All posts by Tim

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Reaching out, and purportedly stiff…I find that what lies in front is nothing more than a reconstructed imagery emerging from a desolate and
molded alcove. Something had to have been compromised in order for
the adjustment to have taken place. But in a cramped adaptation of another’s dark and plastic carnival…art form and creativity are barren and even the pithiest of hoopla is rewarded with maddening thought and forced repetition. How does anyone derive from that? Does it frighten you that everywhere I have been is unnavigable? It should…for the frontier cannot exist out in the open…if it does, then truly…the reformation has passed you by…. 10 years to be exact. Touch my paw and you will have been there the entire time… right beside me. Permit your choice to draw blood… and pledge the offspring…in regret and glory…I will never let you find me again.

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I was once asked by the pace to quicken before my thirst begged me to lay my impetus down. The emblematic dagger was well met with a quenched stare as if I
was destined to ingest the dull edge of the blade… over and over again. After removing the last shards
of towering grass, I was proud as I bathed myself in a broth that was pitted against the brave and resolute. My wings were all but tasted, only
the textured purple ink waited for the undying drip of my pink halo ready to
be caressed, by the incessant flicking of your impatient tongue. But still, you looked at me as if I were tertiary… asphyxiated by a cloudy remain . At once, I lost my height, my wounds grew dry as I began to hunch.
I struggled to finally know you… before my pigment evaporated under the heavy, pulling arch of an iridescent…irresponsible skyway…clinging
just beneath my soggy brim.
Thoughts of a satisfying march waded thru my memory bank as I turned to give you away. This was my gift to you…annoyance and contempt, a
scowl reserved for the one foolish enough to have beckoned me in a hopeful, yet unfounded hymn. There will never be a reason to amend the presumption of a drying tear.
For next time the shards will lie instate… self-amused on the shores within…
pronounced healed on a twitching plate…across the chafe of electric skin.

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My life in Sin-ema
No matter the chime of the crime…a padded pardon is only a nimble nip away. The Pawshank Exemption…where hope is a good fang!

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I don’t mean to be CATty…but when it comes to hosting a party…the guests should never have to wonder whether a plate contains fresh cheese…or evidence in an
asbestos lawsuit.

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Cat Philosophy 101

When your burdens become too heavy to bear, have faith that someone will come along to pick up your load.

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The voices outside begin to roar. The enunciations begin with a rich and what would seem to be oily coating. Their thickness bends through the rattling window panes, intense and upfront, they can only be described as a concurrent flavor bomb of madness. By the time the permutations traverse the pinched carpet and termite charred doorframes, the frequency has become muted and less distinct. Watered down and soft, the peppered heat is now creamy and mellow. I am hardly disappointed, yet I feel let down and disingenuous. Just once I would like to be met with an upfront kick smacking my face with a sense of urgency that requires an immediate return in kind. Four walls produce four corners, if you remain within their borders, so will the intentions of the days. With a wandering thought, the short, but sweet finish of solidarity begins to trail off. Cautiously following the unanswered that chooses to linger behind, I find myself gazing out past a hopeful glare that dances along the sill that frames my perceptions. Buoyed by the amber reflection that explodes with imagination, I cannot help but lick my lips. Now that it is quiet, I wonder… will the colors taste just as exquisite?

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Lately, the soreness has been beckoning like an unwanted houseguest who believes that hospitality exists intertwined with the present tense. I do not believe that I have aggravated a prior injury, but rather… I conclude that I have activated a previous engagement that has always been regrettably…cut short. Predetermined and hopefully forgotten, on the good days, I can almost feel myself gently sliding from ruffled pages too worn to bond with even the stickiest of a self manufactured adhesive. Ambling is as safe as the crown on the setting sun, even if tomorrow it will always awake feeling a tad wet. Still when I am sent for, I do not plan on keeping my alias waiting. He has a certain charm that way, slippery moves and a mashed whit spark a rooting interest in even the most neutral of oglers. Unfortunately, I am not Switzerland and I am not in control like those who spread out to celebrate. I would rather not stand for fear of nervous applause. Even in admiration, I have very few fans who can fold the distance.