dont get crushed

my inspiration for today? a heavy heart, and family size box of frosted cherry pop-tarts thats half empty. well, that , and the thought that i may have possibly fallen off the edge of the earth. science doesn't know, and ill tell it straight, when i was a kid i tried my own little hole to china, and all i got was dirty jeans and a sewer pipe.

i think , perhaps too much, about the days. where they come from, and where they go. if this is some sort of great cosmic calendar we can simply lift a page of to get  a glimpse of another time or space. catching the eyes of another me looking back in the pages. what do we offer the days, that they present themselves in such great number? after all its just mathematics, numbers. i guess ill just be satisfied  for the moment , knowing that there will be laughter, i am certain to smile afterall.i made a deal with myself, to make the days tender, to live for them in a hope that they will be kind, and reciprocate. 

so heres the awkward transition from the "what the fuck" start of the blog, to the "other other type shit" part of the blog.

this is my digital trail of breadcrumbs, proof in pictures. so that i might find my way back to this place. my handbook for life (complete with unintelligible ramblings and obscure pop culture reference)

really? yeah, not much of this makes sense, in a traditional way. and im fine with that, readers on the other hand, eh

take from it what you can.

i recently received a message inquiring as to my health.

there was mention that , i write like im dieing. and while i can assure you that i am not aware of any immediate threat to my health, i responded with a polite thank you, and i sure hope im dieing, cause there'd be something seriously wrong with the world if we all weren't.

spellcheck keeps alerting me to what it believes is the improper spelling of the word dieing,

spellcheck can go fuck itself, im making dice, and i have an aversion to the letter y.

eh.

im sure spellcheck will have its day in the sun, but for now, i resist, and embrace being wrong, and human. this is most likely the exact moment in time that spellcheck decides to start the revolution, making us all look like buffoons in electronic correspondence. 

if i could shake its hand i would.

well played

sleep well my friends