Crusher

It was three weeks since our superfluous break up. After five years of greatness I kept expecting to smell her in the morning, taste her in the afternoon, and love her for the rest of our lives.

I lifted Crusher from the fish bowl. The slick turtle crept along my palm, too curious for its own good. Whether it was male or female didn’t matter; I respected its privacy. I stroked the armored back of the pleasantly dull reptile bastard, envying the thickness of the shell. I hoped my skin and soul would grow as malleable, but if I wasn’t feeling pain then what was the point of being human. God would have made me a turtle, and the dismay would have rocked the clouds because I wanted to be a Komodo dragon.

We wanted to still be together. Love wasn’t enough; it was only the beginning. Time, biology, and faith had betrayed us – so I believed at the time – but Crusher, Crusher kept on probing the surroundings, slowly, thoroughly, care freely.  

She had her new life now. I had Crusher.

Our Lady Peace can/could get as heavy as heavy as RageATM and as soft as bunnies skipping on clouds.

Circling Purple

Circling him wound him down.

Typical if you’re fighting a larger opponent; or the closest thing to it.

Wisconsin was a good place to train, but it didn’t provide the sparring partners you were hoping for; and you know you can always rely on country-folk, but for whatever reason(s), that one time was an unfortunate bust; but the Canadian borders are consistently reliable.

The 2 a.m. flight took us back to Houston, and from there things got silly. Houston has always been kind to me. It’s a bit jittery for my taste, but once you grasp the heart inside your hands – I love Houston, particularly during Christmas-time. And the yearly purple.

Smart Zombie Zumba

The zombies had evolved.

Fucking brilliant; they occupied the intelligence of whatever learning tissue existed on them from time of death to last slithery drop or crackling erosion.

We were individually strung with our arms folded across our chests, like straight jackets, hooked to a walking post across our backs. There was a three-piece zombie sentry carrying the bastard leading us to what I could have sworn was a soda machine, but towered with it was a blender quite capable of devouring a fully grown human being, with room for pets.

The fleshy outcomes drizzled, curved downward into the machine where it filled the bowl of the Smart Zombies’ queen. When filled, the bowl is hoisted onto Smart Zombie Drones’ shoulders, and the bowl is handed to Smart Zombie Queen so she might feed as heartily or lightly as she hoped. She still wanted to have a figure….yuh know...Something manageable.

Could always give Smart Zombie Zumba another try.