Matty Matte Modge Podge

I'm not crazy, though I split my time, between broken thought and pirate mind, and afloat aloft a sea of clouds, determined to loosen the tie that binds the mellow drowned out frown of a temparate mound-like structure of cumulus white; they scream aloud for all to hear: "WE ARE HERE!" But do not fear the coming night when these mischeivous shades, turn silvery gray, their crows ignite to vagrant decay of the sidewalk's dismay, as they keep footsteps at bay, not faulting those for stepping on crackes as they stray. I've been lost in this place, center of space, unable to rectify my own withered face, willing to give "save for the grace", a chance to tug pant legs with the glance and a taste, unable to trip to the chaste for the chance at a place in this race. So I move my position to the left, a knee jerking jest to the crowd that knows me best, off left center stage, I pull rank as a blow to the chest, unable to keep up the pace I relinquish my grip, tri...

Certainly it’s not the thought of an adventure, that culminates in an abstract appreciation of the convoluted, that gets me all tizzy inside. Certainly, not the thought, or narrow prospect, that by being the early worm, I may in fact be dead, due to the daily feeding habits of the proverbial early bird. Most certainly, beyond this all, I might conjure a guess, and beg then to differ, when the request for my esoteric resignation is called for and asked to be presented in my own blood, as to why I waste my precious essence. Further than this, and I might add neutral countries will protest, at the Nobel Peace Prize given to oil company that invented the newest technology to stop the spewing and cracked well it negligently oversaw; and those protesting countries, neutral for all matters, were in protest that they were not the ones who sprung up this grand scheme to present to the masters of ceremony! In all, the sense with which I make my matters pleases me little in the turning of words t...

I am chasing the dream, the narrow, straight and curved, the packed down soil, hardened to a solid mush of deeper brown; moist and organic, weaving it's way to...The World's Best Lobster Roll! To begin, one must make a simple choice, so forked it conjures images of a snake tongue, slithering it's way near your ear; Snake might be the perfect extended Metaphor, as it seems the polar extremes Lobster Roll fanatics take their love, of their type (cold or hot), can be sinister as a snake carrying an apple...err...a lobster roll through the garden of eden; tempting youthful minds for the taste of something...well, Fishy. I prefer mine hot, and it would do my mind a restful peace and solitude to know their are no menus in existence that garnish the word "Lobster" with "Salad"! Lobster Rolls are meant to be hot, (Ask Jesus, he served up the finest hot lobster rolls on unleavened Bread at the last supper) hot and teaming with knuckles and claws, seething heat wi...

A Jumping Off Point Before I embark upon personal journeys, these vision-quests which I know will undoubtedly toil with my mind and ultimately alter my particular points of view, I tend to view them with a great amount of exhilaration and limited but palpable trepidation. I grip the steering wheel a little tighter, knowing the approaching of the next city, the next big event, the next rollercoaster scream attack of a night, dipped and now ready to ooze in all the pulsin g and sensation of another Phish circus will ultimately suck me up, duck me down, turn me round and spit me out like a sugar ravished kid on a sit and spin. I knowingly enter these moments, the ether blistering with possibility, with choice and freedom, with the knowledge that there is No-Thing that can be pieced down, pinned out and sewn with any real understanding of what will come...It is the innocence and bewilderment that is the still gestating tour, the verbage that gets coined in the first few carnival nights, th...

I enlisted the forces within to conquer the Whitestone Proper quelled to imagine the musings of such Sea Birds, rolling their plastic eyes at the pigeons of Washington Square. Where are the leaves, the squirrels raged, tender tips of fondling fingers folding and rolling their acorn nuts. I might just squeeze his little cheeks at the sight his nose, so squeeky and rabid. I scurried for the ground, found yellow drips of picasso's blood boiling over the brim of the Hudson River Bandit, steaming down shore towards cities edge. If I looked twice and slowly, the world might just edge to the end near battery park, might just turn down 90 degrees and allow us to slid down to China. The sea birds down here don't have patience for me, and the pigeons have stolen one of their glass eyes, so I am sure my stay is overwelcome and my welcome over easy like the eggs scrambled in the Diner on 43rd. I searched for Pizza, 33rd, 32nd, 31st, like the clock ticking forward, the clock ticking forward...

I turned and left, rose pedals falling, charging the ground like rain water being pricked by each falling drop; now puddled and pregnant, the moment collapsed and I was gone. If it was Tuesday, the skyline ignored it, as wind sheeted by like worn linen over a freshly made bed. I thought it might be her bed, clouded and wet, electricity scuttling, lights flickering in a mimic of bright eyed filament mistaking Morse code; that I could watch the bulb fire on and slowly fade back to black. I remember now, how much darker it seemed, after starring intently into the dying glow, my eyes blinded for moments. In a later moment, I saw the clouds tear apart, light shone, but still grayed, and lit to a blueish hue. I felt my lips, chapped, and heard under the rolling tires, the crumble of some loose gravel. I parted my thoughts like the sky, let the road veer the car, and loosened to the night. Somewhere detached, between nervous and cold, my toes met wet sock and I knew you knew I should have br...

So many things, Frederick, then, quiet now they all disperse, and disperse only to resurface when tension builds. We walked today and you were quiet, a silent judge, hailed above the rest, an exception to the rule in many senses. What is it that we do exactly to make things easier. For me, Frederick, you said it was the fact that I was able to realize all things do not eventually come to a crashing halt, but that the things we have to do, those that need to get done, life tasks, will get done; regardless of any extra effort exuded by myself. So we are merely quiet and frail as humans, calm and controlled, doing our piece to create a whole, of something, not necessarily of a "whole of existence", or of a "whole of society and community", but a whole of ourselves, pieces of a puzzle to create an "image of a train station in the rain, with blurred outline of a man or woman waiting at the station edge, for a light in the distance, to come and take them away!"...