a tribute to pretty boy

i had this goldfish and i wrote a poem about him. here it is:
~ode to fish~
oh what a life at sea
in this clear glass world
there's no one else
but,
reflection me
no, not a soul
just tiny fish wishes
and bubbles blue and bold
each time i peek
it's my face i seek
with shimmering scales of gold
each view is new
a refreshing hue
-memories, short term are few-
i flitt around, tail like a tassel
flying all about my underwater castle
translucent lemon finns
help me swim and glide
when fingers tap and faces spy
i swish through quick and hide
i look up at clear blue sky
i bolt and jump
landing high and dry
gulp in air
eyes give blank stares
i breath, sides heave
life, it leaves
clouds drift by...
i,
    goldfish,
                  die.

so. i am now realising that this poem was really an awful prediction. only, my fish didn't jump out of the bowl. he was tortured by my cat the assassin.  sigh. its really ok since every fish is really just a dictator reincarnate. my cat was just doing his job, bringing us one step closer to world peace.  my fish was named Pretty Boy, he loved to stare at himself all day in a mirror. we're probably better off with one less narcissist.  next time you buy a goldfish, don't write the tribute prematurely. thus ends todays account of the short life of a household fish. adieu

i trust my sixth sense so much more than your oriental, paper filled, baked goods.

people say they fear the future. why? its just a word. just a collection of hours separated into groups of 24 then regrouped into days. its only a vague clump of time and uncertainty. looking at the future in little bits is enjoyable. i can't wait for tomorrow, in an hour i'll have this post completed :] haha.
i once stared at the clock for 60 seconds...to find that only one minute had passed. one minute wasted.
time is passing, passing, passing. gone.
i'll remember some of it. only little liquid memory water drops. they'll fill my brain bucket and the ones that overflow will be gone and go in the dirt and help the seeds of new memories grow.

one of my memories is this blog. it swam to the top of my memory bucket  like a hungry fish. i had forgotten it. and now its a memory made new.

yard sailing, boats of the land.

for some reason getting up at an unspeakably early hour on a saturday is fine, so long as you're having a yard sale. who knew? ...i knew and tried desperately to will the yard sale out of existence. no such luck. though as i rummaged through our yard sale merchandise, i happened upon a few old world vintro treasures. i am now the proud owner of a polaroid camera, which has always been a wish of mine. good things might even happen to you sometime. shrug.
i try and take picturesque pictures. its a fifty fifty chance. catching people off guard and snapping their photo is the only true way of capturing the moment. the downside is they are often not picturesque do to my own shortcomings.
for future reference, the word vintro is a combination of the words retro and vintage, this only concerns you if you are in fact reading this blog. even if you are, i can't guarantee i'll use the word again.
to make up for the blandness of this post and the non-existant contrast between this and the one before, i think i'll leave you with a song, maybe you'll even listen to it. then maybe you'll like it and have to have it for your own. but, this is all theoretically speaking.  sometimes, i get carried away.

blog=brain

cloning people is an odd concept. sometimes i think about it. and to me, books are clones of people.  authors are the cadavers of brain studies and their works are the clones. libraries have copies and copies of people. people who are dead and people who are living.  this thought process is what lead me to create a blog.  so i could post little bits of me and one day there could be an entire copy of me, or infinite copies of me for others to see. maybe you'd like to read this:

peer into ink and paper minds

disect the brains of the poet cadavers.

copies of books

right from the press

clones of human nature

distributed to the masses

added to the shelves

these copies in time

paper thin, full of lines

faces, fonts, duplicated spines.

steal from the storehouse

peruse the clones

stuck ageless in a forever mine.

read their thoughts

words of a people

a person between the covers.

i'm an author. i am a clone.

shrug. day one of blog. completed.