe. Electronic telephonics be ******

How long
Can you look at the blinds
Melting, dripping, looming

How long
Can you watch the still drapes
Fluttering, dancing, shifting

How long
Can you stare down that wall
Snowing waves, shimmering

How long
Can you stand it
Trembling, electrified, paralyzed
You couldn’t sit if you wanted.

Wave

A piston moves up and down, just as life does. The greater the vertical distance, or stroke, a piston travels, the more energy is made. A greater surface area, or bore, to the piston latitude, will also increase the energy output. Higher energy transfer translates to increased frictional wear. Since engines must be balanced, for every upstroke, there is a downstroke.

The gaze of a galaxy,
Looks upon your breast tonight,
As your chest rises and falls, so do the planets,
Madly spinning in dizzying ellipticals for you.

Your hot breath against my cheek,
Reminds me what it is like to be human,
Sending whiskey-like heartburn across my body.

I am inebriated by your gaze, galaxy.

Thousands of miles away from home, a broken man leans over the balcony and expels his soul.

Mouth covered in blood and *****, he sinks to the floor weeping himself to sleep

This is what it is like to cry in the middle of the day.

Load 16 tons and what do you get?

I go into the frozen wasteland to pry a chunk of ice from a cliff side. A sizable piece this big should last months.

Dragging it back home, the load feels lighter with each passing mile; the sun’s hot beams pushing the ice block for me.

Smiling at my burden being eased, I walk into town with my arctic prize. I hear people laughing at me. Looking backwards, I’m dragging a wet rope.

Another day older and deeper in debt

Incomplete Reaction

I once knew an evil activation energy. After many deals with the devil, I began to see the depth of his horrible passions. Once I had made it to shore, I thought that I had escaped his wicked tidal wave. But the debt collector knocks. Not wanting to do his business in public, the tidal wave blocked my escape and pulled me back into his depths.

It was then when I saw your horrified face, I knew that I had died in your eyes. The reaction was finished. The debt was never paid. And you never got an explanation.

Screaming underwater,
I look up to see no bubbles.
My damaged lungs explode with regret.

If I hadn’t have opened my **** mouth.

I think we’re on a train. We can move freely through the cars. We can even stroll to the engine of the train and control the speed and trajectory of the vehicle. But, as mortals, we are bound to stay on the tracks.
It isn’t a punishment to be stuck on tracks. Up ahead, just over the mountain is the train station. Everyone you love is waiting for you at that mountain town. They know how beautiful the view is from the tracks up to that paradise. That is why they don’t want you to arrive ahead of time. They want you to enjoy the view up to that heavenly mountain home.
Some of your loved ones are in a train-car behind you. They have a booth reserved for dinner. It is a window seat to the alpine climb, and your favorite meal is at your spot at the table. They’re already at the booth laughing and having a joyous time.
But, all you can think about is making that **** train speed up. You go sit at the booth with your loved ones thinking that it will take your mind off of the locomotive; and it does for a little while.
A breath of fresh air consumes you.

Meeting minutes of the p-brane

The thought that three thimble thumbs thatch this thorny threat, surely superimpose suede surfaces; such summoned suits shall share sheepishly short shoes. Should sharp, shimmering, shallot shapes ship shaking shin splints, splurge splashed splinter. Spray specially spun sparkling springs spanning space, spreading sparks sprung splendidly.

Days blur,
Always causing a stir,
Speech is slurred,
Forgetting what’s occurred

Another new pill,
To get me over that hill,
It’s supposed to be chill,
But the side effects make me ill

To my frustration,
I’m still at the station,
Stronger hallucinations,
Have put a hold on my location

No man has ever died in a pool of his own tears,
Years of fears,
Just a smear on the sphere
Two eyes, and a pair of ears

Dancing
Along the wild mountain road,
the smell
of crisp lavender
fills the air

Birds chirp overhead,
guiding me home
Rays of sunshine peek
through a tunnel
of whispering green,
A warm breeze
from the lake wafts over me,
Freedom

Swooping through space,
My vision is filled with yins yanging through gaps in time

The first falls
Trying to catch himself
He is bound to stride for eternity
Sprinting into the void

The next shaman
Looses consciousness
Awake in his own dream
He does not compute

The third elder falls to his face
****** into the black hole sun
Madness clawing its way
Toward me
Relentless

I grind my teeth
To a fine powder
Eyes bulging
From my skull
I resist
My body disappears

For I wander here,
Along the same mountaintop,
My home is with me.

Have you ever looked at a tree?

With her branches spiraling upward with glee.
She grows her arms in Fibonacci coils, just like the stars above her fertile soils.
Look how her arms raise up into the sky, balanced for wind, ready to fly.


Her leaves, constantly turning, yearning for the sun’s burning love.
Delicately twisting each branch, to match the rhythm of the dancing fireball above.
Opening her arms to greet the warming sun, she produces flowers, and the bees hum.

