dirt verse

the guy at the bike shop said, go ahead, see if its' gonna work for ya. It is a single-speed cruiser, white walls, generous in the handle bars, and a bitch to get in my Honda. I looked straight ahead and pushed off like I was 7 again. All I can say is it was true love as I made circles in the parking lot and sped down the sidewalk, my long ringlets behind me like spiral cheerleaders. My heart alive, my heart was alive I tell you, and did I mention, it's turquoise. My thanks goes out to Tammy, she inspires me, and she made this beautiful day on my new bike possible, gracias my sistah!

I have partially borrowed the title from the recent film, "The Pursuit of Happyness", I really loved the narration style, and how the film would stop when he'd describe parts of his life, such as: this is the part I call "running". Plus, the film and true story took place in lovely San Francisco, and that is where my husband and I were for 5 days and 4 nights. So. . . . .this is the part I call, getting off the plane, and how the F to we get to the city? A minor, but essential detail I failed to plan or even think of when booking the trip. Planning, something I just skipped so in turn, we were a little confused, a little lost, and because of it, it turned out our room was communal living. That is the part I will call, are you f''n serious? We were tired, we were hungry, and we'd been on 3-hr flight, and a quite speedy train for about 45 minutes, and the room which appeared modern spacious online, turned out to be a box, probably 10x12 feet if that. T

yesterday on my way home, Trinity Blvd, on my right a bustling 7/11, the sidewalk in front makes for a nice broad outdoor experience, a biker and walker will fit nicely, yesterday however, a woman fully naked in the bright of nearly 6pm, summer swallowing, she was walking in what I thought at first was a brown bikini, I thought how cool, a proud and chunky Black woman is out sunning her body, but upon closer look, she was very nude, and was tearing chunks of hair out of her head and tossing it. my first impression was to think I should pull over and drape my jacket on her. I keep it in my car if I happen to go to a cold movie theatre. but then I saw a police car take a turn toward her, and I was relieved I didn't have to stop, as rude as that sounds. I'm sort of germaphobe . and I mean what the fuck right. about a month ago I saw something that I wrote off as random life stuff, so I put it away with the other facts in life, I was on my way to work and on the right of my c

the ozzy sunshine, this means, I was listening to Ozzy Osbourne for no good reason, the Blizzard of Oz, 1981. so I'm letting the sun shine on my morning cave, and I am using his lyrics as the inspiration for my day, song "I don't know". "Nobody ever told me, I found out for myself, you gotta believe in foolish miracles." -ozzy

looking for my glasses still on my nose looking for the dirt as I shake it loose, staring as it becomes my noose I'm dropping a hint, I won't bend down to get it because my eyes are un -used and used to it.

this is my new, not new, and not original comment of the moment, in which I am finding that I am way more normal than I thought I was. so the only way I can retaliate this mediocrity is to drop the F bomb on this here world. plus I'm just mean.

Firstly, sister loves kate bush her is strong and delicate  little ones with their fists tightly wrapped around vintage apron strings, waiting to lick mixer blades decadent laboring her perfect, fragrant laundry and espresso runs her hands over good books and delights in fine chocolates outstretched arms  inviting summer days to her heart the breeze and dizzy dance close her eyes and paint her smile.  she gives the sun persmission to say goodbye.  she tells the moon to lift.   this of many words in dedication to her sister

in 3rd person @ a bar: she says I hate beer now, a leggy blonde says, but oh, you must try this... and she hates that she loves it because she is very much in love with gin only vodka sometimes she anti-socially smiles after the sip, foam above her lip, wipes it with her tongue and sits back in her chair, tilts her head back to finish a New Order song snaking out of the juke box clearly it's the end of the world now.

I normally do not work tuesdays, but last tuesday I had a customer who said she communicated with those who have crossed over. I really didn't comment, but then she said she had a message for me from a person whose name started with an "L", and that's my mom. She went on to tell me other private facts, ones I can't share because of their sacred nature. But the one fact that haunts me is that people have always said that when you pass, your heaven can be where you were the most happy, and my mother always wanted to go back to Florida where she spent much of her childhood. The psychic said my mom kept on reciting "sea shells by the seashore". That means to me I was really making contact, and that has had my stomach in knots. my mom by the beach is beautiful.

i watch my face in this mirror - if i turn my gaze, if i hope then maybe you would smile back at me through my own silly face my darkness - my unwillingness to let you go. smile back i say but no while ------ combing my hair from a heart that sits crooked (since) -i am sure I hear that my hair looks like a "bird's nest" and i must say that i agree because a red bird just flew out! i knew it was you, mama, saying I love you, and as for me: aqui te tengo siempre en mi pecho, espero el dia que te vere otra vez {en recuerdo}

everyday is worth it even if to hate yourself and everyone else if not to remember everything those things hurt the worst and then so what