Happiness is a clean windshield.
Why is it not the 2nd through 400th insect that commits suicide on your windshield that “bugs” you, but rather the first one?
Which seems to be the dragonfly that just left Burger King, having finished a double whopper, large fry, cherry pie and mint milkshake?
Right about left of center, of your line of sight causing you to keep bobbing your head around to see the traffic?
A drug less addict, couldn’t be stranger
For I must be, addicted to my anger
Must be, has to be something
Without it, I fear, I am nothing
Really, no reason, to stress or strife
I’ve a beautiful wife and a good life
All of the bills, they do get paid
And despite my darkness I get laid
Get my heart & head, on the same page
That might dismiss, some of the rage
Should it be my fate
To always be irate
My mind, conjures, images so vivid
About fears so clear, I get livid
Cognitive dissonance, my contemplation
Probably causes most of my indignation
Peace and tranquility of which I aspire
Still find myself bloated with ire
Searching searching, for the right path
One wrong turn, leads me to wrath
With all my blessings, should be glad
Why then am I, always so fucking mad
Peaceful thoughts is my stated claim
End up regardless mostly inflame
Excuses, endless, none any good
Changing my attitude as I should
Quickly must act, not to be bereft
Or it will be me, and no one else left
Taking responsibility is my aim
For there is no one else to blame
Efforts, effective so far have been trite
A fix in the works, continue to write
Everyone is worth all the great while
Perhaps I could start with a friendly smile
Sooner the fix, be thrilled then
Improving lives of my children
To finish this up, I’ll make it a twofer
My poem, and Ozzy’s Secret Loser
Secret Loser
Trapped in a lonely body
I’m losing control
Can’t show my emotions
And I’m losing my soul
Could it be that I’m obsessed
With feeding my disease?
I couldn’t make it known
The hidden things that no one sees
Yeah, loser
I’m a secret loser
Loser
I’m a secret loser
Fighting a losing battle
Pretending to win
Repenting to holy unknowns
Pretending to sin
All I do is hide the wounds
Where blood just won’t congeal
Couldn’t ever take my soul
‘Cos isn’t there to steal
Yeah, loser
I’m a secret loser
Loser
I’m a secret loser, now
Though I’m the loser, there is no winner
There’s nothing left to win
The hidden reasons now in deletion
Are lost in sin
So heed my warning, the time is dawning
I’ll tell you, here’s the twist
The truth is lying, below the surface
I don’t exist
Loser
I’m a secret loser
Loser
I’m a secret loser, now
Seeing is not believing
It don’t mean a thing
Although it appears to be that
The loser is king
I can understand that what you see
You think is real
But underneath the surface
Is a wound that cannot heal
Yeah, loser
I’m a secret loser
Loser
I’m a secret loser
Loser
I’m a secret loser
Loser
I’m a secret loser
No friends, no me
No income, no me
No disagreeing, no me
No sanctuary, no me
No sleep, no me
No opinion, no me
No control, no me
No parents, no me
No me, to know me
(I guess I could better explain the above, however, that to me, would lose its poetry-ess-ness.) (What a rookie, can’t believe I left these parenthesesed comments in.)
Sometimes there is not even a me to consider a me to cease existing me being a me.
But wait,
Hope and appreciation.
My ears to hear is me
My eyes to see is me
My fingers to touch is me
My nose to smell is me
My tongue to taste is me
My brain to think is me
My heart to feel is me
My wife is my love to me
My children are inspiration to me
My blog to express is me
My driving is freedom to me
My creativity is divine to me
My laughter internal is me
My mind evolving is me
My soul knows me and no me
I knew I’d find enough know me to not know no me.
Maybe,
I should have titled this the narcissistic.
Me, me, me, me, me, me, me.
Ever wonder, if the rail car manufacturers painted their equipment with fancy artwork, creative designs, balloon lettering, coded messages that the graffiti artists would simply paint over them with single solid colors?
Live life so that your hagiography
Becomes closer to your biography
I just realized
I use amnesia
As a coping skill
I dismiss the act
Whether it be me
Or somebody else
But not the anger
Forget Amnesia
I will deal with it.
Plus, let anger go.
Identity Theft
Ooooh, I am scared!!
The warnings, come over my radio, from the “high paid”, “voice over” guy.
With, practically “Vincent Price” tonal qualities, of impending personal disaster.
Sometimes, even on the tv, riddled with “lock” icons, and red images, running.
“Statistics” piled high, in rapid intense succession. Using cautionary tales of woe, simply based on the “numbers”, that YOU, YOU, or even me, could be next.
Quick, where’s my security blanket. Ahhh.
I must hide, from the identity “stealer”.
Wait, that voice over guy, is now informing me, that, if I pay their “security” team a monthly “fee”, they, will “protect” my identity. They, “guarantee” it.
Oh, mommy, could it be true?
Whew, how quick can I sign up?
Someone might access your credit cards, or tap into your ” bank” account, yet it’s not identity theft.
It sounds like invasion of the body snatchers though, meant to keep the masses in fear and transferring $ from you to the corporments.
Turning fear into cash. All done with careful and clever, language, sound and image manipulation.
Another layer of corporment controlled socialism, fascism, fear-ism, guided illusion, that if it didn’t generate so much “free” money, it wouldn’t exist.
Remember.
It’s impossible for someone to steal my identity 5fm
Nor my personality, I’d have to have one first. Obviously, if I have time to sit and think up this post.
Also, the system of the world we live in, may be the only one we know, (right now) however, it’s not the only one.
