California Stars

I have the time, and I don't have the time.
I want to write, and I don't want to write.
I have those words on the tip of my tongue, the bite of my finger,
and yet it feels like I don't.
In that sense it's like an everyday day.

I used to have a lot to say. Actually I still do. But perhaps now, because I'm happy, I mean happier...with the status quo, the words come coated with a paint of laughter, a tint of contentment.

Tragedy makes good writers. Contended writers on the other hand sound boring, even to themselves.

But they wouldn't want it any other way.

But I will say things, soon I will shout and rant and blurt. I will jump to conclusions, I will make my assumptions, I will dispense existential angst at will and I will wander aimlessly as well. The paint of laughter and the tint of contentment though, will not fade. It's a permanent structure now and as permanent structures go...unfadeable.

...cause it's on the tip of my tongue, the bite of my fingers.

Lemon Tree

A day dedicated to fools?
Nay sir, it's but confusion.

A day dedicated to being a fool?
Nay sir, your lack of understanding merits a repetition. It's but confusion.

A day dedicated to foolery?
Aye sir, aye. It's but confusion followed by laughter. Like watching the world through kaleidoscopic eyes (with yellow smiley's floating in the background), through lenses that colour in myriad but joyful ways, that don't break, but bend. It's understanding that tragedy is manmade, laughter is organic. That tragedy is forced, self indulgent and that without so much as an effort you can poke at it with spokes of laughter. If you so desire.

A day dedicated to desire?
Aye sir, you're catching on. But that's all you'll get from me. For it's the first of April and there's much foolery to be done.