Taken yesterday, by Silver Creek with one of my favourite people in the world- my son, Brian, (who’s even more private than I am). The apple doesn’t fall far they say…
Gas station street art: oil and water. Iphone SE. 2.10.22.
The Birth
Eyes squeezed Liquid Pours into the mouth No matter how tight it may be
Murky depths and water Flood the slitted eyes Death in its black and hollow cave Extends a hand, quickly Slapped back by the light Which is growing yellow Fat and bright
Wraps itself around the scene Like a cobra Shedding its last skin
The breath which was muted Comes fast and loud and rough Eyes burst open Liquid spills and rolls down little hills
A final sigh as breath is held Smiles are passed around like Cuban cigars In the other room
More liquid Filling and spilling from eyes The baby cries
What is it about a man’s beard that makes everything better in a woman’s world?! Ha…that sounded terribly sexist, but wait feminazis! Let me clarify. I can speak for nobody but myself.
(And on that note, if anything up there offends you (whoever’s reading this), um…you’re probably reading the wrong blog. I make no promises here and I appease no one. I write for me, not the public. I simply allow the public to peek into my life, but make no mistake, I say what I want here.)
So I’ll clarify; what is it about Josh’s beard that quiets the world and mutes the blinding chaos and noise of everyday life? That beard is EPIC. I can sink my face into it and it holds me there in some fantastic space in time- nothing moves- it could be forever for all I know…and then I breathe, and exhale. 😌
Love is a powerful thing, man. It never forgets. Anger and hatred- they’re deaf and blind. But love? Love never forgets. 🔥
Know that you’re loved and that I will always love you. And you. And you. And you. And you. And you. And you. And you. And you. And you. And you. And you. And you. And you. And you. And you. And you. And And you. And you. And you. And you. And you. And you. And you. And you. And And you. And you. And you. And you. And you. And you. And you. And you. And you. And you. And you. And you. And you. And you. And you. And you. And you. And you. And you. And you. And you. And you. And you. And you. And you. And you. And you.
And especially you, MALT D. I love you madly but in a very different and most special way because you’re my road dog. You’re not just at the top of the heap, you are the heap. I’ll always be indebted to you first and foremost, forever, yo.
AA (aka: Carp), if you’re reading this, you’re my road dog too! You know it. Hit me up again soon on WF so I can kick your ass again. 😁 I love you very much, hombre, and always will. Always x ♾.
❤️💕❤️💕❤️💕❤️💕❤️💕❤️💕❤️💕❤️💕❤️💕❤️💕❤️
And for anyone else who’s reading this on St. Valentine’s Day and finds him/her/themselves alone, I hope you know how important you are to others! Know that you are absolutely loved. ❤️
Eggs. Heavy cream. Parmesan Romano. One whole red onion. Diced Smoked Ham. Fresh-cracked Pink and Black Peppercorns. Heavy on the Salted Butter. (No additional salt added or necessary.) My original recipe, of course.
m o n o c h r o m e j u n k i e † 