This is one of my favorites. It’s messy, but deliberately so. Maybe it looks slapdash, but these things take a while to get just right. (I really need a new strategy.)

I’m secretly afraid someone will steal my gimmick. Maybe I would be flattered. These things don’t belong to me any way, they only feel like they do. I will worry less.

You don’t try to swim downstream. You just do. This is what I’m trying to do.

You know how untitled songs can come from squeaky ten-speeds on silent rides?

Today’s original daylight standard: better than any rank and file heirloom.

Why cuss out informative asprin-like begin-agains?

Another summer memory:

One guitar from across the lawn struck a perilous and peaceful greeting and all was quiet in the tiniest.  One neighbor in particular brought a water bowl wider than a mile.

I’m whittling down the complete discography into something with a bit more staying power, like songs that last for hours and change each time you hear them. Songs with no repeats. It’s like whittling down the complete discography of a life measured by way of the most ignorable things igniting substantial happiness: no rush to judgment or Herculean graphable laughter: the laughter I’m writing about is through-the-roof unchartable and completely strange — good strange, like meeting someone who has never claimed to be reincarnated (but whose parents and friends swear is the reincarnation of a World War II pilot.) That’s exactly what I’m talking about.

I’m back and compiling summer memories:

1) Dandelions beneath the mower! A smudge of yellow systems, their heads were bug wristles signifying a lifespan cut short.

2) The yard with just-right maracas and fireflies oblivious to privacy.

3) I finally finished (or just started) my photosynthesynthesis thesis!

4) And the death of “what might happen” gave way to blatant, rampant eudaimonia. My biggest win!

What are your best summer memories?

Coupling in catch-up triplets he stored clothes and made up astronomical data.  And though he hit some bastard heights and flowers in the grasp-gasps of the blessed best, those laps were wasted hours and the lifting! Only to drop the dozens. But that past is plaster. No more of it. Enough of this office shit. He will now consider from the outset the best impassables.