Sleep Bright, Don't Try

I'm not sure how to handle this.


I've been cleaning my room since two hours ago, minus the shower, minus the intuitive bit of poetry tapped out, taped into the laptop screen. definitely strange, narrowing things down. selecting the best anchors and not nailing them down. letting sleeping logs lay as they lay, watching planks toothpicking sine waves.

twang.




twang.


the ocean's an ambient conductor, the momma tongue rasping for grains from shore to shore. nonstop. don't stop no drop the day in a way convivial to drone labor, followed by a nocturnal dope layer, know wha mean, dopamine? nonstop. don't stop. nonstop.

nonstop don't stop.





lessa take the batteries out.

The Cross Winds Doth Blow Twixt n' Afro

So's I spent a lifetime of emotional preparation for the purge that took place Thursday and Friday. My room is clean.* Completely finished. Empty. Calm. Conducive. Boring. Perfect.

And lookit what I found 'neath the stuff 'neath my bedruff: the Eveready Ready-to-Go Readymade Stainless Steel Emergency Fire Blaze Anti-Nazi Window-Bashin' Escapist Wit Chain Ladder trapped in a dusty display box circa 1980 or whenever I was born. Smacks of Thrift Store tack, couldn't hardly handle a child's weight, let alone the generous claimed carrying capacity of 'two [thoroughly average and rotund] countrymen,' so I thought, so I've always thought on those five occasions when I ventured a tentative glance under my mattresses.

But it held up. I finally gave it a test clamber (thereby damaging the door a bit farther)and it holds my admittedly non-hefty baggage. Impressive.

Makes me all excited for the fierce, flaming tongue of destiny.





*Well, it's pretty clean. There's still too many dead bodies stocked behind the library books in the closet (Cask of Amontillado style, no less), an excess of dried ferret dung crusted between the floor boards, and a wealth of unabashed sentiment staining the walls. So sue me. Baby steps. One twenty-odd year period at a time.

Collabora Bora More

I 'cleaned' for a few seconds today (ie., shifted through the stacks of printer paper, drawings, junk mail, and odd bits, shifting piles around, more of a visual refreshment, I suppose, a horizontal blip flowing down the screen of a Zenith Z-171 PC) and behold, I discovered two more collaborative comics I made with my cousin, Darcy-- considered lost long ago:


Oh man, I had mad fun with that Doggy Peep. Lookit his 'bark bark' face. So furrowed. I'm always looking for un-normal minds with which to temporarily meld, so if you've got a scanner and a dream (or a mailing address, I suppose), let me know.