some people loooove recycling.
they get all excited about corrugated cardboard versus gloss cardstock,
and separate their newsprint from their magazines and all of that.
they don't understand how being expert works.
because all of those things are inflammable,
and that means all of those things aren't for recycling into anything
besides light and heat and smoke and ash.
check the cucch's-last-night-in-town-type teleport:
i had so many paper bags full of papers and bags.
now i don't have any.
conversion to energy is what we needed,
and that's exactly what we made happen,
that's the best part.
with dizzying doses of big dirty giant cigars for our faces,
and good time hangouts for our everything-elses.
the cigars were so big, they're called the 'colosso'.
(that means big in cigar.)
amber and i got a little last baby bit of my best buddy
before he embarks on the big trans-american trek to the land of lawful weddedness
and cohabitational hottness with his wifey.
that's a thing.
the times are the best tinmes when we're all together:
(we always do)
and it was all we could do to look at the sky,
and look all around us,
and realize that it all really happens, whether we're ready or not,
and whether we're prepared to be apart or a part of it.
in a way,
i hope i never really see him anymore-
wait for it.....
because that means he's got things going right and well and according to plan
for his happy future west of the mississippi.
i mean it.
i miss him already, neighbors,
but i'd rather miss him while he's happy,
then get him all to myself at his most miserable.
another whole chunk of time has been spanned to the logical conclusion.
we do what we do,
and that's it.
i have no questions about me and my ace numero uno homeboy.
brothers in all but blood, actually,
and i am grateful for our times together.
safe travels and best wishes and even better intentions are this morning's decrees;
never quiet, never soft.....