(pre-caffeine scattershot morning meditation on … conservation/community/the decline of/and impending loss of/the natural?)
how to do it won’t matter when the sun stops shining through slats on the neighbour’s deck peaking out towards the recycling – big blue shining bin – and the afterword, the aftermath of all that was never left to be sliding down the sides of the walls. In the corner by the red doors, new with pains of glass and broken stairwells marking out the vicinity of where we all abide. Should there be more than what is inside an individual – is a singular thing or a monster – bring on the backyard banquets and football Sundays, potatoes, creamed salads and baked beginnings of the last days of our culture riding out the end zone of some sport we all learned to play before we were able to memorize the universal rule book. Bad analogies and cropped pants, ladies in spring’s latest colours, it’s the heat of the light baking the passage to what is comfortable, secure and desired. Oh how? Communication fostering common portrayals of what the worst of us all could be – if it were scripted executives and prime time come-ons – perfectly coiffed and barely believable. Ass in the char, Ass in the chair, Ass on fire? Figure it out. The waiting game cannot continue, the hours of the journey to the end of what we would like to have had already transpired beginnings or endings and ergo ergo ergo what things have no productive value … productivity and bees with their little knees collapsing across America, or, the organism knows the way … method, matriculation, one sphere to another little known mentally agreeable moment in the backwaters of how are you doing today my friends?