all i see to be able to do is print these headlines(and subheadlines, like no limelight for me) and listening to ghostly good sounds

tummy has to be stuffered so saddysads

zen and the art of waking-up-early and fretting

i woke up early, apparently the recent rains knocked out the power girdle again and so as i was laying there, like the ACA author mentioned that there is this vulture posted on the bedpost, with ripostes, saying "AHA You're finally awake, are you? Well, Iwant tot talk with you and it seems to decay from there. just basic fearfulness. was reading in franz der waal's book(one of many) on primates the chimp and the sushi master? was that the name of it,anyhouse)
and he mentioned how the gentleman who writes about working with and gaining the trust of horses does so swell with them(hard to think of them and camels as being relatives, also tough to imagine they were IN 'the new world', went extinct due to hunting as food, and then were reintroduced by the aptly named conquistadores who no doubt meant well but really to decimate the culture of those who had been living there for dozens ofcenturies and also to say there Gods were no gods at all, well that Is a bit harsh. anyhow Earll in his Book I got ired of pretending and his 'wake-up vulture', yes, my mind in the morning just trends towards fretting.
no Good reason, actually: i'm just 'adept at it'.
as a lad, y'see, my beloved departed(and sometimes cussed) father, who was a drunkard and a widower and a 'functioning alcoholic', he himself was a fretter and can you imagine? just as I learned to love them Cubbies(this is our century to take it all and display the banting all over the place well he also tought me with my morning cereal(and that was another thing, he always had us pop over to the griller's to purch a cup of coffee, Boston style(double creme, double sugar,more zapp for papa, who had a universal perennial morning after each and every morning of his adult life) to be fettered with frets. I remember too when a friend of his, another traffic guy, came by and they actually sat on the front porch(must have been summer,certrainly,) and said "King, I'm an alcoholic and i go to Aha meets and i would like you to attend one with me sometimes, for help, y'see? Will ya?"
Pops was no dum dum and he reached over, took a deep inhale on his filterless ciggie(as a youth i tried one once and it was not so much the wretched smoke but the tiny microbits of tobacoo which got caught on my tongue and made me wretch indeed.(never have liked to vomit, though there are times i wish i could. i think my cherished and departed big sister's being a 'She spits up her food' pre-Ms Fonda's coming out and addressing the issue of bulemia vomiter, i dew beleaf Sis's having that issue(which we never discussed and but once confronted her on and MAN O MAN did Sis grow cross with us all and even cussed us up a bit, quite uncharacterisic for this erudite poetess scholar, that was)
I was quite bummed when the "Is Daddy going to get help?" phase of hopefulness passed.
After hiting his cigarette hard, and reaching over to grab his coworker's hand with a manly shake, Papa says "Joe, i will"(sort of reminded me of the character of Pap in Huck Finn(I truly like the middle segments of that book, though once Sawyer enters in, Jim descends from being a wise and loving person, and Huck from being a self-standing courageous buck, and chicanery, buffoonery, lampooning and minstrel show pranks begin, and the book descends into spiritual void and also just plain the viewpoint of those times, which was highly patronizing and in fact degrading to the newly liberated slaves of African descent)
My father told his cohort he would go to an ah ah meeting with him
but he never went to no mittens
just swerved when he encountered that fellow again
Wasn't till years later
and me in the pogram(as some call it)
myself
that i realized
"Joe could't have convinced the old man to go to Ahem anymore than anyone could have talkered me into it a day sooner than i got here myself"
Imagine holstering a grudge against a guy for not turning your dad onto the 12 steppes way back in Oh, say' '65? what if what if what if...."

healing hoppers in as we sway and swell

and 'low the lowering of fretfuls and the uproosting of healerings,
sober rioty raucously rocks
bogberrybouy