afloat precarious

...so there are to be no more promises.
Even I have tired of how hollow they are always shown.
Today there is naught but intention veiled.
Tomorrow I spend what intention affords.
Yesterday I intend to forget.
I suggest you do the same.

pardon me

A decade ago I never though I would be 23 on the verge of spontaneous combustion
woe is me.

Battle Cry

Lo! Who is that, striding amidst the icy wasteland! It is Nicholas Perreault, hands clutching gilded boxing gloves! He roars gutterally:

"I'm going to hump you until you bleed puke!!"

Stalking through the icy wasteland, carrying a jeweled meat hammer, cometh Tanya Corbin! And she gives a bloodthirsty grunt:

"I'm going to brutalize you until the sun burns out, then steal your lederhosen!"

Zang! Who is that, skulking on the mountains! It is Jessica Klasson, hands clutching a vorpal blade! And with a vengeful scream, her voice cometh:

"Ares, God of War, be praised! I lay waste to all I see like a four-year-old on a sugar rampage!!"

Lo! Who is that, skulking along the desert! It is Tavius Marshall, hands clutching a vorpal blade! And with a low bellow, his voice cometh:

"I'm going to contort you backwards in time, and hijack your momma's airplane!"

Obscure Biblical Concepts

Once upon a time I was a creative muse.
Then came a time when I needed a creative muse and one could not be found. Great was the sadness and ass-poor was the music. Sad were the creations and abundant was the ass-poorness
If anyone sees God over the weekend, let Him know His "sewing and reaping" principal is malfunctioning.

(Nick, maybe if we approach Him together...)
Thanks.

American Relocation

Ya know...
This new nation of mine really hasn't worked out for blog regularity.
Mayhaps I need a week or two back in the motherland.

Nashville: The land where my blog died and my bluegrass career was born.

Always the same dissonant clash when time wasted turns to time intended. What makes me think I can condense thoughts before I sift them and filter? What makes me think I have the right to order them before release?
Always the same murky mesh of muddled melodies and disjointed diction.

--kept my rhythm in perfect time
walked in purposeful stride
lost my footing down riverside
will you wait for me to stand
again?--

...and thus begins my intensive campaign to have "y'all" replaced with "b'ys" as the preferred term for southerners addressing groups of two or more people, animals, beer, etc.
Wish me luck.

" This is my beautiful new wife, Lila-Ann. The moment Momma brought her home from the hospital I knew we were destined to be wed. So here we are, thirteen years later, just as happy as kinfolk should be on their hitchin' day."

Last night my dreams were set in Ohio---as though that was my ultimate destination.
I woke up in a panic as though I was not ready to be there yet.
I'd like to say the realization I was not in Ohio let the panic subside.
I'd like to say a lot of things right now.

Here ye shall find the last typed words of Andrew Collins, Convergys employee. I see my time as an working man, once again, dwindling down to a matter of minutes. Twenty-eight, at this point, and I seem to have run out of things to do. Sort papers, recycle said sorted sheets, clear out email, and stuff free candy into my already bulging pockets.
Though not nearly as sad a departure as I had originally anticipated it is fairly nauseating to think that I have no idea when my next real job will be.
Well, not quite nauseating but, not far from it.
At this point I imagine the sensation would be comparable to what you feel hanging your toes over the edge just before an eight-story base jump. I know most people would advise a running start, but I just can't seem to find the strength in my legs. Or the balance. Only the morbid tempting of the inevitable.

But please don't push.
I'll be airborne soon enough.
And damn the ground.

So she says to me, " I guess I won't see you again. Well, not till you come back with youngsters."
Then he says, " I'm doing a course on landmine awareness. I'll give you my text before you go. You're going to need it."

I hate my friends.
All of them.
Except Jack.
It's not considered drinking alone if your drink has a name, right?

For this evenings performance I would ask you all join me, mentally if not rhetorically, on the rough and faded plain of an old church pew. Here you can lose yourself in the joyous cries of endorphin bliss.
While a quick roll to the window reveals the faint sound of weeping and gnashing of cigarettes, a long roll back will let us watch for falling prices.
Open your lips and embrace the goodness of Welches and Wonderbread. Close your teeth and clench your eyes to find the clearest convolution of John Q. Normal perspective.
This is a place of man.
But this gouging revelation doesn't hold near the nauseating horror of my younger years.
This is a place of man.
It was here by sight I revoked my faith.

And now I am happy all the day.

Procrastination

discuss

holyfuckingshit

I think I startled myself as much as the rest of my house tonight. When I subtly announced that I leave this place in scarcely a month I experienced some sort of bastard hybrid of adrenaline rush and severe projectile nausea.

I leave my island in just over a month.
Again.
And I have no idea when I'll be back.
Again.

So if I've been here before why does it freak me out so much this time?

The space between choice and chance is measured differently by everyone. For some of you there is no space. For me it is wide and always has been.
Only their words make me doubt that gap.
Their words and their eyes.
Throughout this twisted ride I have never seen choices.
No crossroads. No rock-bottom. No yellow wood.
I am as unapologetic as my uncertainty allows.
Regret is exclusively directed toward my vulnerability to commentary. Whether commending or condemning you snag my flesh and spur me on. Motivated far too much by spite and expectation.

Show me my choices that I might trade your ignorance for insight.
Or see my path and stop fucking my balance.

Thicker Than Water

I just stumbled across a poem I wrote when I was 17. The class assignment was to write a little verse about love and recite it to the room. This one caused the teacher to double over and call me a "sick son of a bitch". Gotta love invoking profanity from authority figures...


*My darling dear, or should I say, my former eyes delight
Assuredly it pains my heart to send you off in flight
And though, at first, my heart did fear I'd never find your equal
My soul now revels in the joy that I have found your sequel

You see, my darling, 'twas not you whose spell had me enslaved
Though sweet, you are, and charming it is simply love I crave
So now, my dear, I've found new love to woo with gentle whisper
And for that love I must thank you
For I've just met your sister*


That counts as a love poem, right?

Sagittarius:

You'll compete with the Devil for your immortal soul in a midnight game of Scrabble, and win handily when he can only think of creepy, depressing Latin words.


(I want to marry TheOnion and bear its ungodly children)

Anybody want to buy me a new pair of boots?
I think I'm getting trench foot.

Blue light, pale, flickers across your face in twisted premonition. If I knew, now, how to read the flashing I don't believe this act will have played out any different. Revelation comes far too late for any less time to be wasted.
But his picture brings words to resolution. Words will make this concrete. This flickering blue casts understanding on your oblivious frame, curled in fetal slumber.
You sleep sound like a child...
even when you're awake.

Please Welcome...

There's been a lot of talk about this kat...
maybe too much talk.
This kat is not a rebel kat.
This kat is Nicholas, bloody Nicholas.

defeat.

Alright, Christmas.
You win.
I am now officially Santa's bitch.
Happy?
Jolly?
Ass.