Tuesday, August 6

sick cicada.

one more reminder.
just what i needed.
nature wins,
and everything dies alone.
F*ing miserable!
yes, neighbors,
i should've been resting after i went home sick from work.
i know.
but y'know what i know even more?
ibuprofen is not the wrench.
that's real.
so instead of afternoon bedtimes,
i stirred up the dust and pollen and poison in the atmosphere
of the woodsly goodness,
and hyper-over-reactivated the allergic responses of my ears,
nose, throat, and eyes,
taking physically responsive discomfort to eleven!
lawn mowing is NOT the same as drinking juice and lying down.
ma nature knows it,
you know it,
we ALL know it.
and that's why i had to do the opposite of what i needed.
i mean,
taking it easy means doing less.
and that's not an option, is it?
an insipid and insidious germ has imbedded itself inside me,
so i'm teaching it that i never give freeloaders what they're after.
warrior poets do not give looters the run of the place.
i doo doo that get-a-job-or-get-lost-type sh!t.
and besides,
the lawn wasn't going to trim itself, either.
it's cool though.
for my effort, i got a whole lot worse,
and that's okay, because that means i got more sick.
(the object is always to amass more, right?)
i told you-
nature wins.
i also found another 'nother example of how really real life works.
what are the consequences of purposeful living?
check the teleport:
the inevitable ending to an otherwise ugly life.
for all their early anonymity and latter day loud fresh hardness,
it always ends identically every single time.
i'm telling you,
they go from dirt-grub gross,
to fancy winged gross,
and they get a short window of happiness,
and die right afterwards anyway.
all just to crap another batch of eggs into the earth,
condemning their kids to an equally fruitless future.
oh, F* off, y'all.
i'm sick, sore, sleepy, and alone,
and i'll look at it all half-empty if i want to.
it's all really happening.
dried-out and belly up.
every day is the last day for something;
never quiet, never soft.....

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