By Hart Heiden
They say I was on acid whenever I first wrote this…No I’m not. I have much bigger and better things to accomplish in life, but wait—did you just see that eyeball? Is it just me, or is there a leery, nondescript eyeball peering over at me right now that I never took notice of until now. Now that I’m on acid. I don’t know, maybe you are too? Maybe that’s giving you a bad trip, or you’ve started thinking about Timothy Leary who unequivocally set the stamp on the ball-thing rolling for Jer. We all know he was such a goody-two-shoes back in the high, right? He wouldn’t pick up a guitar. Ever. Not for no one. I mean, he would barely even go outside when he was a kid. But certainly he was in range of an acoustic at all times due to his father’s playing around the house much more so after his mother passed away. I mean? Could you imagine? It was hard times for him. I could see myself getting out more, plugging away and getting fantastic at something if that sort of situation had ever happened to me. I’m not sure I would have had the patience or dedication to reach that level, but regardless, there were lots of disconnected energies. I can’t decide if they connect at the end of a person’s life, or? Why would they? Really because the hyperextension of visibility transference all comes down to two things: whether you’re hot, or, whether you’re not. It’s that simple. I apologize, folks, I am so high right now. I love using complicated words at first, but to sum it up with the real-deal of interpretation with a definition that completely bolsters handicapped solutions through simplicity? It all makes perfect sense to me right now. There’s nothing nuveaux about any of it save for that fact that some new ego has gotten caught up in the power-grab brought through publicity. So, yeah! At first, using technical jargon and extremely big words can make you seem more intelligent, but if you really get to know the person? Find out that he or she or they prefer to eat cereal for breakfast over stirred, avian menstrual cycles, begins to really set the stage for who that person is behind the shadows, am I right? I mean? It just so happens to bug me why this eyeball is still here. I really don’t want to be discussing it right at this very moment, but there’s got to be some significance to it, right? Does someone want me to do something, or something, or am I just killing someone’s buzz right now? Ovaries. Does anyone really escape this tragic prison of existence without telling anyone the truth? That we are all massively powerful creators, or something, right? That we can collectively amass ourselves to become aligned by our internal frequencies and lift up to a higher level.
But what if San Juan was murdered for the wrong reasons, ya know? People always think about Puerto Rico at first, but no—this guy was allegedly a real dude. Wouldn’t that bug a person? I mean, think about it right? You’ve got this guy—John—he poses no threat to anyone, but outside goes walking around through the city-street sidewalks wearing nothing, nothing but his yams—his undergarments, clearly his grandfather passed down to him, but basically his bathrobe—it’s dirty. It’s not just dirty, it’s filthy. And nobody wants anything to do with his tirade of filth save for the clingers. And anyway, he always goes above and beyond anyone’s expectations and sets the stage by performing what he calls miracles. Really? Because I was under the impression that grasshoppers ate lettuce already anyway, right? They called them locusts back then, but they were grasshoppers. For sure. You ever pick up a grasshopper in your hand and watch it ooze black filth from its’ mouth? What a pair these new friends made. But yea, good ole’ Juan was also a farmer and knew about these locust’s infatuation with lettuce-heads—cabbage, or? Basically anything green. I’m beginning to look at some serious facts about this guy, when I get to thinking—who wrote this? How does this one individual know what the “facts” are? And how am I supposed to have one-Hundo percent qualified applicability toward the rationale that originated from some history-book anyway? Right? I mean like, how is any of this believable? I mean, I get the concepts of addiction and dependency and what-not, but grasshoppers? Don’t they have a job to go do, or something? What if big mister Juan—Juanted—-eh? Eh? Putting a smile on your face exclusive? Right. But what if Mr. Juan wanted to do something else with his life? What if he had bigger dreams with massive eyeballs and Jerry Garcia-hands and told Mr. Timothy to go suck it? Well? Apparently I’m the only one on acid right now? Interesting. Hmm? Hey, Ma? Don’t quote this or tell your friends about it okay? I’m just trying to earn a dollar—I know—it’s a weird thing to write about, but because I know for a fact that you’re the only one reading this? Don’t wash my clothes anymore, how bout? I’m pretty much a man by now and I think that doing the laundry has partially become a significant development in the way my world has grown. No biggie. I’ll leave the pot on the stove for you when you get back. Yeah? And don’t give me any money through here okay? I’m doing okay with my investments in ETF’s and index-funds. Spent a little too much on crypto, but I don’t want to get into that right now. Bitcoin is up. Buy low—sell high. Things are good right now. Blessings, enjoy your day.
-Poewem
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