In the sun, in the sun I feel as one

I had in mind a different post than the one you're going to read. That is because my mind is scattered like buckshot and wants to do other things. What I wanted to write, an endeavor I may or may not ever get to, would have required a keen focus, a liberal amount of derring do, and a broad palette of ideas. I don't have it in me tonight.

What I can offer you is an idea that just came upon me: Spam haiku. Earlier tonight, as I was checking off the new spam emails I wanted to delete, I noticed that some of the subject lines had the look of poetry to them. I could use this to my advantage, I thought. Rather than feel repulsed, like I would with cockroaches, every time I see new spam, I could, while not fully ridding myself of my hatred for it, at least take away something positive.


Love the nature

View natural tits

It migrate


That was the first one that caught my attention. See what I'm talking about? Spam haiku, son! Here's another one that, I think you'll agree, touches the soul with delicate precision.

A young cutie

Is swallowing a big black hose

Is munitions


Don't bother trying to derive meaning; it'll arrive when you're ready. For now, just ride the waves of bliss the words provide. Feels good, doesn't it? Here's one more to launch you straight into the navel of ecstasy.

Brush her teeth

With your love instrument

Do inaccurate.



I most certainly will. Paul Stanley couldn't have said it better.
--

At work the other day, it came to me how shy Ann can be. She was is in front of Ellen's desk dancing-- no, more casually swaying in time with, the music coming from the radio (which reminds me of something irritating I think I'll mention further down). As she was doing this, I entered the room. I must have surprised her because, once she was alerted to my presence, she stopped swaying and gave me an embarrassed look.

She is not a wall flower, but I've noticed she doesn't often make conversation. She's involved and assertive if you engage her in one, though. This means that on the days I'm not feeling very talkative, it's likely there won't much, if any, interaction with Ann. I'm ok with that.

I'm in no rush to, and I'm not sure I ever will, pursue something with her. Matters would accelerate if I was more driven regarding her, but I'm not and so they won't. But my life isn't a romantic comedy-- though if it were, I would want it to be like You've Got Mail -- and people don't always pair up, even if they're compatible. So, we'll see with Ann and anyone else that catches my fancy.
--

Before I end this, and shortly I will, I just want to get something off my chest. For years, I've been hearing that Dishwalla song, "Tell Me All Your Thoughts On God", and I just want the world -- God, too -- to know how shitty I think it is. I don't care to get into the numerous ways the song makes me ill because I don't want to feel nauseous the rest of the night. I just need to vent a little.

Must have been mid afternoon
I could tell by how far the child's shadow stretched out
He walked with a purpose
In his sneakers, down the street
He had many questions
Like children often do
He said,
"Tell me all your thoughts on God"
"Tell me am I very far?"


"You're not very far from getting a slap in the face, you little fuck" is the only reply that child would get from me. Fuck you, Dishwalla! Leave the profundity to those who know what to do with it: the writers of spam haiku.