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I the one who went high when Lowe went low? I just sought to inspect his meter, but he was out of step, out of line, out of his brain. I should have snapped Rob Lowe's twig in two
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Rearing a shiny knotted head is not something that I run out into the street at 2 AM and loudly encourage other people to consider doing. Even a dull slothead will lose their edge.
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I told my sister that the least she could do after bringing me brownies, a whole apple pie, and a large batch of chocolate cookies, was to drive me to the ER when diabetes reared
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I was trying to get a new lease on life but the Broker kept low balling me over the length & the terms. The Broker refused to budge on quality of life. For collateral, my future.
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For a long time, I used to believe that Pandora had only one brother in law, Prometheus. "No, she has more BILs than that," people I might have asked would say. Hope, alone, was in
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to work between him and the car. Cyrus had to stop putting on the pressure for the car to try one of those sexy synthetic oils everybody & their Alfa Romeo were beeping about. Envy
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my half constructed deathstar into you college age daughter's back 40. That in itself should embarrass you in your own right. You shouldn't ride the coattails of my embarrassment.
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sweet puppy entrails under a dark new moon. How I squished them between my webbed toes. This was before I had them opened up. The entrails told me the Dream was still new. I would
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Driving from California to Texas by way of Washington with only two cassettes to listen to. Garth Brooks first album and Great White. Once Bitten, Once Shy. & Cowboy Bill.
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Throwing out an anchor. Trying to make for a soft landing. One I can walk away from. I put on Willie Nelson, the last thing I needed. Blue eyes in the rain, the tears won't show.
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to find it again. That indescribable taste. It wasn't even a pleasant one--it reminded me of blood or rubber--but it was a taste of the old days, of my lost memories.
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I put on the Cowboy Junkies "Sweet Jane".You know where this is going. Slow kids at play.
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r too prideful to admit I may not have control." They are, indeed, so prideful. I have control over life or death--but not for much longer.
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I don't want to say that it was a gastronomical situation but it was a gastronomical situation and the odds of a positive result were growing slimmer from the start. 1st off, Yeti
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School bus greasing the brakes. Most of us too injured to attend the funerals. Nobody caring to visit Olga over at Juvy, where she rotted. Uncle Slim’s banana seat bike long gone.
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Dismal Swamp was more swamp than it was dismal. Tornadoes through there were rare, but gangs of hoodlums were not. That’s why it wasn’t as bad, but don’t kid yourself. It was bad.
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Me, on those last dog days of that 1969 summer, was in 7 having my real life Peyton Place story unfolding in a small South Texas border town. I remember a large moon following me.
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2019 just visited your purple hazed moment at Woodstock. 50 years in between just fell into your White Light moment with both your grandmother’s muddy combat boots. 50 years of a
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OK Boomer, you’re at Woodstock tripping. Tripped out over Sharon Tate’s murder the weekend before when somebody is making an announcement about the brown acid you just took. 2019 v
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Bracing for the Terrors of Travel, Dr. Kelly yoked 2 lesser demons to his Phæton and let the timestreams fling him hither and whither without rhyme or Reason. He wound up upon the