i've got my lucky machete.

awwwwww.
no pictures again?
you may as well stop reading now,
you attention deficit spenders.
-
duders,
it's friday the thirteenth!
another one!!
a jinxy link to the misfortunes and woes,
worries, and crestfallen failures of super-duper
superstitious mother's-back-crackin',
black-cat-napping path crossing, and general
malaise-ridden midden heaps of bad news,
worse tidings, and hardest styles.
huh?
unlucky??
i don't know.
it's either not-casual friday,
or it's sleeveless-sideless friday.
i've got a necktie and a scissors and i'm not sure
which one has the power to pump this day past ten
on a scale of one-to-then,
and take the 13th to XI.
y'know?
just sayin', neighbors-
i'll totally slice and dice the arm-ends of a t-shirt to activate
those heavy-metal nutrients the sides restrain.
but,
i'll also button up and batten down a three-piece linen suitably suited sensation
IF i can be convinced with guarantees as to it's efficacy in
realation to ensuring the probability of having relations.
and i know it's all relative,
especially since the only people who ever attempt to relate to me
are relatives.
not like that.
but still.....
***********
sometimes,
the hardest part is softening up.
i'm a warrior poet.
i compose prose and verse in the form of conflicting emotions,
combative and competent communication,
and hard-style hardline absolutes.
weak saucy namby-pambies can't hang out with that.
i'm choosing wrenches, getting tight,
and turning my sh!t clockwise towards that loud forward
progress-type participation.
but,
what happens when all there are are diaperbabies?
you can't discuss philosophy with a newborn, my ninjas.
the disparity between purposes is orders of magnitude off
from the tenets of worthy real life interoverreaction.
i mean,
eat, sh!t, sleep, suck.
that's all those duders got.
it's a metaphor, but that really happened though.
thinking ahead puts you in the future.
that's time travel,
and even jason voorhees got in on that space-time business.
ahhhh.
you get it.
(friday the thirteenth, kids, try to keep up)
on the ones-
i'm not standing above anybody.
i'm just a tall order of true stories getting perceived
as a high horseplaying tall tale tailor.
it's all really happening.
i'm just looking around so i don't miss it.
i'm not talking down, y'all.
i'm speaking straight ahead,
but just a few inches, feet, and maybe even miles,
over the domes of these duders.
comprehensive comprehension is key.
so how does a elusively elucidating eloquent interlocutor
soften his style enough to be understood?
i'm sayin'.
hard water gets conditioners, yeah?
yeah.
so what kind of creamy leave-in smootherizer butter
is there to make hot fire spit gets spat
at tolerable temperatures?
y'know-i'm pretty sure fire stays hot,
styles stay hard,
and only soft goods get stake whilst real mutha-flippers stay fresh.
or is that inaccurate?
dumbing down and smartening up,
the words to the wise from the worthy and vice versa
are the essential element of really real life,
and the prime component of grasping and taming and retaining
the beautiful big action of Folk Life & Liberty.
that's the word.
the question is:
is today the day,
or are the compositional constituent bits and pieces about to get
jinxed, hexed, befuddled, and bebothered?
i doubt i'm gonna get lucky,
but maybe i'm gonna be fortunate;
never quiet, never soft.....