five months.

soccer?

yeah.

that happened.

pulled muscles in every direction,

smashed toes at the ends of smashed feet,

wrapped in synthetic form-fitting cleats,

marked my hobbled wobbling off of the perfect pitch.

i get hurt, every single time.

and i never score.

that's the truth.

literally, metaphorically, philosophically.

not anymore.

overall,

my performance was less-than expert.

old legs and crappy knees are hard F*ing styles.

plus,

i don't think it helped very much that my whole entire back 

was criss-crossed and zig-zagged with welts,
sorta like i'd received a healthy dose of dreadful
old-time belt-strap discipline.
yuuuup.

raised red strips of sore semi-spotty raw skin!!

i looked like a recently recaptured runaway from

the free-labor department, circa 1840...

oh, c'mon.

i'll say this, though, neighbors;

today, 

that tract of torso is baby's bottom smoooooooth.

that's it, duders.
i got my first professional depilatory hot wax treatment!

rip. rip. rip. rip.

i'm so vain, i'm betting that this blog is about me.

haha.

***********

fancy pizza after sports?

absolutely.

nutrients from the future after fancy pizza?

don't be dumb.

teleport:

once again, mutha-F*ers!!!!

sprankles.

wu-TANG!!

a hallowed halo of holy deliciousness.

art shot chiaroscuro jauns.

fancy.

i am not afraid to eat that sh!t every muthaflippin' day.

no, but for real though.

every single day.

*

the events that unfold from within the secret universal plan.

the bellowing minor keys of discordant doo-doo butter

from the accordion-file portfolio of portents and premonitions.

the really realness of real life.

it's all really happening.
midnight batman movie jauns?
yuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
smallish screens and local flavor,

active participation and entertainment,

long nights, hard times, and popcorn.

taking separation of love and marriage,

or friends and substitutions,

of five blistering months of shriveled soulmate status,

to eleven.

it has to hurt if it's to heal;

never quiet, never soft.....