Friday, July 19

giant robots.

there are savage stormswept lightning explosions,
and there are raging berserker barbarian gale-force thunderstorms,
and sometimes,
if you're really lucky,
there are both at the same time.
hundred degree days lend themselves to the static-activating
supercharged downpours that result in deluge-type calamities.
last night was one of those times.
hours of lightning and winds and rumbles and roars from the west?
a perfect accompaniment to pacific rim at the theater.
after watching huge bobotrons kick hybrid alien destroyer beasts in the butt,
walking outside to the end of the world is pretty much expert.
that's real.
the only downside to the epic rainfall and sky-'sploding storm attacks?
it stayed thirty hundred thousand degrees outside.
for realsies.
and extended periods of sweaty sticky sh!t-salad suckiness
on my skin and bones and mood has fried my brain right up.
scrambled synapses have allowed a whole lot of blurred boundaries
between berserker barbarian and fun vacation dad.
the ornery obdurate old-time hard style albie rock fury and ferocity
are at the forefront.
some sort of muscle memory or hot fire heat-rising pyrolytic reveal?
i dunno.
but what i worry about is the temper-tantrum throwing terrorist that
i've kept buried for some time now digging his way out of my subconscious.
i can feel it, neighbors.
and i think it's contagious,
or it's a matter of genetic memory,
because we three warrior poets are composing battle hymns together,
against each other,
to the detriment of good times and cooler heads and reasonable temperatures.
that's a thing.
check the teleport:
there is only discontent.
we are all angry, and hungry, and overheated.
that's what's happening.
it can't all always be big fun,
but it can all always go to eleven;
never quiet, never soft,.....

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