moniker42

In some of the better places of this world it is still considered respectable to be a cad or a ruffian. Until I find such an environment unfettered by bad taste, the ignorance and burdensome logic prevalent here in my neck of the woods, not to mention a place where my long-windedness is accepted as virtue, I'm stuck here again.

It's not all bad. Perhaps I'll quit smoking pot and then take it up again.

Maybe if I've very industrious I'll get my drivers license.

So until I take off from here, this dreary and everlasting Monday morning, Boss, don't get your panties in a bundle.

Lets let that funky monkey flop around a while and don't lose your dream.

Don't shave tomorrow, for me, and don't ever lose that aching sense of blissful wonderment that surrounds you, I can feel it, it's one of your better qualities.

And I'll try not to let the man bring me down. After all, there is a war on.

The world needs poets and outlaws to rearrange its nightmare.

My sheep need a reason to hate the government.

I AM JUST THE WHACKO ON THE SOAP BOX TO TELL YOU WHAT TO Think.

Peace. Life. Love.

It rained today.

The clouds bobbed from side to side like a fluffy dirigible.

They opened up and released a deluge and the wind came and played poetry on the chimes outside.

Miles away it crashed down, all atomied airy zeppelin, over some corn field.

The sun came out.

It radiantly lapped up the new wet, drying the street giving children enough time to ride their bikes before the next downpour.