You bought your ex an expensive ring.

She’s having a tough time

You bought me a card.

But I love you.

Well, woopsie woopsie woo.

I’m not feeling the sympathy here.

I’m not wearing an expensive ring, unlike somebody else I won't care to mention.

I would do the same for you.

Okay, there's a jewellers down the street.

Just take a step back, look into your conscious, this is not the girl I fell in love with.

That’s because I’m not feeling the love, unlike your ex.

Will you stop going on about the ex.

I will, when you buy me a ring.

Is it all about the material things for you.

Fine. You just wait

- week later-

You bought your ex a car?!

He was going through a tough time

You bought me cookies

But I love you. And also I ran into your ex at the flea market. She sold me the ring you gave her for £12. You have good taste in jewellery.

Also I called your mother and explained the situation. She wants a chat with you today.

Why would you call my mum?

Oh you know, we're such good friends and she never hears from you so I thought I'd catch her up

What did you tell her

Well you know about the ring and the car thing was actually her idea and the ring ending up in my hands was just good fortune.

What did my ex say?

She said she thought it was pathetic and that during your relationship she was just using you for *** anyway.

What did your ex say.

Well nothing unusual. He wants me back more than ever.

Paul Gaffney& Lily Nurmi.

Fight or flight button upgrade in process,
pleas,
beggings,
wait. Wait and see. Selah. Wait...

there. The next para-digm pop, you opt for geotime mode...
think
I am a rock... not the whole song, at this speed that takes a mortal ever.

Hyper awareness arousal, slow and steady mode...

startle response seen in squirrels and lizards and me, the re
sponsor of what... ? nada,
oftener than not.

The trigger is a ***** from a point being ig-nored in ignoble folly
iggie popped a bubble,
iggie lived an ugly life at the same time as earth was living an ugly life,

pop aster risc pop star ish pop

horse feathers as a load, ye gotta tote that bale, bher the forbidden burden.

Ye never read? Is that the message ye come t' judge. Will ye find me those winged
messengers of old, mercurial bherers of points in the right way
popping boundaries to progress, in time,

laughing at the rock I imagined I am, or am I?
Am I the rock Sisyphus rolls?

the time scale has wobbled,
ever just threatend to end free will,
-- is this suicidal imagination killing its own self?---
you can't die if you want to.
Not here.
Up the road a bit there is a bridge. Sure thing. For normals, who
never been this far before.

Would that be Sylvia Plath paying me back
for knowing nothing of the effect her work had on
the message McLuhan got...

next generations are pre-enabled to be skeptical,
the medium is the message,

resonating into ever, since October 27, 1954...

singing- chorus of smallworld voices

Soaring strings... whennn you wish
upon
a star, makes no difference where you are...

the
first American Television
generation with unformed frontal cortices in 1954,

sang that song, in their hearts, and truly,
wished on Venus, often,
that supposed to be the wishing star,
all things considered
combining into les confused knots
Pinochio/Tinkerbell dust/ Magic wand

the besom, broom, for sweeping up destruction,
Fantasia ai ai ai
was animated. We saw it with children's eyes,
in darkend rooms that poured
our mass attention into the massive window
staring into the windows of our souls,


---- the effect of truth
---- war loses its honor, its only supposed reason.
---- war it self crumbles under truth flowing in the at most fears
---- made superficial, top ply, last layer losing wind

breathe, soft yes, nothing is funny any more. Ah ah ah waht if
it always was a literal joke...
high brow,
a maze, to entertain life... in 2020 there is tech for this.

We have access to survivor networks of every imaginable ilk.
Meditations on truth, owmmm what is going on gonggggg

And they are off, all the fears and doubts and unbelievable lies
into the stretch
intendere
sistere

pop to Sysiphus Happy Now

Massive multi player game, where all non-player characters
lack masks, they do not play, the masked ones play for them, in the spirit
of
truth
told so suddenly y'gut jumps,'n' sphincters clinch...

simultaneous release of un belief, opening
empty knowledge boxes lined
with cedar, for the smell,

hope, in my chest, where my trea-sure things are.

My grandmother, the idea of her, her life was happy, as far as I knew.
Now, I know she was a  final model of mental upgrades
to the enregizing system we all share,
at v.1.0 white of the egg dna,
some 120 kya a[kilo years ago}... there have been upgrades and repairs

to many lines of YMRCA's since she wombed her way into
our family history,

it must be quite a story, if we can imagine mito mom mighta had a whole

dreamtime life where she snipped the thread of all the other wives,

a vision, she says I see, and I see I say, this is the way

prophecy woiks, woopsie daisy jes' dropptabebe, do a li'l dance,

weep 'n' moan, what could be woice, than a cajun gramma lover voice?

singin' sweet by and by
so long no longer means a thing,

things being what they are, and we being mere words, working
through true trauma beings

lining up for gratulation, grace for grace, eye to eye.
Bad guys lose, good guys win.

_ like I said, there will be times you must start over..
_ but the game goes on.

Memes are funny, memes are easy, memes are quality, wow I just did a big woopsie.

Some one should get some chillies up these saps
they need some sense burned into these soggy brain
some steel in foamy bodies
some lead where it matters
it may blow some heat into these drips and wets
so maturity and reality could flare up
and perhaps they may know what adulthood means

Some one should get some chillies up these saps
all these floopsie woopsie materialization and silliness
no realness, no essence, no passion, no steam, no chutzpah
drop the chips and fries, get some chillies and not the milds
eat daily and watch fire light up in you, your brains come alive
all the slimy hogwash cobwebs singed and fired off
women won't have to beg for attention in beds and idle tools will up
take heed and go get some chillies and learn passion and sense

at my age, still like in my prime and a martini
anytime, anywhere, ready to go and not just once and over
brain as sharp as a golden button, have to down the fire that burns
a stallion  with fire, a scholar with wit, a sage in tune within and out
Years of fine chillies, no alcohol except rarely, skin aglow like youth
fire and passion simmer in calm grace, the inner strength of love
a men of all seasons cause of the seasoning of pure chillies..
not gangling buffoons, with no heat in hearts bodies and souls
and  wilting little sausages they compensate for, in bullying stupidity.