I talk to myself now—mostly in song lyrics & sarcasms. I’m calling it senescence of the mind—or maybe the psyche. Be it piston {hardware} or algorithm {software? please correct me if I’m wrong}—does it really matter?

Here in suburbia, it is like a flea circus, with everyone’s hands glued to their lawn mowers & weedwackers. I am likewise gorilla glued to a steering wheel & gas pedal. The Johnny Costa jazz begins to play every morning at 7:26 AM {though I’d prefer Schroeder et al.}—and we all marionette around the neighborhood.

Wednesday is trash day and I’ve missed it several times now {due to illness}. In my dreams the cul-de-sac is miles wide—with plenty of space to turn around. Here, the cement has so many cracks—you can barely tiptoe without hurting your mom.

I am molested by the endless paint chips, drywall cracks—the purple yoga blocks of tripping infinity. No matter what I do—my garage over floweth cardboard, expired bottled water, potatoes, and donations to the bargain shop. The wasp nest above the neighbor’s shed hums grimly as suburbia sounds like a broken seashell.

I’ve chewed a whole in my cheek—the flavor of my gum is rust. I don’t have a fashionable cardigan in which to assume—I simply change my shoes and keep wearing the same black t-shirt {not the same black t-shirt, but the same black t-shirt likeness}`. I am currently in possession of a knot above my eyebrow—the scar from a light fixture fight. I have killed a legion of flies. Still, the spiders feast—growing fat and enormous {there are webs on the potatoes}.

At this time, I would like to propose that we all clap our hands after finishing a simple task—like putting the spoons away, or picking up some chalk. If it’s raining outside, you can put on a rain coat, and a hat to keep the rain off your glasses. If you have time—try to find a good mud puddle. Crickets chirp faster when it’s hot.

My garage door is bigger than a picture window. The trees outside my house provide shade that is—just fine. I had a dream last night that the world was ending—but it was just because everyone was distracted. The whole of humanity piled into a Noah’s Arc space ship and flew away—before realizing they had nowhere to go, and no reason for leaving in the first place.

Clap Clap**