Newly Feathered Fingers. Maybe?
Ya know, I often sit and ponder about what to write.
But, sometimes, the most splendid ideas split through my mind when I'm driving. Or, even worse, when I am washing dishes, and the most perfect stanzas and phrases and thoughts erupt in my mind. I tell myself, 'stop and write this shit down!' But I don't. I hate myself for not stopping. There is money running down the drain when this happens. But at least the dishes get clean.
Where is time when you need to ask why? Why are nothings some of the most valuable has-beens? --Another side-note in my mental junk drawer...We should revisit this. We go through life so many times (though oddly, we only go through it once) meaning to do something only to get sidetracked by the inane and meaningless, but most importantly, the here and now. Kinda an ADHD "squirrel" moment.
What a psychotic blend of pertinent impertinence that I've dawned through the moments of flashed logic! Da hell did he say? Good grief! I gotta stop a minute and breathe. Damn! Ok. Something about living with Diabetes and high blood sugar. Being called a 'diabetic'. For one, that term is a lance humanity stabs in the backs of people who's pancreases or pancreata (your pick) just don't work correctly anymore. I live WITH Diabetes. I am NOT a Diabetic. But, when high blood sugar, due to old insulin, a bad infusion site, or other situ do not allow me to do yard work cuz the "high" burns my ass out...I AM IN A BAD STATE! Don't worry, dear reader, you are safe. *Smile* Rant over.
OK. A step back. The Phoenix Documents is not a rant. I am sorry, friends. Sometimes reality sneaks back into the nail-bed and reminds the fingers that there is a brain (with emotions) attached to the keyboard.
Where in the hell was I? Oh yeah, Newly Feathered Fingers. This should be a resurrection of sorts for TPD, aghh...The Phoenix Documents, sorry. It has been an egg carton of years since I dropped my first nugget on my blog. It was titled In Tech We Trust. It's worthy of a gander as we all have dealt with the reality of crashed media. So, let's get back to the tryst of thought, words, and mind...
Newly Feathered Fingers
A moment of glance, to view fingered chance, of prose markedly new.
A moment unseen, a view, velveteen, that never a thought one might stance.
The shit you'd not thought, or never had bought, but lightly mightly just ought...
A tickle of new, or old-iron stew, of things ya just never did knew.
Ramble on...
God, where do I start? The time so apart,
From two-thousand ten and one?
I 'm a bard with this gun,
A poor farmer's son.
The pen I'll not put to the done.
How do we handle the land's newest scandal
While people entirely get screwed
Shit. I petered off. Dammit.
