I am losing favor with the morning. Or, morning is losing favor with me. I don’t feel like taking care of anything or keeping track of where, “the hat” is.
One time I was in love with a girl who thought it was fun to test my intuitive skills by referring to everything she needed or wanted as a “hat”.
Where’s my “hat”, she’d say. I’d produce keys. Good boy. Or a hot bowl of beans. Or a scarf that I ruined. Or a piece of cake. Afterbirth. Strike anywhere matches. Karate pants. White-heads. Soap. Panties. A piece of paper from five years ago that I had never seen before, yet was responsible. Sea otters. Boom sticks. And a handwritten technical manual with step-by-step instructions on how to reverse engineer alchemy bought from none other than the wonderful, Capulet.
It was cute for a while but after a while I lost myself and couldn’t figure out which way was up. And before I knew it things blew up. I went down. It got dark. I got back up.
The particulars of my adventure are as yawn-able as they are action packed and the road from start to this morning was long and has me thinking about the god damn “hat”, velvet ropes, doing donuts in the park, tiger balm, hot heat and maggots, and the giant peach that james almost ate with the little melancholy prince who had his own god damn planet -
I say these things for I have the urge to frame with strokes that are epic.
I am not a cow.
Nor, a hat.
Nor, a good boy – custodian – prince – king – match making - man.
I am not the thunderbolt. She is not Juno.
And
The morning is fine
And as I eat peach with james from my planet
I look around for ground
And see a sign and it says,
“Please do not disturb. Giant sleeping. Come back later when we’re fresh.”
Yes, friend.
I know. VIP.
Do not disturb.
Fresh.
Giants sleeping.
Ok, then. My turn.
Go hard with humor
And honor it.
But go on.
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