being the continuing story of Barnicle Bob
not to be confused with Bungalow Bill, or Buffalo Bill, or Bob, for that matter, or any of Sponge Bob's friends, or even Barnicle Bill or Popeye... or Mary, even... and not even a sing song flow of words can make a difference for either you want or you don't, either you accept or you don't either you will or you won't, either you understand or it all becomes meaningless...
Christmas never had it so good...
being the continuing story of Bob and Bernice, two dust bowl kids from latent flower power years bursting with exuberance for the wonders of luft, the magical substance known only to those who have experiences the second setting of the third sunrise in the fourth trimester after the birth of the bewitching moon in the time of sand...
call someplace paradise, kiss it goobers...
some might suggest, or even infer, but seldom imply, that losing six pounds in three days is at the root cause of analysis, or perhaps even at the heart of the matter, disappearing as it might be, but the reasonable restive resists any such onomatopoeiadic rhetoric and digests the ecstasy twice removed from the past participle remunerator in the lowest common denominator, therein understanding the passion of the power of the energy burned squared over the inverse proportion of the energy burned over time...
woah, Einstein, English, please...
at work, the computers went wacky at the server end and a few of our computers remain out of sorts, preventing any serious work to be done, ensuring the tardiness of the end of month reports in my data world, thereby initiating plan B, which entails taking tomorrow and Friday off and letting everyone suck an egg, or enjoy the ultimate irreverent irrelevance of my present primary job along with me...
if you do not understand silence, you will not understand words...
ommmmmm... meanwhile, corporate and the new untrained unskilled IT person will have a go at repairing the ailing systems tomorrow while I dance around Sea World and remember my Eucaryan and quite aquatic (some might even suggest fishy) ancestry while brushing up on my biological brain food and tickling Stingrays, with all due respect to anyone who's ever said criky with a long i...
people with two first names should not swim with Stingrays...
and in keeping with the bad taste that might have left in some mouths (and the laughter others might be secretly experiencing), a slightly sub-par performance of Aida completed the evening of the day that might have been better spent in bed, except for the euphoria that accompanied me home from the gym after the show as the results continue to be positive (and negative in the good sense) and offer proof of life and the wonders of believing in self and miracles even as the physical world proceeds with is natural decay toward the ultimate alternative consciousness from which none have ever actually proven a tangible return...
we all live such elaborate lives, after all...
and watching those around me fall to the bugs and bad moods and poisons and poor hygiene in general, I fed myself fish and cheese and rice with tomatoes and spinach and spice and sniffed my way through the minefields of human folly with a secret garden of delight at the obvious fact of life that so few below the eleventh insight ever see because it truly is invisible and like all things taken on faith, must be experienced by the chosen people who choose for themselves to be believed, ever mindful of the potential for erroneous footfalls or flawed perspectives leading to temporary or even permanent collapse into the pre-post-primordial ooze that everything is or was once made of, even cartoons...
breathe deep, the ethereal ooze...
but not to be outdone by the Moody Blues Late Lament, we remain dutifully amused by the irony and ecstasy of the promised recovery and rebirth still coming to a theatre near somewhere, but quite possibly not near anyone in particular and most likely on some deserted stretch of beach in the twilight time or wee hours, nonetheless intensely performed and experienced by all those in attendance or involved because they are of those who make the choice to decide which is right and which is illusion...
and this is what we get for our promissory note?...
and in the end, the love we save is equal to the love we gave, or take is equal to make, or break is equal to fake, or something like these and those too, but what with a nap between paragraphs somewhere above and the benefits of sleeping some restful sleep before going out to play in several hours, I thank the Q for the inspiration to return to rhyme (and Z, for irascibility beyond compare) and S for the valiant attempts to understand the silence and bid you a fond farewell for this day and night and entry with the hope that you've enjoyed the continuing story of Barnicle Bob and the all the little Barnacles found on the funny farm sometimes called my mind or, even, life in RealTime™, such as it is...
g'nite my little infinite potentates, wherever you are :)
Christmas never had it so good...
being the continuing story of Bob and Bernice, two dust bowl kids from latent flower power years bursting with exuberance for the wonders of luft, the magical substance known only to those who have experiences the second setting of the third sunrise in the fourth trimester after the birth of the bewitching moon in the time of sand...
call someplace paradise, kiss it goobers...