That there is a God force.
Stand up comedians, and ironically, even, the atheistic ones.
Magically manifesting all the creativity of putting god (Words) from thoughts (god head ) into audible art.
All in perfection, sequenced in such as way as to raise our consciousness.
Seamless in effort, with terrific timing, perfect pauses, tempered tonality, staccato stutters, vicious vocalization, malignant moodiness, clever courage, benign brevity, acrid aphorisms, political pontificating, fresh frankness, real reasons, dogmatic discoveries, infinite intelligence, questioning questions and indefensible arguments.
Vocalizing “truths” presented humorously in many forms, from the soft warm gentleness of an intimate breathless whisper, to the banshee wailing warning of impending apocalyptic Armageddon.
Either way, only presented as tentative truths expressed raw for you to decide, as to what feels right and good.
Not printed in a detrimentally deceptive conniving controlling structured book, numerically referenced chapter and paragraph policy outlined fantastical false fairy tale.
The ones passed down by costumed zealots, instructing you how to interpret it their way, to best serve their needs, not yours or humanity’s
We ignore this at our own peril.
Debating creationists is slippery. When your opponent doesn’t have to adhere to facts or logic, it’s tricky to find traction.
My friend Zach Weinersmith once wrote that it’s not that most creationists are anti-evolution, it’s that they’re anti-some distorted version of it told to them by their pastors.
Phil Plait
The opposite of profound truth is another profound truth.
Niels Bohr
The comparison, of “truths” about disciplining children.
Proverbs 13:24
New Living Translation
Those who spare the rod of discipline hate their children. Those who love their children care enough to discipline them.
Christopher Titus
“Tough Love” from “Neverlution”
“In that moment, I got one of those pure truths of this life”. “You got to abuse your kids a little bit ” // But, in today’s world, with what is going on, you got to suck a little trust out of them, a little love. //
Louis CK
“Other people’s kids”, from “Hilarious”
“Stop hitting me, you’re huge, how could you hit me? That’s crazy, your a giant, and I can’t defend myself. // Here’s the crazy part about it. Kids are the only people in the world you’re allowed to hit.//
They’re the most vulnerable and the most destroyed by being hit.
Given, the choice of those three truths, the one that rings truest, with “god” like clarity is Louis CK.
Besides that, the one that best suffices, logic and reason, is Louis CK’s.
In researching stuff for this post, (since it took a turn, I hadn’t planned) the biblical version of “spare the rod, spoil the child” had many different versions, from a wide variety of translations.
All, mostly vague, and contextually disperse, enough to confuse. With so many versions and so many subtle differences, the contradictions are overwhelming. How is that prop, still used, as a tool, to declare “truths”.
As for the Christopher Titus bit, it is clear, yet a little misguided. However, in context of the abuse he endured from his father, has to dissuade himself of the cognitive dissonance of simultaneously wanting to love his father and excuse him of the abuse.
I think Christopher Titus is funny, yet the notion that “in today’s world, with what is going on, you got to suck a little trust out of them, a little love.” The exact opposite would be more useful, build a world where trust is absolutely imperitive and love is overwhelming.
This took such a strange turn, should probably have made it in to two posts. But, when “other” “forces” seem to be guiding phlanges across the letters, in word and spaces, in english with punctuations. Figured, best to go with the flow.
All hail to the crafty clever conscious comedians creating commentary concerning copesetic cohesive consciousness.
Doug Stanhope, Louis CK, Patton Oswalt, Chris Rock, David Cross, Marc Maron, Kat Williams, Kathleen Madigan, Dave Attell, Tammy Pescatelli, Lewis Black, Christopher Titus, Steve Martin, Joe Rogan, Don Rickles, Daniel Tosh, Carlos Mencia, Bill Burr, Eddie Murphy, Brian Regan, Paul Mooney, Jim Gaffigan, etc.
Deceased deities remembered remarkably relevant.
George Carlin, Bill Hicks, Richard Pryor, Greg Geraldo, Mitch Hedburg, Sam Kenison, etc.
Plus, the Radio renegades, Howard Stern, Robin Quivers, Fred Norris.
Hacking hypocrisy, punk’ing pretentiousness. Lavishing lucid laughter.
The writing is on the wall
To serious been, all in all
Must laugh before I fall
Dungeon out must crawl
Poor taste do I scrawl
Not blog worthy, if at all
Only of a bathroom stall.
Well, this must be it
A poem about shit
A waste of words
To describe turds
If it is brown
Flush it down
Other color would be improper
Quick, better call a doctor
One end it’s Reese’s
The other end, feces
What made me think
I could write about stink?
Seems kind of fraty
To prose a cow patty
Can it really be art
To rhyme with a fart?
A smelly narativ
Of a bilabial fricative
I’ve an idea
About diarrhea
What does it matter
On the bowl it splatters
To take a crap, it must be stolen
That which comes from my colon
It would be a real stinker
To jibe the sphincter
Hope this gets me out of my rut
A crappie poem, to get off my butt.
Just had to “flush” this out.
One thing I know for sure
Is being a good failure
Having to much tenure
Of which, I find no cure
Muddled thoughts pure
In a state of darkened azure
Giving death it’s allure
Of that I only refer
Inclined I do demur
No plans I concur
I’m way to mature
It’s anger I want to inter
Reality is such a blur
Of life, I intend no slur
To definitely defer
Time with the Grim Reaper
.
To succeed, is to fail at failing.
I’m well on my way, to a great success. 5FM