chatterbox

I just passed 127,000 tweets on twitter.

Here I am this morning thinking that I've become kinda Stoic.
A person of few words.
Along comes Kathy with truth.
Are you kidding, you talk a lot.

Shows ta go ya.
Your impression of who you are can be ridiculously wrong.
So I'm a chatterbox.
Now I gotta get used to that.

I know I empty my mind here.
In direct contrast when I run the films.
I see a yup, nope, ain't that somethin guy.
Coulda knocked me over with a feather.

Honestly though, it does not bother me.
My impression of who I am is the face I present to the world.
I don't feel your self image has to be accurate.
You just have to like it.

If I wanted accuracy I'd look in a mirror.
I do not, I avoid mirrors.
Why mess with the beauty n perfection my mind has created.
Reality is poorly written n not all it's cracked up to be.

A good example.
Kathy lies to me, she only tells me what I need to hear.
At that sometimes minutes before I need to hear it.
It's the way I like it.

My brother once told me, you know she's lying to you.
Really pissed me off at him.
You fool, Kathy is the keeper of truth.
Do you think for a minute this isn't at my request.

I don't care much for reality.
Yes I watch the "News", but it's just a TV show.
Yes I like Wynonna Earp – Show | Syfy , Zombies are funny.
I just don't look in mirrors n truth is Fungible.

We meander about through my mind daily.
In contrast I'm a very private person.
What I do here seems outside reality.
No idea how to explain that.

Somehow I feel that what I do here is private.
That all of you are observers yet not intruders into my life.
I share the crazy for fun.
Out of a need to expel thought.

Real people, no thanks.
The internet though was made for me.
Casual n non interactive if you prefer.
One or two line responses, only if n when you choose.

A poor analogy is, writing for me is like taking the trash out.
I enjoy the process, writing allows me an outlet for my creative side.
When I write I have an endless supply of crayons n paper.
What more could a guy want.

I love the follows n views.
They allow me to know when I got a thought right.
I suppose I do strive to get the words right.
I don't live n die for it but it does help pass the time n give a sense of purpose.

I say that I'm in the asylum.
Which for me is a very frustrating waiting room.
I write to help pass the time.
I wait for word of my release from 15 years purgatory.

I teeter on the edge of sanity every moment of every day.
Some days I lose, mostly though I keep it at 51% sane.
Recently I wrote about going back to 98 n changing this.
Dreams that sooth.

That said my writing I hope gives merit to the struggle.
Pez Outlaw makes 1998 have value.
Notes from the Asylum I hope gives the last 15 years value.
If something good comes from these things then, just maybe it was worth it.

I'm a scab picker.
I just keep picking at it.
Hoping to find truth.
Failing that, peace of mind.

This is a journey.
One that I've decided to share.

Gigglebot

G1ggLE8O7 is my new password on everything. I tried to be as clever as I could so nobody would guess it. You can't be to careful, ya know.

Gigglebot

Laughter

Kathy on her knees giggling so hard that I feared she was having a stroke.

24hrs earlier

Prepped a lunchbox and put it on the tailgate of the truck for Terry our postal lady to pick up.

Unfortunately Kathy had to go to Meijers before Terry got here.

I went outside just in time to see the box going down the road, very soon to be on the side of the road somewhere.

Next day

Re-Packed the lunchbox again and placed it on the ground at the entrance to the garage in an effort to avoid a repeat of yesterday.

Kathy promptly drove over the package.

Terry pulls in and Kathy is on her knees uncontrollably giggling about it.

2 down, 4 to go

I repacked a new box

3rd times the charm, right.

2 days later

Terry our postal lady or as the dogs call her Aunt Terry texts us.

A homeowner found the 1st box (the one that flew off the back of the truck somewhere between here n Meijers) she'd bring it by.

Just re-watched the Jim Carey UPS Delivery video.

Ours was better.

Neither rain, nor sleet or stupid customers will stop Terry in her appointed rounds.

It sorta writes itself.

I watch life unfold bewildered by the script.

I ask jeff the writer n dk the producer, hey guys What's My Motivation!

I need to know why the character does this stuff?

Can I go back to bed now?

Here's the difference between being Redneck and White Trash.

A Redneck hides his losing scratchers.

I followed a squirrel on twitter Today.

It was the polite thing to do.

If this moment, the day I was born and the day I die are indistinguishable.

It brings up the possibility that "reality" is just another form of dream state.

Toying with that thought lately, wondering how to control events better.

It's that recent notion that time is actually different than we perceive it.

I wonder if we create the obstacles we think that we must overcome.

Just trying to think if there's a way to rewrite my script.

To that thought I'm making some changes.

New cover and personal images.

I want to brighten things up with a more positive feel.

I realized lately that I instinctively avoid dark presentations on the internet, then came the dawn that I was presenting myself exactly in the manner that I avoid.

Well then, possibly we better change that.

If you have any other suggestions you can contact me on twitter