Relative Something

It is quite possible that you weren’t expecting it at this point in the continuation of all things, but, yes folks, it is already that time again for the unabashed rampage of sentence-be-damned ruminations to flow unadulterated with pure impunity in the ongoing quest for greater enlightenment and insight from the flowing stream that is commonly referred to as consciousness regardless the entirely unconscious way the fingers become exercised in the art of hunting and pecking as a result of the involuntary habit that forms in which the pinky bounces the delete key repeatedly to back up and take a second stab at hitting the letters in the proper order which forms a recognizable word sometimes in the neighborhood of one that is meant to be and not one of those made-up attempts to force a high scoring play in a turn on Words With Friends that sounds good at the time but never seems to appease the all too strict censor programmed into the App, which when downloaded as the free version, comes with its own little psychology experiment of force-fed advertisements that stare at otherwise innocent victims in a constant barrage of push this button – no not yet – okay, now, as if the repetition will produce a higher likelihood of surrender and eventual acquiescence in the form of prying open the tightly held purse-strings and shelling out the few pennies it would take to stop the attacks in a departure from laboring to maintain the principle of proving there is enough will power in the world to outlast those who concoct such manipulatory manifestations in the guise of logical protection from dwindling assets at the expense of missing the forest for the trees at a time when the woods are no longer buried under mounds and mounds of the white stuff that used to fall a lot in the winter in the parts of the world where that’s what used to happen when it got cold because the angle of the earth meant that the hours of daylight diminish to the point that people become sad and workers with day-jobs can find themselves leaving home in the dark in the morning and returning home in the dark in the evening as if daytime never happened and the hours of drudgery to earn the compensation that might allow a person to eat a meal or keep a roof to sleep under somehow all happen in no time at all and the concept of time is just a figment of some planner’s brilliant imagination to bring order to otherwise limitless freedom from worrying about being late or on time or even the simple fact of ever getting to a point that would reward the incredible tenacity of someone who would actually hang in there long enough to inhale all the words streaming out of one man’s crazy mind in the late hours, or is that early, I don’t know, but the least I could do is write something profound like the quip I posted on Google+ yesterday which wasbecause I liked the font that I stumbled upon in making the prior day’s Words on Images post which was a simple poke at it being Monday and my tendency to feel an aversion to the first day of the work-week since I’m one of those going to a day-job that doesn’t involve being outside in the fresh air taking care of horses, which, of course, is the plan that I aspire to achieve in the not too distant future and imagine what that might do to the stream of conscious writing that rolls out of my keystrokes!

It has been far too long since the unabashed cascade of stream of consciousness has been allowed to flow unfettered such that you’d think there to be a prodigious backup of nonsensical mania waiting to be unleashed except that nothing could be farther from fact since there seems to have been a remarkable lack of whatever the heck it is that feeds the need to act as if someone put a nickel in the kid who honestly has nothing of immediate import to share beyond the obtuse observations randomly appearing without logic though fully fueled with enough silly insanity to muster a meager attempt at revealing the inner randomonious sanctum of unusually inspired lyrical illustrations that fly through the mind’s eye with awkward gyrating thrusts of impetus to make progress against the morbid dormancy of droning and clattering born of blind lust to gain a fortune of bliss in return for the least possible effort toward bettering the less fortunate souls wandering lost in the violent storms of daily annoyances unleashed upon the innocent masses who in reality appear guilty by association and proximity to the lessor evils that idly ply an unyielding tenacity to peel away the fresh innocence of eager souls on a journey from the easily distracted urgency of how we got here to the truly effortless act of simply shedding the outer egomaniac and letting love bloom as free as it was always meant to be.

You never know, in the grand scheme of things, just how far we can go when all is said and done. There is no time like the present to reap what we sow, as opposed to rip what we sew. Far be it from me to look a gift horse in the mouth or fail to see the forest for the trees. We could all do with a bit more looking people straight in the eye and speaking from the heart. Since half a truth is often a great lie, and a bird in hand is worth two in the bush, all things being equal, we end up with the same difference, if you will. As far as I can tell, it’s just a stone’s throw from things coming up roses. I am not a lawyer, but in my humble opinion, um, yeah, it would be an uphill battle to go against the grain in an unbridled effort to champion a cause where far lesser men have failed, unless the jury is still out, in which case, the lesser of two evils may be the best case scenario. If push comes to shove, we could always bait and switch our objective in hopes of attracting more bees with honey than vinegar when we cash in all our chips and go for the gold. We are as young as we feel and older than we think if life has taught us anything about the true nature of nurturing emotional maturity from the apple a day to day diet of the stars. Underneath it all there lies a cast iron gut wrenching slam dunk possibility for a consolation prize worth ten times as much as the last time around the block knocked silly by a cast of thousands of teeming sports fanatics who made good on a promise to keep one step ahead of the grand scheme of things when all is said and done. The point that deserves the lion’s share of attention all too often lies steeped in its own juices of constipated thinking beyond all shadow of a doubt, without all the debt-laden burdens of proof looming large on the vast horizon of passion to hear ourselves think. We own our own words so the most logical thing to do is pour enough of them out on the table to assure ourselves we hold fair market value in a shrinking gift economy of hyper-inflated dances with fame and fortune. The least we could do is fail to cast aspersions toward the future of our meager ration of reality-based ideology hiding just around the corner from our last chance saloon of brilliant time-saving devices too oft wielded for ill gains while the gnat lies sleeping in the rain.