by Tomorrow's Man
Who can you trust if you can't trust god?
By my reckoning, it's Dog.
So who can you trust if you can't trust Dog the Bounty Hunter?
Now that's a noodle scratcher for the ages.
I don't want to be loved for my money; my money can come or go, sometimes seemingly at will (money, really, is always going; even when it is coming to you, it is going away from someone else. The alternate logic is not available in this space. Thank you.).
I want to be loved for my artistry; I'll forever be an artist, if a spotty one.
I want to be loved for my quick, sly smile; ugly or not, my sly glint makes the moon shudder; I want to be loved for my nice qualities, like my sense of humor, my ability to listen, my gargantuan member. I want to be loved for the things that make me a cuddly schmoogy bear.
Alternately, I'd just like to be a porn star with the name Dick Member.
I figure, why not, it's a living.
Sometimes, you get a day that is just a mouthful of Big League Chew and coffee grains.
Throw in bit of glass when it's a Friday.
Each morning, first thing I do is check the world for new lesions, and just once I'd like not to find any.
I heard on the news this morning that due to stormy, dangerous weather, the cold, illness, and holiday bills arriving, today is considered the most depressing day of the year.
Man that bums me out.
I blinked, and in that space before I reopened my eyes, all the colors of the world tinted ever so slightly toward violet.
This is what happens when a word randomly pops into my head. I think things like, truly, is there a better declaration than, "Prepare to be fustigated!"
?
WE DING DRESSES
Once, I was driving by a store window and that is what it said. I was about seven years old, and in my head I imagined that all those big women's dresses I'd seen on TV and at family events -- proms, wedding dresses, Civil War-era dresses, etc. -- were actually made out of metal, and did, in fact, not just look like bells, but actually were bells. And of course, since they were bells, they didn't get washed, or dry cleaned; they got "dinged," which would knock all the dirt and soot and crap off of them.
I forgot about it a few seconds later, not realizing that, for many years, deep in the soup of my brain ladle, the belief was with me that women actually wore hundred-pound metal dresses to formal events, and that was obviously why they were always crying at weddings.