Friday, May 1, 2015

pow pow

I feel! I want! I need! I should! Who am I! What should I do! Where should I live! I hate you! I love you! I forgot who you were! I remember! Holy forgiveness! mercy! charity! faith! Holy! Ours! bodies! suffering! magnanimity! Holy the supernatural extra brilliant intelligent kindness of the soul!

The last half of that? Not my words. But who can really claim ownership of language, you know? Kidding. But who can really kid about something so serious? Why so serious? Why the long face? Hey, bartender! Why is there are horse in this bar? You folks serving horses now? Did you check his ID? I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say that no one wants this horse here! I'm also going to go out on an actual limb and rescue this kitten who has climbed up a tree and is now stuck. I am a hero.

The last half of that? Not a joke. Well, a joke, but not a funny one. A confusing one. I am a hero.

I like horses. I do. It's just that I don't want to marry a horse. I don't. I do, however, wish to whisper to one. Not just one, but many! I will whisper for what feels like an eternity to a thousand horses across this great country of ours. Ours? Who can really claim ownership of land, you know? Land vs. language: a Pay Per View event. You pay for each view, that's how it works. View it once, pay once. It's not hard to figure this out, you guys. You guys like this post so far? No? Why are you still reading? Are you waiting for some more horse jokes? I know I am.

I also know I am hungry. I know that when one is hungry and has the incredible privilege of having a bounty of food within reach, one should probably eat. Puzzle pieces coming together. Amazing! I wish to share my meal with you. Do you like wasabi paste liberally applied to spinach leaves and placed in between two slices of French toast? I am hella joking about the French toast. I just use regular bread. Yep, regular old Freedom toast for my wasabi sandwich. Anyway, if that sounds almost sexual to you, I will create this delicacy for you. To you, for you, you do you. You know? No horses were harmed in the creating of this sandwich. (Although seven of them were killed in the writing of this post.) (Don't be horrified by the fate of the horses. Save your horror for the outcome of the land vs. language boxing match. Spoiler alert: No one wins, everyone falls into a black hole.)

I love myself. I love the slow but sure return of absurdity into my life. Roll with it. Ride this wave. Stop being so trapped in that box. Step into the ring and knock 'em all out. Giddyup.

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