corncobconfessions

distinctive array with  difficulty growing a purpose. and with purpose grown, difficult holding purpose down. keeping purpose in it's place without purpose tearing  all around down; causing hardship for all this bummed out little town. Charles Bukowski said it best. then he died, and no one since has said it any better than how Bukowski said it, and probably never will. Bukowski had that special gift; just saying.  if our  writing is not real, our words will blow away with first honest breath to blow across our troubled ways.

smoke billowing; smoke will do that. oh, the audacity of smoke to billow like that! should be a law against doing that. well, there is, but smoke can neither read nor care if smoke could read. yet another stroke against smoke. just smoke being smoke. for certain, smoke ain't no joke.  Banshee: a wailing female spirit of the night; a harbinger of death. hold close your children when wailing excites the night. have followed myself long enough, far enough to finally realize I'm not going anywhere. and when getting there,  will certainly become hopelessly lost on return trip back to sanity. but then, there is nowhere I'd rather be than right here. boisterous group of salespeople; selling most anything to most anyone. even sell themselves, should they negotiate favorable price with someone. but I'm not buying, are you? ethical declaration of grandeur; not lacking enthusiasm, but with a twi