When Jaymes's Forgetabble Friend Finally Called About The Job In Central Park

"Did I say 'job'. Ooo dear, I meant a little jog. Why don't we have a jog. In Central Park?"

"I'd be happy to jog in Central Park," I responded, "and I hope I get killed by a very rapid bicycler!"

"Don't instill fear about Central Park, you fool!"

"I just want to be dragged and straggled into it again, like a piece of mutton over and under a bicycle wheel, again and again. It seems like the whole thing has been discovered. There's no real ghost places."

"Why does your life revolve around ghosts?"

"Why does your stupid city have blue laws?"

"That's not an answer!" 

And this, so far, has not been literature, but some kind of vapid dialog. Feeling that his pencil had become blunt from illustrating sweet nothings, he quickly retracted and put away, revealing in the act several other writing implements beneath his coat.
 
"There's no blue laws," said someone, from Yelp.com.
 
"Because this is the communal bloody kind of reliability you need when you've been hurt by the blue! Misinfor-fucking-mation."

With this less sophisticated chit-chattery, in progress, I slowly went to a coffee shop, namely Starbucks whereupon I ordered my very big iced latte (just like in Italy), and gave my name as Ivan. Yes. Brown. Ivan. Well, I didn't want anyone to call me a Vagina, so.

IT WAS THE SLOWEST FUCKING STARBUCKS IN THE UNIVERSE OMG!

Seriously, the opening song from Roseanne began to play in my head, and 30 minutes later, only John Goodman had been introduced.

"Latte for Ivan," said someone very poshly, and I said thank you and ran out.

Finally I went to buy my gin, and I seriously wondered how I could have misjudged so terribly as to walk into that Starbucks. I sipped my coffee angrily, muttering about how it should freeze the fuck up in New York and stop being so bloody hot all the time. But I didn't want to tell Bill Murray that he was too warm.

Summertime, Dec 2015

Summertime, and the living's easy.
This is my second week off work, you see.
Living the lark, trying to wash away bad habits.

.

Introducing new ones.

.

Just heard it's not summertime in Texas.
Most definitely!
(la la la)
.

Just heard there's tornadoes running around us!

.

This ten cent Sun 
is getting hotter,
next time don't buy a solar system
just cos it's cheaper.

.

There is nothing evil about relaxing like a huge polar bear in the middle of a reggae verse, mon!

(heard much later in the warm night: fuck u it's ska)

Disclaimer: Mostly stolen from Sublime's song 'Summertime' on the album 'Sublime'. Badly.

Modulators of Insanity: Pt. 1

It was as a child when I first began to realize that one lifetime may not be enough. This was a threatening feeling (especially as a child), and something that would take far longer to resolve (I would find) than is nominal.

It was...pretty Ridiculous. "Seriously dood, you don't need multiple lifetimes! Look around, empathize, you're set. You can attempt anyone else's life!"

I bought a very nice pen for myself. It used my own blood as fuel. That such a contraption may be exciting to someone out there amused me, and I put my expensive pen back in my bag, and pulled out my special wireless keyboard. Special wireless and ergonomic keyboard for writing effortlessly and without worry or stutter.

"You can attempt, of course. But you can't assume your attempts, and the things being attempted at, are the same thing."

"Things?"

"People, whatever."

The Ridiculous gave me a funny stare. Kinda stare that said "But you were just talking about empathy."

It discomforted me, and I had to open my bag and reach down to my blood pen. "You still there penny?"

"Are we inside of an aeroplane?" asked penny.

"No. We in a submarine."

"Christmas this year is not red, then."

"No. Submarines are blue."