Are We There Yet?

It is more about the journey than it is the destination. 

Bullshit.

I have travelled, and (basketball aside), I am most relieved when, both I, and my luggage reach their final destination.  Somewhere in the world I love, is a scattering of clothing and toiletries that sought the path less travelled and whose fates now remain unknown.  Many a mint held fast by a pillow bears a trace of my DNA (I drool when I sleep).  If there is one set of footprints on a beach, it was mine as they longed to get back to my room.

I have been 'layed over' as airports shut down.  Port holed by ships that would not sail.  Lobbied by hotels with no vacancy.  I have even made a park bench my boudoir, lest you be judged.

Travelling without heed to your destination is homelessness.  Personally, I don't trust people who disrespect the nature of plumbing simply because they would rather be wandering and wondering about the nature of something or someone else.  While they are looking out for #1, they tend to find themselves lip deep in #2.

We didn't tear up all that valuable farmland to build concrete jungles, just so we could starve to death from artistic malnutrition.  Our gut feelings are the destination of the yogurt that is the cultural bond that glues us all together.  Forgetting this creates a bland journey.  We need the fruit bottoms of society to flavour existence. 

It is, in truth, not about where you are going or how you get there, but about the fat guy next to you who hogs the armrest. 

DaBuoy

I Have The Munchies Again

If food ruled the world, no one would starve.

I know, what does food know about anything.  Could I be bored by a burrito or perhaps besieged by a bagel.  I am better than food, and I refuse to be steered by a steak.   How could I be helped by a gyro when my trans fats need zero.

My every predatory move carefully tracked.  Bar codes etched into my collective consciousness, so we wolves don't dine and dash.  My lion eyes shielded behind dark lenses so my cutting glances go unnoticed.  A swipe of my Air Miles card scratches and tears into the meat of the middle class.

I fight to be heard. 

I dance and sing and screw.  I crave to live in a world of like-minded creatures.  Feasting and devouring the sweet warmth of each other's company.  Free to take what we desire and keep what we love.  Blood stained incisors dripping with the mechanization that feed us all in an orderly manner.  I will be entertained between hunt and pursuit.  My appetites will be satiated in comfort and in style.

I am Man, and I am a warrior species.
I am master of my destiny, and diviner of my own fortunes.
If food ruled the world,
we would all know how to fight.

Dabuoy

Is There Anybody Out There...

"You are here", is the first line of the Existential Handbook.  After that it gets complicated.

We post signs everywhere.  Most of them illustrate for us the moral certitude of needing to be someplace else.  No loitering, no parking, no solicitors, no junk mail, post no bills, no habla English.  Everyone knows where they are going and where they have been, yet few seem to grasp where they are.  We shake hands and hear names all the while wandering into thoughts about the cost of Purell and wart removers.  We watch a movie and dream of hot rides and stiff drinks.  Our clothes slide brightly about our worlds as we contemplate another costume change.

What were we talking about?

Attention deficit disorder is the new awareness. 

If you didn't have the patientence to read that last sentence, you may already be there.

hear hear!

You probably know all about me.  I have a blog, I Twitter, I hardly ever don't friend someone on Facebook.  I am single.  I haven't met anyone yet.

This month the 7 billionth human was born.  What makes them so special? 

I wonder...

DaBuoy