WHO KNOWS WHAT COMES, WHAT GOES
Days may come and days may go, but this we know: there will always be a tomorrow to take the place of yesterday. When today is through there'll be a new tomorrow waiting in the wings to redo old things, to experiment with time as yet unspent, to present new event, and to some extent, will be went like last month's rent that's laid to waste in haste to make way for another day filled with predicted by Nostradrama's mama. Predictions are fictions with no restrictions, waiting evictions years to come and go. You cannot know it's SO until ity;s SO' SO.
Dates can't wait to create a new taboo or untried opportunity, a chance advance, a romance perchance, a happenstance, a plague of ants in Dubya's pants.
A new day lays in wait for you to do the things you did not do because you know the new day will dawn, filled with time to waste, to find its place in the uncharted space occupied by the human race that sets the pace of the chase of the race, be it black or white, yellow or red, Oriental or elemental, experimental and accidental.
Today's detoured highway of yesterday's shortcut to what may be waiting to give you the runaround, found in the almanac of maps made by saps, perhaps, who got their directions while throttling a bottle of booze while they peruse the news of market miscues speculators usually use to choose to force, of course. Dow to go down and Jones to choke on chicken bones.
Bear in mind you'll find prognosticator spectaculatove speculators, overweight debaters, weight watcher sons and daughters and squatter spotters waiting until it's too late to invest in respirators, incubators, alligators or hater baters.
The shame is, they play the same game they played, paid the cost, lost their hockey shirts and and jockey shorts and more while minding the corner store. They're all a bunch of dumb upchuck cluckers, all day suckers, chicken pluckers, taking bets and making babies, buying/selling blue-chip dogs immune to rabies.
Forget yesterday. Tomorrow is another day, If tomorrow never comes stick out your tongue, fill your lungs with nicotine until they turn patriotic green. Wait a while for your teeth to rot and fall into the chamber pot. Meanwhile, SMILE. DAMN YOU, SMILE!
Dates can't wait to create a new taboo or untried opportunity, a chance advance, a romance perchance, a happenstance, a plague of ants in Dubya's pants.
A new day lays in wait for you to do the things you did not do because you know the new day will dawn, filled with time to waste, to find its place in the uncharted space occupied by the human race that sets the pace of the chase of the race, be it black or white, yellow or red, Oriental or elemental, experimental and accidental.
Today's detoured highway of yesterday's shortcut to what may be waiting to give you the runaround, found in the almanac of maps made by saps, perhaps, who got their directions while throttling a bottle of booze while they peruse the news of market miscues speculators usually use to choose to force, of course. Dow to go down and Jones to choke on chicken bones.
Bear in mind you'll find prognosticator spectaculatove speculators, overweight debaters, weight watcher sons and daughters and squatter spotters waiting until it's too late to invest in respirators, incubators, alligators or hater baters.
The shame is, they play the same game they played, paid the cost, lost their hockey shirts and and jockey shorts and more while minding the corner store. They're all a bunch of dumb upchuck cluckers, all day suckers, chicken pluckers, taking bets and making babies, buying/selling blue-chip dogs immune to rabies.
Forget yesterday. Tomorrow is another day, If tomorrow never comes stick out your tongue, fill your lungs with nicotine until they turn patriotic green. Wait a while for your teeth to rot and fall into the chamber pot. Meanwhile, SMILE. DAMN YOU, SMILE!
posted by Ed Weiland at 11:44 PM
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