Mental Sumo

Social security records indicate that somehow the man provided for many on an income just hovering above poverty. The man made extra money working side jobs in construction. He took 2nd jobs. There are X number of days in a year. There are innumerable responsibilities in being. In just being. In X number of days those dependent on the man, had needs of time and attention; these need tending to, as does an open wound. If X days are what they are, and X days are needed to be allocated, what of the needs of the man? Open wounds need tending. There are only X number of days though, are there not?

X days turn into X years; and X years into X decades. You can multiply that by the length of ones manhood and still have zero.

Shuffle. Rewind. Accelerate. One can not imagine what one does not dream. In the grey matter of the mind, one accomplishes all things. Imagination can not be diluted. Reason is, once you are imaginative, you remain that way for life. You will cultivate that whether you want to or not. It is the DNA of your soul. The man will see faces in electrical outlets; letters in the building of walls; grace in the action of an athlete. Victory will equate greatness; losing commensurate with unprepared ness. Quitting, the death of the man itself.

By example, love is personified in the neglecting of self for others. Love of self, not a mental masturbation, but self ego building, can not exist in true love, can it? Sacrificial lamb? Perhaps. Stupid lemming? More likely. Love. Damn that’s some sweet drug shit, no? Common sense will never, ever hold a candle to Love. Get all those endorphins moving about like they are frying in a goddamn microwave, and fuckifiknow what may happen.

Gabba Gabba Hey; I wanna be sedated.

Thanks to The Ramones, that turn-stile saying will waltz the man’s cranium for ever. Take that, Wayne Newton.

It certainly would be fitting to explode in a cavalcade of wondrous anger. Fuck, that would feel so good. The accompanying stroke wouldn’t look so good on the mans permanent record, now would it? We all know how imperative it is to keep that permanent record clean, eh? Don’t want that shit to come back and bite you in the arse, do you?

Assuming of course, assuming you have an ass, and just aren’t one. Many associates or relatives of the man may feel bent on the term ‘Major Ass’ as an indication of the high ass standard he has obtained. High ass standards are not just handed out on the fly-by, no, they are hard earned endearments of ass-holery; not bestowed on the meek ass’ but only to Major Ass.

Ramble on, the time is now to sing my song.

Not only did Led Zeppelin steal the blues from the African Americans, and infuse it with rock, they stole major portions of the mans brain matter and high decibel listening capabilities. The song most certainly does NOT remain the same. It can not. See, the song must change, the song must evolve, because the man must. More DNA. Stop learning, stop growing, stop caring, you just as soon be gone. When you have the same tune playing over and over on the radio, you change the channel.

And you tune it in to a stronger, better station.

Those X days. The man never took off for want of self, not many times anyway. Those few forays into lazy days were better served by spending it in pursuit of youthful learning experience.

Ah, but the youth never sees that, do they?

As is just, the man must imagine so. Surly by repetition, the sacrifice will be enough to show what true love, what true manhood means. Truly? Then again, what does that man really, really know? When in question of self, of self motivation, it is perhaps with great sorrow that one must acknowledge that it was in self-interest. How better to be viewed then as a martyr? Yeah, them martyrs get all the chicks. I guess except if they are married or celibate. That’s the ticket. Where does the man sign up for crucifixion?

Is there a waiting list? Or does the man need to stand in line?

It isn’t a rant, it just a ramble.

Aloha.