Imagine you’ve been cast overboard in the ocean. The skipper throws you a tow line. You grab on. The boat still hasn’t slowed down. You make out glimpses of the boat, as the waves bob you up and down the crest. You’re being pulled along like a water skier, but you must hold on, for if you let go, the ship will lose sight of you forever. The rope slips. You start slowing down. The rope slips through your hands faster, as your slick bloodied hands find it hard to hold onto the rope. You grasp the final knot on the end of the rope as it screams past. You’re ****** forwards with a momentum that threatens to pull you in two. Can’t let go now. Getting tired. Slow down boat.

Trapped like a dog in a cage, I’ve gotta ****.

My water bowl is half full, and my bladder feels like it’s gonna explode.

I chug down the last of the water to empty the bowl, so I can fill it to the brim with my ****.

I feel relieved, and I’m glad that I won’t be laying in my own ****.

Hours pass, and I begin to thirst, and my bladder feels full again. Going back to the water bowl, I’m ******.

I like chests and *****

You can’t paint on top of rust. You have to remove the cancer, or else it will spread through the body, and eventually eat the frame. When you cut out the oxide, you fill in the hole with non metallic putty. Once it dries, you sand it down smooth, primer, and paint it. Since paint wears at different rates, the newly painted area will stand out. To blend it properly, you must sand, prime, and repaint the entire car. Unfortunately, the fixed body work will never be as strong as it was new, and the affected area is no longer magnetic.

I am like toast. I’ve been burned. Crusty outside, soft middle. You spread your sugar on me, and consume me. When you’re done with me, you look into the fridge and pull out another bag of bread.

It’s hard to get a DUI if you can’t make it to your car without passing out. I keep a fresh bottle of whiskey next to my arm chair so I can throw the brakes on life and kick my feet up at the skies. I fly high, but it’s the only way to feel sober.

In the cockpit, I radio my vector to the victor, switch on the autopilot, and step away from the controls. From this point of view, it is hard to distinguish who is at loss. Is it me; the trained pilot, who is trained to give tasks to the autopilot? Or is it the plane, who is cutting through the skies a hundred times faster and higher than mankind was ever meant to travel? Or is it the fuel that was ****** out of the ground in the desert, where it’s lubrication was needed for preventing earthquakes, then separated by pressure and heat, before being barreled and shipped to the other side of the planet, where it is squeezed though a maze of pipes, into the tank of the jet liner. Once airborne, the jetliner burns thousands of tons of fuel every minute. Is the airline at a loss, chained to this ancient machine? Is the passenger at a loss, for being stuffed into the back of the plane with hundreds of others, stinking their way to the cabin. All dancing in line to get to the only toilet in the plane.

No, surely the toilet has the worst job.

Taking my hands off the bull’s horns, I let the beast breathe for a minute to cool down. I can feel the steam pumping through the giant’s lungs. The animal shudders. It’s feeding time.

Jumping off the motorcycle, and landing at the foot of a high octane pump, I turn around and open the fuel cap, only to find it’s bone dry. Curses. Feeding the pump plastic, I convince it to share a dram with my mechanical gorilla.

Rehabilitation

The fiend was weaned until he wasn’t mean. They whipped his beans with blue jeans until he seemed docile.
They broke his spirit

The waiter looks at me with the cheese grater in his hand, he starts twisting the handle, making milk confetti shoot out of the bottom of the contraption like old faithful in the summertime. The server asks me to say the word  “when” when I feel like I’ve had enough.

Looking down, I think about how like the cheese, I am a snail grinding into the earth; spending my life away at petty work, only to achieve my end goal of being nothing more than a trail of slime and a worn down shell; my ground beef mess of a body pointing the way in which I was traveling.

What shape would reveal itself, if I were looking at my trail from a higher ground? A circle? A line? Perhaps from above, my path is so thin, that it blurs from existence at further distances.

I look back up expecting to see the waiter. He is gone. My salad is cheesed.

It all started back in 97
I died when I was a kid
Didn’t want to go to heaven
I missed my ma,
I missed my pa,
I missed the sweet curves of Arkansas

I came back worried
Had to live life fast
Dropped a gear
And began to pass
Looked back in the mirror
I lost sight of what truly last
It’s all about the people you know
We can all be happy if you go with the flow

We all family down here on dirt
People are evil because of worth
You work too hard you end up in a hearse
You know that you can live out of a purse?
Take a walk
Never come back
Never wake up from your nap
Camping with your friends for life
People on the streets with guns and knives
In the woods there ain’t no strife
It’s just you and your next meal
That’s the life

