Present and Accounted For

There are people in the world who have gifts.  Michael Phelps can swim fast.  Stephen Hawking can think of grand notions.  My country's Prime Minister can make the world smell like a taint.  Each of us has a set of skills that can allow us to be better than we are.  An Olympian, a physicist, a butt kisser - all different, all famous, all known for something.

People learn to be what they are.  Someone had to take Michael to the pool.  Someone had to teach Professor Hawking math.  Someone had to acknowledge Stephen Harper is a douche.  Natural talent can not just be assumed, it needs to be, like the mushroom, given shit to do before it becomes part of the cultural salad that we toss each and every day.  

Of course, we all realize that not every salad has mushrooms.  The Waldorf salad has raisins and walnuts.  Coleslaw only cabbage.  The pipe dream that is a Cobb salad has no toadstool upon which to rest its laurels.  Ambrosia contains sour cream, as does the nature of encouraging ability.  Ultimately, the classic Three bean salad, begs the question, who the Hell would ONLY use beans to make a salad?

Gifts, like the appetizers we only pick at, are what we decide to make of them.  We are all very well aware that 1+1=2, but anyone who has ever had sex on a regular basis knows, sometimes 1+1 means you have to pee on a stick and panic for  5 minutes.  Einstein taught us this, he called it Relativity.  It is upon some of these very basic principles that men and women like Stephen Hawking have re-invented how we see the modern world, Thanks to him we now have new and more varied things we can do with our urine.  
We write our names in the snow that is civilization  and so create a new and pissier future for our progeny.  Our genius and bladders help mark the path of destiny.  We wet the appetites of society with industry and plumb our potential with the crap our ancestors left for us.  We hope to be flush, while avoiding the septic tank fullness that makes us all seek refuge in politics.

A great man said, "we stand on the shoulders of giants".  Anyone who has been to a rock concert is grateful for those shoulders and the boob flashing women who sit on them.  When a politician sits we know at least he can't bend us over his desk, and we find comfort.  When a politician takes a stand we wonder who he is going to get behind, and what bed they will share.   When a politician makes a promise, he/she prepares us to live with disappointment. 
In much the same way as we invented insane asylums and prisons, we invented politics to protect us. Politicians are a shining example of society solving the problem of what to do with people who have little or no idea of how to fit into society.  The gift they give to us is a cautionary tale.  An epic of greed, betrayal and incompetence that reminds us there are easier ways to be assh*les.  

So, enjoy your crap, use it to grow, and just remember, when you get that fecal feeling and you think there is no hope... there's always someplace you can share your sh*t and be somebody.  Just remember to wash your hands.  

DaBuoy

50 Shades of OY VEY

If we live in a world that invites us all to have sex, yet only lets us look at porn, I figured I'd sell the bucket and join the flag bearers.  I will not only be a purveyor of porn and the like, I will take a modern work ethic and get dirty with it.  I will join the mental masturbation of modern masses into a string of words and sentences that will tug at their genitalia and give CPR to their nipples.  I welcome you to the first notations of the fictional new non-existent book, 50 Shades of OY VEY.  A creation of the entity known as Meet Rabbits


The men volleyed insults about sexual gormandizing and

crooned like songbirds as she approached. The branches of 

family trees long since dormant wavered nervously as she strode 

forth with the abandon of a schoolgirl who had known pleasures 

and losses in equal measure. Only the presence of courage, luck, 

and bravado would turn the tide of current favour, and like the 

lipstick she refused to wear, they were sadly lacking.

 At a Local "Men's drinking establishment" (meet rabbits)

Would that the whalebone of her corset held so true a

course as the blood pulsing within her nether regions. 

Each drop promising to leave her bereft of moist 

sanity, yet so easily replaced by the heat of each 

embrace. Lips pressed upon each other, insistent that 

the heights reached could only consume them and 

build hostility and illicit stares from the crowd.

Later that day... 

...and when he looked at the grace of her countenance, he was

consumed by a passion that did grow a husbandly bulge in his coin

purse.

can porn replace love... of course it can.  and a horse can replace a helicopter... briefly.  The important thing to remember is that to do so is to disrespect all horses who work in the porn industry.  They are the glue that holds the money shot together.  They are the MEAT in the kibble of desire.  They are the mane stay of our life's blood.  Feed your Love a carrot, sure, perhaps even a sugar-cube, but remember - NOTHING replaces good old fashioned foreplay.. or is that whores-play...  (can I get a Fluffer on the set, please)

Dabuoy

First kiss again

I met this young girl at a bar, and she says to me, "you write poetry, how hard can it be for you to write song lyrics.".
  Admittedly at the time, there was drinking, kissing and a VERY disproportionate flow of blood to places other than the part of the brain that warns against these things, but I thought - at the age of 45, I have very few virgin experiences left and this might just be one of them.  Sure I have rhythm and music, but was she right?  Was something else lacking?
It was then we decided to create a band known as Meet Rabbits...
After meeting again, and seeing each other naked, I told her I would see if I could write a song lyric of the ilk that kids groove on today.  I wrote several versions of Sugar,Sugar, I'm a believer, and I am a Lineman for the County, before finally creating the word salad that appears below.
So NOW with a heavy hand, and slightly sore junk...

The Lucky One

I only left a little scar

No one will hardly notice

Simply apply the make-up 

and smile like a clown

A little lip and lifeless

You could be dull and grey

cover up the truth and live as if,

you never age

I remember a ghost of a hand

where only my wrist is

and I'm not sure if the blood on the floor is mine

Was that a knife

a gun

a bomb

or did you just think that about me

Actions speak louder than words

Fear speaks LOUDEST of all

Can you see the tears of joy

behind the sorrow...

at least we have tomorrow

Chorus

All I wanted was Everything

you could only give me love

All I needed was Everything

you could only hold my hand

I gave you LOVE

and you kept asking me for EVERYTHING

Dabuoy

ADDICTION

Standing in

a phone booth

The numbers 

sound the same

A dial tone

A breath

A touch

To hear your voice 

again

I want to RIP

 my clothes off

I want to

change my ways

I need to leave

I need to fly

I need to know

you understand

Standing in

a phone booth

my fingers 

do a dance

for a call

that doesn't come

I can see

through you

I can soar

above you

I can live

without you

Dabuoy