Babycakes, Every Picture Tells a Story

Howdy gang, I'm calling out one line of sand for myself tonight.
To borrow a phrase, my ol' authority voice has gotten a bit out of hand lately--
so maybes I'll shelve that guy for a bit. Just taking a bit of a break
ya know, try out a couple other ways of talking.

Status report: My errant cig-butts kinda took over the entirety of the front yard surrounding my porch spot. There's this one bush, you see, and I kinda squirrel my wasted soldiers down there in piles of ash and filters. So Pops put out grampa's old crystal ashtray, i am now living quite large.

There's been a lot of electronic-conversation action this evening, but boys, keep an eye on your phones for some voice time, I'm looking at you Po-Mo and Daddy (And Nero, babycakes, your in there too).

On to about cig # 13-15, I think? Hell, I dunno. This is at least whiskey and ginger ale #3-- as always, only stiff ones. There was a beer in there somewhere.

Oh and plenty of:



Let's make this into one of them fireside chats:
Gang, the grand scheme moves forward-- today I got me a job on a farm.
Nourse Farm

I'm all full of shit, but quantifying/qualifying each and every aspect of a neurosis didn't do a damn thing for me but entrench these things further.

One evening, on this very porch I'm writing you all from now, I realized--shit,
I am absolutely unemployable now.
The track I'd pinned my plans along just didn't have room for a person of my position. Shit, its probably my own doing-- but I'm going nowhere by trying to fight the current.
So here's to the slow start toward baking our own brownies-- its not as if there's much to lose.

On this theme: I remember a night or two some years back, someone saying "Goddamn it, the april plant festival is only days away and we haven't built jack shit. Call the boys, we're sitting down and doing this tonight."

I get the feeling these days we've just about reached that point-- time for a bit of calling in and chicken-wire.