beccaloo
Shore up the sides, the back, and leave the front open. Today we scoop up the spent grain into totes for the farms, we won't dump the yeast in the high strength, we won't waste the CO2, not today. Today we brew sustainably. Today we brew for the next decades not for the next month.
They were out late that night and nobody felt like going home. Their outfits were too skimpy for the Oregon nighttime. Too bad tomorrow is Friday, so close to the weekend but still so far.
it's been a long time. she was slipping back into the normal ways of living. faint memories of alternative lifestyles still etched into the paper of her mind like crayon on cloth dipped in dye. acrobatic displays of experience winding time into a mobius strip.
one stripe. two stripe. three stripes a country. primary colors and primary priorities.
the day seems longer than you think. tonight is just beginning and we have so much more to look forward to. i miss you like i miss the old me. all the time. but that's background music and you're background music now. take care of yourself, tom, the night is young and the future IS bright. and if you must: don't die alone.
Quiet night. Fall is here with Winter close behind. There isn't anything left to talk about tonight so we'll start with that: not talking. A typist is like a tone deaf pianist. The concerto monotonous, broken, stuttering it's only beautiful to the eyes. I'm a long way from home and for a good reason. No reason to type about that now though I guess. Do you like the piano? I do. Maybe some people only type because they weren't any good at the piano. I suppose if someone played the keyboard like the piano it would look awful. I've tried typing words with the piano but that's fairly limited like this piece. Goodnight.
to start the day off: a dry piece of toast, a cold orange, and a fresh orgasm. some routines are funny in their dichotomy. i read yesterday that there is more to life than physical action, that there is much more life to be lived inside one's own mind. some days it's hard to leave the bed, the dream flows into the day. sometimes i don't notice it and it's like i am watching something real. i don't know where these storylines come from. they live in their world complete. today i played no part in the dream i just watched and in watching i was omnipotent of all subplots and plot twists lazy dreaming is what i call it. and yet it's easier to leave a dream i have no part in. i'm not needed for the world to continue, it doesn't cease to exist after i leave. the one's where i'm in control are the hardest to keep still and the hardest to leave, then it is like something is physically pulling me down the rabbit hole. i am aware of my body and can strengthen or weaken the sleep paralysis, the tingle and buzz of exhaustion. it feels important to hang on to that wispy world as if i were close to a secret i could never gain access to otherwise. sometimes it's scary because the secret seems to be to never come back, the secret is everything is already there in the dream, in the dreamer. as if i could change time entirely and go back to it, to never having been born. the manipulation feels necessary at first then i know i'm supposed to let go but i'm afraid i'll buoy back up to my bed and forget the feeling of the secret. strange post, sorry oneword, lucid dreaming for all it's clarity can be so hard to write about (and read about, i'm sure).
leaky, like really leaky, like really really leaky all over the kitchen floor. it's 2 am and anna has been sleeping through this for a whole hour. i'm doug i hate my name. the kitchen sink is leaky, really really yaddi yaddi ya. so we ate dinner last night and we ate dessert late night and we cleaned the dish and left the pot to soak in the leaky leaky sink. stupid humans are we. the faucet leaks, the sink leaks, the floor is wet. really wet. good thing we have a dog.
He works in a coffee shop, coffee shoppe. Aren't you jealous? Can't you just get high off the steam of fun that evaporates into a cloud of camaraderie around the coworkers? Today is a weekday it means we care less about the banter that people overhear simply because there are less people. It's a weekday. It's also happy hour. $3 pints so it's fun to watch the one or two people chug and chuckle drunk. It's fun to watch the newbie couple laugh. Today is Tuesday which means we're getting ready for the restaurant weekend which is Thursday through Saturday and Sunday morning if we're lucky, lucky in work I mean, we're always lucky outside of work (winkety wink wink). His name is Jose they love him for it here in Texas because it makes them feel less white working with an immigrant, oops I mean, a second generation Mexican-American. Jose don't mind none though he's glad to be able to fit in for once. He used to work at a bike shoppe before this. You couldn't imagine the white pretension that followed him everywhere. It's not the same as working on cars; when you work on bicycles for some reason white people don't think you belong as if bicycles were too fragile for tiny Mexican hands. If only those white men knew what he could do for their women with his Mexican hands. Silly thought. They'd hate him more. Plus most white women suck at true intimacy. It seems like almost every person he's been with at least knew the rules of intimacy. Fucking is always so much better when someone can actually hug you back. Race divisions know well how to run through the beds of infidelity.
Christmas in July. Silly sweat soaked wrapping paper. "Here I brought you this Georgetta, it's about your father. They say he was a great man." "Yeah he was also great at the great art of the infomercial. Do you like infomercials, Johnny?" "I like what you like, sweet Georgetta. Why don't you scooch over a bit?" "Are we playing that game where we only communicate in questions?" "Will you play with me?" "Will you promise to keep your hands to yourself even if I tease you?" "How hard will you tease me?" "How hard do you want it?" "OH, I lose, you win forever and ever you win now scooch." "Le sigh, boys are so easy especially the older ones that are still pretending to be young. You lost, Johnny, you always lose against me." "There are so many things I'd like to lose against you." "Oh wit, oh fervor, oh silly boy humor. It's late and my father is too famous for you to scandalize his daughter." "Your father was a professional boxer. Your father is an Olympic gold medalist. Your father is an ordained Baptist minister. Then after all his glory your father let them use his name on a fat reducing grill. Your father is a joke, come joke with me." "My father is a joke and so are you. Go get wrapped up in your hand I'm done with being your lean mean fat reducing machine. Take it out on your wife."
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