Xmas: Dips and Hats

And that's what's all about:

 

Tracy and I have to do our signature picture of course!

BIG Sunglasses

Crazy and I go downtown. I'm depressed, so somehow we end up with big sunglasses at a video arcade.

[enter name here]

everyone speaks of you.

as if you are a ghost.

as if you are a god.

but i know you just well enough.

enough to know you are tangible.

a cave bear, hiding in the shadows.

shying away from the forces of man.

from a life of uncertain crossroads.

you are no ghost, you are a hibernator.

one day you'll awaken

and claim your place among men,

but men will be no more.

The Operation

A box of lies, or hopeful truths. Contrived harmony.

A mime's construction and interpretation of some future.

Leave me alone, a declaration prompts a crack in the frame.

A mime's box of lies, hopeful truths in harmony.

Inside a clear hovering future, a fine-spun marble.

The box closes in on emptiness, on the composition.

The marble cracks, pressured by its lost significance.

Leave me alone, a spoken plea, a gap in the box.

Purple and blue glass threads pull apart, decompose.

The synched musical ensemble goes silent, marble gone.

The fat lady sang off key.

Operation complete.

maaaaag

it's amazing what we'll do for a little companionship. throw in the towel and give up a once easy smile for someone else's agenda.

you find that you can't laugh anymore, now that you have a selfish magpie in your ear. you can't hear what used to make you happy; can't hear it over that incessant twittering chatter. you couldn't if you wanted to, if you tried.

she'll buy you some cashmere, some small tasteful luxury; hoping to exchange it for what she cannot get for free. but that smile's not coming.

it's one for sorrow, two for mirth.