But we can be better than that
We call ourselves civilized as a fact
Brothers killing brothers ain’t the way to go
Life is easier just go with the flow
Are you happy in that big house all alone?
You don’t need keys when you’re in the grave
Why you workin so hard to save?
Can’t you be happy with the choices you’ve made?
It’s in the past it’s all a fade
You could lose it all in a raid
Help your brother when he needs aid
Do positive and maybe you’ll be saved

Fibonacci Fantasy

Did I ever tell you about the psychedelic trip I had where I shrank down to the size of an atom and explored my body from the inside like a new world? One vivid part of the experience was where I was driving a red blood cell through the arterial interstate. We were flowing through the tubes like a pack of wild horses splitting off at each exit ramp. I remember how beautiful it was that everything was transported from a central, omnipresent place. I saw how as I grew, my cells expanded from every direction like the universe, cultivating the in between spaces from smaller universes. A perfectly planned miniature world. It’s the same thing at the atomic level too. Just a different scenery. Solar bodies act the same way as inside your body. The world is the collective consciousness of our dna. Trees and cars have hearts and pump fluid to a rhythmic hum of Fibonacci.

Take flight, you contagion!
Go forth and infect the living.

Like a beaten dog,
Or a slave of the land,
I resent the sunrise.

After the morning medication,
I crumple into the tub,
Broken, weeping, shaking,
A carrion to the carnal carnivores.

Choking down my tiny breakfast takes hours,
Trying not to think of lunch,
I escape outside to quell the nausea,
Often finding myself miles from home.

Eyelids growing heavy, the day isn’t even over, I just wish mine was.

Fruition

Two plants recognize that they can only throw their life force short distances, so they grow fruit as an idea to use the animals to help spread the seed. The first plant spends less energy in making its fruit, and more on the seeds. The bountiful influence of the seeds was lightly draped in a thin skin of mush,

This fruit from the first plant is eaten by a monkey. The monkey gets a stomachache from the fruit, has trouble passing the seeds, and decides to try fruit from the second plant. The second plant spent more energy in making the fruit extra sweet for the monkey to enjoy, and made sure that the seeds were not too big, and wouldn’t get stuck. The latter plant’s seeds were spread over a greater distance than the former.

Tick, tip, tap, rippity, smack,
You didn’t change your oil.
Kachunkachunk, kablooey, baboom, the piston has left its room. Now, the baboon must spend his dabloons soon, or suffer the wrath of friction in bloom. Zoom Zoom

Sometimes, you want a taste of your old habits. In the hot desert, and on the high seas, it pays to drink your own ***.

Paper was made so people could make their thoughts real.

Was paper made for the poet, or for shopping lists?

Or maybe it was intended as a canvas for an artist.

Or was it made for the scribbles of a scientist?

Was paper made for a thought to be thunk?

Is it for bad poetry people read when drunk?

Was paper made to carry the order of a king, or a war monger?

Paper was made for a feeling to stay around a little longer.

Does the booming club music drown the sound of your sorrow and conscious?

Eulers totient of motion

The baboon platoon danced on the moon like loons. They sung a tune and traded runes, and soon it was June. June turned July, and they wanted to fly, all the way back to the earth to die. What a spry notion for such a commotion; perhaps they will land in the ocean.

Best or worst case scenario for evolution?

Two plants compete for resources in the desert. A rock falls over both. Surely this means death for both plants. The first plant gives up, and dies. The second plant grew around the rock, and populated the desert.

One two, I’m in a mood.
Three four, lock the doors.
Five six, what’s the fix?
Seven eight, cry an hour straight
Nine ten, better again.

Determinant Daisy

The flower seed pushes up from the ground. It fights rocks and mud to rise above the soil. Inhaling sunlight, it grows high above the dirt. It fights the strong winds trying to whip it out of the ground. It fights the torrential rain, threatening to wash it away. A child finds the flower one day. It pulls it out of the ground and brings it home to its friend.

Those beautiful pines below me call out with the whispering sound of the sirens, as their green majesty hides deathly spikes, that would permanently ensnare any falling climber in a sharp, sticky, tary, tomb. What a carnivore of a plant.

1 problem at a time

Rock climbers call routes up a sheer cliff face, “problems” because when you are up in the air, ***** to the wall, your next move is your next problem. Now that’s poetry.

Turbocharged

Go press your gaping mouth breathing mongoloid maw to your own ******* and blow.

Blow a rod out the side of the block,
You hear that engine going knock knock knock.
You see that oil pressure needle drop,
You come to a rolling stop,
Clippity clop,
Time to head to the shop

Whistle while you work

My tinnitus is irritating. The sound screeches my thoughts to a halt, like an emergency brake on a train. It’s like having a jet taking off next to you, but you can’t put your hands over your ears to soften the deafening whine. It hurts your eyes, and makes your stomach sick. Sometimes I forget I that have it and I think that a pressure wave explosion has been detonated near by, and that I need to seek shelter. I think one day I’m going to wake up to the same pitch, but it’s going to be coming from a hospital machine.