blanking out.

duders,
it's another below freezing day with above average levels of super-gaytardation.
uh-huh.
i wonder why it is that i don't get paid for all of my incredibly loud, undeniably fresh,
and uncontestedly hard-styled compelling storytelling?
i mean, i tell true stories about tall tales and prehensile tails,
and spin yarns by the silken-tongued colorful and coiled skeinful.
so why do i have to lure in the listeners with traded tortures and bartered barbaricism?
for realsies, ninja-
i want movie checks for what i want to do,
and not what i feel i have to doo-doo all dang day at the tattbomb studio.
as it is,
i'm swapping spit and vinegar, or at least a bitterly emboldened batch of bravado,
and a soundscape of attack-and-defend back-and-forth repartee
with those fewer and fewer and farther between brave souls who expose their skin
and their innermost secrets to me during our spanned time together.
i don't know if they enjoy it,
but i'm pretty sure i can't stop it happening.
i think it all always really has to.
confusing?
you don't even know a fraction of it, neighbors.
i just talk so god-damned much.
it's almost as if i'm somehow less alone if i can hear that A*-hole inflection activation,
and the rapidfire enunciated anunciations of an archetypal archangel of the morning starlight.
that's some devilishly complex insinuation, kids.
i hope you're enjoying it.
even frozen solid under a full F*ing moon,
there's never not hot fire keeping my jaw thawed out.
and i've got a semi-collapsible pair of creaky knees i'm resting on,
over a thick layer of pure ice,
and i'm howling, friends. i swear.
with wet-cheeks, all runny nosed and bleary-eyed,
until my chapped lips crack and my frostbitten skin flakes off like snow.
maybe i'm shedding my winter coat?
maybe i'm just making sounds.
maybe i'm soundly defeating the everloving quiet of an empty house and an empty life.
or maybe it's just so cold and dark that i should put myself to bed.
yeah.
that actually sounds better than any of the other other blurted-out big business
and polysyllabic savage stormswept gypsy gibberish i've spread like gossip
and/or wildfire across the farthest reached of the woodsly goodness.
word up-
goodnight moon;
never quiet, never soft.....