The Golden Retriever, hot air balloon, an interview with Harry Chapin,

The Golden Retriever Otter sits in wonder if he is actually an Otter Golden Retriever

One he was paid 25cents. Yet he has only been able to produce 7 thoughts. So many more to go, and yet, not enough inspiration to make them the great ideas that he desires.

Oh Hartford, river of coldness.
Oh Susquehanna, river of rocks
Oh mourning child, devote yourself to prayer-
and please forgive us, for it is the result of selfish desires that you suffer.

I enjoy friends who listen. Friends who know when to confront. Friends who are active enough to know white from gray, not black from absence. Friends who wish they were, but due to present predicaments, cannot. As opposed to friends who are, but care not. Or strike harder with the rod when the situation calls for a nudge and comfort. Those who help one believe that they will fly off the cliff, and not fall.

Hot air balloon, why do you remain on the earth, when you are supposed to fly. Do not listen to their insults. You may be full of hot air, but its your hot air, my friend, that causes you to fly. And flying is what they are most jealous of.

Oh Harry, was it prophecy when you yelled of the pointed questions? Did you know then how many would fall? Did you recognize the christian jargon used by the sniper? Was it on purpose, did you falsely label? Do my people act as the cancerminded man? How many more will dare ask their questions? How many poor souls will receive the questions and answer in blood?

Discipline, Academia
ladies of the day, wicked as the night
expensive, stronger than a brick wall.
When will the good men learn that you are the best girls in town?

Does my bark contain a lions roar? Will i know when to roar? will i be so surprised by its sound that the effect i should of had is instantly lost by my own surprise? or will initiative be launched? will that spark the avalanche? the awakening? the revolution? the reformation?

Storyman is right

Once in a while you just want to jot things down to recall sometime.

This morning i scratched the back of my head. 'Hmm, a clump' i thought.
So i scratched, and kinda pried, and soon the scratching motion became a tug, a yank, a rip.
I looked at my hand - a bug
AH!
the tick landed on the carpet.

so i sat on Gingers chair. As a former hair salon employee, i knew she could check my scalp thoroughly, and efficiently. I also had hoped it would remind her about tomorrows haircut. Which reminds me to get $10 for that.

bite marks on the back of my head. yes, i may have gotten the creature out of my head, but i cannot help but recall movies - doesn't all those mind control things attach at the back of the head? instantly my mind races back to when i probably was bit - and all the things i could blame on the mind controlling termite. its too bad i didn't do anything too terrible - i would of had the perfect excuse.