randido
Dude,t's like we couldn't move a muscle, because we were totally fried. It was awesome. The Tv, man. The TV. Pass me the Cheetos, dude.
July 4th, who knows what year, I must have been 10 or 11 years old, watching fireworks, great, grand Independence Day fireworks, until the smoke triggered an asthma attack. Independence Day in the emergency room. Cooped up in a waiting area, a child forced to queu up behind adults and the elderly. Freedom, my ass.
The t I remember seeing them whenever I drove or rode into Manhattan. They were welcoming, handsome, even warm in their own way. What's there now is a spectre of what once was. Not even a shadow, but a noticeable void. Nothing will replace that, not time, not construction, nothing.
The agreement was binding. And so was the regret. Apparently, that's all she knew at this point. She rethought the past three weeks and believed them to be a dream, a blur, an irrational state of being for the world as a whole. It did no good to dwell. What's done was done, and a hundred other cliches and platitudes. She could only look ahead.
Oscar the Grouch was the king of refuse, at least until Sanford and Son came along. Fred G. Sanford. "How bout I give you one of them right across your lip, dummy." The man had perpective. The man was a refuse dealer, but yeah, he knew how to handle himself snd his boy.
I think of the distance, beckon me, call me, want me. With eyes out of focus, I peer. Just want me, call to me. So little can be done from so far, but you can call to my heart. Hearken. Ask. Implore. Desire.
Scouting like a sentry, the sentry looked out. Waves on waves unfurled before him. The scent of thick salt filled his nostrils and made its way to his palate. What a way to live, searching, seeking, helping. A scout, a beacon, a ray of light.
Back in the 70's, there was a radio station that always claimed they had the "stacks of the racks" or "racks of the stacks" or soemthing like that. I have no idea now what the hell that means, and I probably had no better idea what it meant back then. but hey, it was radio, and in radio, if it sounds good, it IS good. When I worked at WUPJ, one DJ would always announce the time by the minutes before or after the hour as "upside" or "downside," like "6 minutes on the upside of 4." Upside, downside, stacks, racks... yeah.
Celebrate? It's all about the music. Celebrate good times come on! (Let's celebrate, it's a celebration!) Celebrate! Celebrate! Dance to the music! So much singing and dancing about celebrating. It's funny that we celebrate during the happy times but not the solemn times. Wouldn't it be nice to dance at a funeral? People wouldn't dread it. Celebrate! Find a reason to be happy not just when you're happy, right? Maybe we're just obsessed with solemnity and austerity. It's the emo kid syndrome and all; why be excited? Why show some joy? Why not celebrate first and find a reason second??
Back in middle school all we did was collect baseball cards. Trades were the best part of collecting. "I'll give you a Dave Winfield and a Bert campeneris for a Dodgers team card." That was always the toughest to get, the Dodgers team card. They must have only made 5 of them, I swear. When you got the Dodger team card, you could name your price. And a high price generally wasn't a superstar playerl; it was a rare card--a Duane Kieper, a number four checklist, or heaven help you, a second dodgers team card.
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