some might suggest, or even infer, but seldom imply, that losing six pounds in three days is at the root cause of analysis, or perhaps even at the heart of the matter, disappearing as it might be, but the reasonable restive resists any such onomatopoeiadic rhetoric and digests the ecstasy twice removed from the past participle remunerator in the lowest common denominator, therein understanding the passion of the power of the energy burned squared over the inverse proportion of the energy burned over time...
woah, Einstein, English, please...
at work, the computers went wacky at the server end and a few of our computers remain out of sorts, preventing any serious work to be done, ensuring the tardiness of the end of month reports in my data world, thereby initiating plan B, which entails taking tomorrow and Friday off and letting everyone suck an egg, or enjoy the ultimate irreverent irrelevance of my present primary job along with me...
if you do not understand silence, you will not understand words...
ommmmmm... meanwhile, corporate and the new untrained unskilled IT person will have a go at repairing the ailing systems tomorrow while I dance around Sea World and remember my Eucaryan and quite aquatic (some might even suggest fishy) ancestry while brushing up on my biological brain food and tickling Stingrays, with all due respect to anyone who's ever said criky with a long i...
people with two first names should not swim with Stingrays...
and in keeping with the bad taste that might have left in some mouths (and the laughter others might be secretly experiencing), a slightly sub-par performance of Aida completed the evening of the day that might have been better spent in bed, except for the euphoria that accompanied me home from the gym after the show as the results continue to be positive (and negative in the good sense) and offer proof of life and the wonders of believing in self and miracles even as the physical world proceeds with is natural decay toward the ultimate alternative consciousness from which none have ever actually proven a tangible return...
we all live such elaborate lives, after all...
and watching those around me fall to the bugs and bad moods and poisons and poor hygiene in general, I fed myself fish and cheese and rice with tomatoes and spinach and spice and sniffed my way through the minefields of human folly with a secret garden of delight at the obvious fact of life that so few below the eleventh insight ever see because it truly is invisible and like all things taken on faith, must be experienced by the chosen people who choose for themselves to be believed, ever mindful of the potential for erroneous footfalls or flawed perspectives leading to temporary or even permanent collapse into the pre-post-primordial ooze that everything is or was once made of, even cartoons...
breathe deep, the ethereal ooze...
but not to be outdone by the Moody Blues Late Lament, we remain dutifully amused by the irony and ecstasy of the promised recovery and rebirth still coming to a theatre near somewhere, but quite possibly not near anyone in particular and most likely on some deserted stretch of beach in the twilight time or wee hours, nonetheless intensely performed and experienced by all those in attendance or involved because they are of those who make the choice to decide which is right and which is illusion...
and this is what we get for our promissory note?...
and in the end, the love we save is equal to the love we gave, or take is equal to make, or break is equal to fake, or something like these and those too, but what with a nap between paragraphs somewhere above and the benefits of sleeping some restful sleep before going out to play in several hours, I thank the Q for the inspiration to return to rhyme (and Z, for irascibility beyond compare) and S for the valiant attempts to understand the silence and bid you a fond farewell for this day and night and entry with the hope that you've enjoyed the continuing story of Barnicle Bob and the all the little Barnacles found on the funny farm sometimes called my mind or, even, life in RealTime™, such as it is...
g'nite my little infinite potentates, wherever you are :)
Labels: babble, bliss, choices, dust, gym, hope, huh?, joy, lam, love, mtmm, muses, music, rhymes, semi-philosophy, sleepdep, smirk, sniffles, work, yay
posted by candoor at 11:59 PM
2 Comments:
1 may think you're losing all this weight to welcome serenity with skinny arm:z whenever she gets around to chance a flight into orlando and cruise around disneywxrld.
alternatively, vitaly and i are planning a trip to KSC, you betcha we want you as our personalized guide, we shall sit down and coordinate, but don't hold your breath yet, mebbe a few more months till then.
lol, well, the arm:z (and legs, for that matter) have always been skinny compared to the torso, even when I worked out with weights and had bigger muskels... if only it was so easy to motivate myself, I'd have not lingered in laziness so long and crossed the line into taking pills instead of just being healthy (I am probably gonna cut my blood pressure meds in half soon cuz the drop in weight and increased exercise is having excellent {and expected} results on the BP} which will be a big yay hopefully on the way to no mas meds :)
now that they are launching space shuttles again, you should try to time your visit to KSC around a launch (that's an unofficial schedule :)
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