Brain talk – when the chatter never stops

My brain talks too much.

As soon as I open my eyes to a freshly minted day, my brain starts yammering.

Blah, blah, blah.

Things to do:

Make beds with hospital corners. Note: Omit drainage bag and catheter.

Wipe out dust bunny colony. Note: Dump remains in woods in back of house.

Dust bunnies

Forage supermarket shelves for food. Note: Wear elbow pads, helmet and body armor.

Print out 200 page manuscript at UPS store.  Print out 200-page manuscript on office printer.

Don’t want to dehydrate the printer cartridge or get the skinny on a ream of paper.

A cartridge only costs $30 bucks. A 200-page print job costs $15 or $20 bucks.

Will there be a happy ending?

Print out 200 page manuscript on office printer.  Print out 200-page manuscript at UPS store.

Note: It’s not rocket science.

I’m bored. On to other things . . .

You gonna write a blog post today out of anorexic air? Transparency in writing is key in a pad. Or are you gonna strain our brain with that editing shit?

I vote for Feng shui writing. Take the laptop and write in different corners of a room.

What about the dogs? The nagging will start in approximately 10 seconds, 9, 8, 7 . . .

Ruff, ruff, I want to go out.

Ruff, ruff, I want to come in.

Ruff, ruff, feed me or I’ll magically appear underfoot and get tangled in your legs.

Ruff, ruff, scratch behind my ear or I’ll eat that Harry Potter book you left on the coffee table.

You’re a dumbass for leaving it there.

I want this. I want that. Dog demands disguised as high-pitched barks.

God, they’re worse than kids.

You’ve only got one kid.

But if I had two, the dogs would be twice as bad.

Dogs are easier than kids, except when a dog screeches, you can’t shove a binky in its mouth.

Is there a binky for adults?

Cigarettes and booze. Both can kill you, but at least you’ll be smiling at the end of days.

The dogs are still a pain in my ass.

Looks like more than one ass to me.

But the dogs are so cute when they’re quiet.

That doesn’t last long. One crow caw and they’re out of the house – ruff, ruff, ruff all the way down the stairs and onto the lawn.

Stop sign on the corner of Chestnut St. And Av...

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Sometimes I get so ferklempt from their antics shit sputters from my ears.

That’s because you’ve got shit for brains a.k.a. CRS (can’t remember shit).

Can’t remember what?

Say goodnight, Gracie.

Goodnight Gracie.

 

Do you write from the seat of your pants or switch on your editor?

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Congress Incinerates the American Dream

In light of last night’s report on Congressional insider trading, which aired on Sixty Minutes, I thought it was appropriate to repost this rant from April 2011.

 

Several years ago, the universe shifted and knocked most of us off our feet, while others still reap in the rewards.

The ground is still not stable.

 

Uncanny things can happen at night in desolate...

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Every day we struggle to find a piece of debris that once was the American dream. The dream that has gotten away from most of us, that only one percent still holds.

Economic bon vivants and talking empty heads vomit words fed to them by lobbyists, while dining at restaurants, as, we, the people eat table scraps scattered across the floor.

It used to be easy to get in the door, but now there is a schism so wide it extends from shore to darkened shore, preventing us from picking up the dusty remnants of the American dream.

 

Fire in Dumpster

Image by benwatts via Flickr

We dust it off the homes we have to say goodbye to.

We dust it off the cars that were repossessed.

We dust it off our savings that dies slowly, while hooked up to life support.

We lost everything we once took for granted that we can’t take for granted anymore.

But not the bankers, politicians, and CEOs. They climb higher toward the pie in the sky on the greenbacks of the people that fell beneath them.

They are royalty and fat cats, gathering the leave-behinds that get smaller in the rearview mirrors of the cars driven by every man, for he is the fool who pays taxes and follows the rules, as lawyers hired by royalty help them jump through loopholes in the Cayman Islands.

 

Map of the Cayman Islands.

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But there are other places to go.

They move their corporations out of the United States to countries with lower tax rates. See the jobs disappear faster than a politician can pull a lobbyist out of his ass.

Now the fat cats own the American dream, while Americans sit and dream of the way life used to be.

There was a time we derived pleasure from simplicity but nothing’s simple anymore.

Several years ago, the universe shifted and knocked most of us off our feet, while others still reap in the rewards.

How can that be? When the dream died, did it put the CEOs in charge?

When did, we, the people snuff the fire from our eyes?

The fire is our only hope for taking back the American dream. Out of the ashes, one day our dreams will grow.

In October we fanned the flames, and now the fire burns brightly throughout the world.

 

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