Track Magic!

High 5's by Guy Five

But What If People Were Cookies Instead of People?

Self Awareness. Island Style.

Plant Buildings: The Silent Durgle

Maybe it would be a good thing if plants could eat buildings, you know? Evil ones. The buildings, I mean. I guess the plants could be evil too.

If only evil plants ate evil buildings, it would be good. If evil plants also ate good buildings, that would be bad. 

So, good buildings would need good plants on them that would defend them from the evil plants. But the good plants wouldn't grow on evil buildings because the evil buildings are evil.

But...maybe the evil buildings would be good at tricking the good plants...

How about just not any plants on any buildings...

Except...wait.

No! Okay, so, all plants should be matched with the appropriate buildings based on their relative good or evil qualities.

It's a good thing I'm not in charge of how anything slightly bigger than a bicycle is assembled.

It's hard to feel and express emotions directly

Need some other kind of silly sadness.

Like a fat man slowly walking away from his little dog, his only companion. Walking across an endless empty plain with his head hung low, trying to let go of his last attachment that will continue to follow him, expectantly looking up. A stupid tension of unrelenting hope and cartoonish, vague despair.  

Boats in a Tub When You Least Expect It

"Yargh, what's the matter, First Mate Greg? You seem particularly existential tonight."

"Aye, Captain. It's just..."

"Let it out now. Sailors shouldn't keep secrets."

"Sometimes it just feels like the sea has lost all mystery, cap'n. What's left to love about sailing when even Poseidon cowers before you?"

OH YEAHHHH?!?!?!?!?!?

Thanks, Track Fact Serpent!

Flyano Bro, Yo

Be like a magic piano tall stick flighting biting right man.

A Dumb One

What is the dumbest thing? What is the nature of dumbness? 

Something to do with the crappiness of a facade? That's my favorite kind of dumb, anyway. 

We don't like when emotions are beliefs are obviously not actually held by the speaker. We either want authenticity or a more convincing front. 

Or it could also be an attempt at cleverness or wit that falls hopelessly short. Dumbness is a missing of the mark. 

I don't think "lacking in intelligence or skill" really gets at it. It's more like a lack of concentration or focus.

But I think that gives it a lot of potential somehow, too.

Like if you saw a guy with a basketball take ten minutes to line up a full-court shot and make it, it would be really impressive.

But if you saw a high school kid get really mad in a game and then punt a basketball across the gym and make it, it would be AMAZING.

I guess that wouldn't be considered a missing of the mark but it's more impressive because it should have missed. That's the reward and potential of something really dumb. Doing something that absolutely shouldn't work and then it does. 

So then dumbness is more like an ill-advised means to an end. And then if it succeeds there's this great moment where everything you thought you knew that led you to believe it was dumb gets inverted or blown up and what's fair is foul and foul is fair, I guess.

That would be the truly dumbest thing. Something so dumb that even the rules that show its dumbness are invalidated. 

Shell Head

Running in the heat always brings out weird thoughts about how running feels.

Today I was trying to do a mini-workout on a track after a tempo run. I bailed on it because I wasn't hitting the splits. I was like a garbage bus in Grand Dump City.

I was walking off the track, getting ready to jog back home. The sun was shining in my face and a hot wind was blowing and it was muggy all at the same time. I didn't want to start running.

But when I did, I immediately had this very tangible feeling that my body was a thick, rubbery shell (like a racquetball) and that whatever was in me that would make me want to stop running was protected by this shell. Like I was aware of everything outside that should make me feel awful but it couldn't reach the thing (located somewhere in my stomach) that was really me. My body was a vehicle that I could climb into and send on its way while I just sat inside and watched. 

There was also the feeling that running was what made the shell real. If I wasn't running I would have been more forced to be more present and unprotected and miserable. 

So, I don't know. Shells. Crawling into your own stomach. Body like a weird, slow-moving robot.

And then, additionally, the thought about how all of this felt kept looping in my head for the 30 minutes it took to get home and maybe that also made it real somehow.

It wasn't necessarily a good feeling or a feeling like I was really strong or really fast and fit. My first thought was, 'Oh, well, I guess the part of you that wouldn't enjoy this must be dead by now.' Because there was also this feeling of hollowness (not in a sad way, in a racquetball way) that would allow me to plod along at a comfortable pace without having to think about it.

That's what running in the heat feels like sometimes. Other times you have to go to the bathroom real bad. That's an awful feeling.

Looking at the Side of the Fridge

At my grandparents' house. Erin was displeased with her representation.

Don't worry, I said. How could anyone know it's you?

Yet the Persistent Question Blocks Remain

All these answers up in the air and stuff. Just gotta keep collecting points and coins.

They Be Hitting On My Sister Like...

"Oh hey girrrrlll, you like books?"

.......

"The reason I asked was because I saw you had a lot of books."

....................

"So I figured you probably like books."

...

"You like books, girl?"

Do You Remember That Time We Cleaned the Bathtub?

Well, we totally cleaned that bathtub!

Making things for people

I made this thing for my friend's birthday. A weird assemblage of stuff that is justified by giving it to someone.

A Simile for Your Emotional Toolbelt

Like a cloud demon uncontrollably vomiting burritos.

Top Heavy Sweat Stain with Nod Heady Neck Strain

I like the sun a lot. It pretty much powers the whole planet and everything on it. If the sun hadn't been invented, we wouldn't even have flashlights because the flashlight was inspired by the sun in the first place. Your eyes were made to help you see the stuff the sun shines on. Your mouth was made to eat fruit. Guess where fruit comes from? Plants. And plants use the sun. The list goes on and on.

Manta rays, mademoiselles, marmalade: these are all words that start with 'M'. But I think that we can  all agree that there is even another word that starts with 'M'. And that word is

Murder. Yeah, guys, murder. It's not a fun subject. A murder is a terrible thing. Ten murders is even worse. One trillion murders is quantitatively worse still. But the sun shines on that, too. The sun would shine on any kind of murder. At no point would the sun stop shining because of it. So you might think, "Hey, what's the deal, Mr. or Mrs. Sun? Are you indifferent to us? You'll shine on anything?"

And the answer is, 'Yes'. The sun will shine on anything. So, I mean, there you go. Choose your own adventure, I guess.

But seriously, be nice to each other. I love you.

You Have To Answer To That

What? You wanna put my complaining in perspective by pointing out my insignificance in comparison to the vastness of the universe? To show that I should be grateful to play a part in something so wondrous and huge that it dwarfs our grandest imaginings and dreams?

Well, guess what, universe?!

I'm still bored, this is still lame, and I still want NACHOS!

Do You Like Secret Windows?

A book is like a secret window.

I'm Normal. Everything's Normal.

Robot Arms, Man

They're always trying to steal my giant pears wearing bow-ties. Always! 

A Big Man-Munching Flower

APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing 
Memory and desire, stirring 
Dull roots with spring rain.

What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
 Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man, 
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images.

-T.S. Eliot (noted party monster)