Moods Withstood

I do not like this life of moods
It feels like I'm in jail
Or walking alone in dark woods
Unable to exhale

Urinary

A halting hombre in a rancid-butter-yellow shirt arrested me on the deserted stairwell of a comely courthouse, and blithely asked for the “Urinary”. I don’t know why I didn’t collapse in topsy-turvy titters! I think he remotely meant ‘Urinal’. Or per-frigging-haps, he misjudged the muted building for an urethra-healing hospital!

Bananas in Pajamas

A queer, questionable name for a children’s cartoon series. Many baby-dove diversions, like adorable nursery rhymes and clean ‘cable’ cartoons, conceal cunning, clandestine, adult themes, which only show their unfaithful face and crazy colours upon dwindled innocence. My favourite poet – William Blake – was a master at the stainless strain of this craft. Imagine my heart of horror when it suddenly settled on my mind, in the shower – my thinking place – this morning. I thought back to Bananas in Pajamas and the scandalous sense it makes to me right now.

Michael Jackson, Air Crashes & Other Random Questions

Why does anybody want MJ's autopsy photos?
Can Northwest Airlines Flight 255 be the last, please?
Would you take DXM for a cough?
Is Manuel Zelaya the better of 2 evils?

Sunday Night Out

There are only two or three cars cruising along the infinite streets. And couples nuzzle in shades, or drift along in languid, luxuriant gaits. In every hot-spot hang-out, the vacant tables warmly embrace you. The waiters are familiar and friendly; the service swift. And as Monday morning looms, there is a ‘nectar-ine’, natural reason not to linger too long on the night. Pacy drinks, gush-free goodnights, a dwarf drive home. Lovely, lovely evening.

Sunday at Work

Came to work in the rain
Didn't hear me complain
Either you're back on a plane
Or I'll do this again and again.

Egg is Meat

Sitting tight for warm, wonderful, well-done Waakye to wolf on Thursday afternoon, I waded into a wager with The Cat. I slickly staked the meat that would come with the food, knowing this Cat worshipped his cooked carcass. The Cat agreed on the fly. Intern Achiaa loosely let it slip to the Cat that I was not having my Waakye with venison or any kind of viande. The Cat asked what I was eating it with. In order that Intern Achiaa would not say “fish” and ‘salivate’ The Cat, I wisely whooped, “egg”. The Cat was silent for a trice. Then he came back, “but egg is meat”. Dear reader, what do you think? Is egg meat?