it's all small.

tiny bits of marked paper, neighbors.
that's all i've got.
torn pages and cut cards and bleeding blots of ink
from brightly colored and uncolored pens.
uh-huh.
i may be easy,
every single solitary sunday morning,
but i'm also difficult during those early risings,
and also during all the following moments that make up the rest of the week.
that's right, duders.
i don't know how half of the people i span time alongside ever even put up with
any of my snarky roller-coaster ramblings
or my semi-self-destructive juggernaut battering ram careening and ricocheting
off of, over, under, and eventually straight through every situation i encounter.
i'm just sayin',
it's maybe worth witnessing one warrior's epic battles with himself,
and with propriety,
through the effective use of proprietary conversational flair;
all glib gab, and flashy eyes...
but let me tell y'all the behind-the-scenes truth-
making the easy parts look hard is just as tiring as making hard parts look easy.
that's a thing.
does any of that even make any sense?
not really?
terrific.
case in point, i suppose.
...
i get up early and i make small art,
and then i start with the domino effect of domingo double-dare uphill battles.
y'know?
a little marky marker magic marking,
and a lot of bad decisions and confusing reactions.
i don't want less of anything, kids.
i mean,
the object is obviously always and forever going to be MORE.
that's real.
it may end up like that famous fable about the dog with the bone
who wants his reflection's bone too,
and drops the real one in the water barking at the blurry rippling one in his
poor imitations slathering mincey mouth.
awwwwwwwwwwww.
too much is the right amount,
and none is the final tally?
that's just great.
in the meantime,
check the not-a-cat teleport:

what is it?
dunno.
definitely not a dumb cat though.
y'wanna know why?
ooooh.
that's exactly correct-
because cats are the worst.
yuck.
just look at that grimace...
it's probably nervous about something.
or about everything.
it's also wearing a robot-armored chin-guard.
duh.
and are those juicy lip-glossy lips?
yuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
no excuse not to have some pink puckery smackers at the ready.
you know it, ninjas-
ferret-dog bobotrons are what i dream about,
and i don't ever just dream it, friends.
i be it.
so be it.
and there's another 'nother one, too....
(of course there is)
check the humpty-dumptronic teleport:

c'mon.
my floaty-head robot skeleton soldiers have some flavor, no?
this one's got magic eyes.
and shiny licorice twisty rope eyebrows and moustaches.
that's something.
***********
i somehow didn't write anything yesterday.
weird.
i'll make sure to add some extra sauce to the mix today,
and conjure up some more of all of this for all of you later on.
it's easy on sunday morning,
but there's a steep rise in the degree of difficulty by as soon as sunday brunch.
by tonight the hard styles and lean times will be back to their usual levels of
near-intolerability and the flips and flops of a greedy mind and hungry heart
will all come smothering right back down,
suffocating the silent and empty bedroom i read and rest in
within these hallowed halls of the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
wow.
that took a turn.
however,
truth tellers can never stop,
and real-life documentarians have to keep it really real.
good morning, good afternoon, and good night;
never quiet, never soft.....