Yanni

Yanni has the happiest, bounciest hair I’ve ever seen. Somehow, he takes my mind off of my death. His music is so light, bouncy, and New Agey. Not at all loud or discordant. I swear, he has the best-groomed crowds and the nicest dressed orchestra EVER. Not a tattoo anywhere. Earrings only on ears. The Baby Boomers eat him up!
Yanni is a stud. I lust after him wildly!

Advertisements

After My Death

I will probably be remembered by a very few people. Mom and Dad sure will be sad to see me go. And what few friends I have will miss me.
I will be remembered mostly for my considerable online contributions. My blogs, my posts, my videos, and all that I have said and done online. Which is a vast body of work, overall. When I stop to think about it.
My electronic self will probably outlast my physical self.
By at least 50 years! That’s when I know I’m going to reincarnate in Maui, Hawaii!.
I’ve ruled out suicide and homicide as causes of my death. I won’t die of cancer or in a car accident. In fact, I’ll probably choose to die in my sleep. The quietest, least dramatic, and most peaceful way to “go”.
My spirit guides will simply show up and I’ll breathe my last. Perhaps I”ll orgasm out of my head with my full body. MAHASAMADHI.

The Backpack that Conquered the World….

20140714-151852-55132591.jpg

One day, this backpack met a briefcase.
Well, not just any briefcase! It was a huge, green messenger bag with a yellow spiral, an Obama “Hope” sticker, and way too many chocolate stains to count. But mostly, it was covered in roses.
Backpack: Hello.
Messenger Bag: Hello! Whatever you have to sell, I”m not interested!
Backpack: I have NOTHING to sell!
Messenger Bag: Then, I’m interested! What’s your name?
Backpack: Pattern! What’s yours?
Messenger Bag: Mad Scientist! But you can call me Cornbread!
Backpack: Yum! Cornbread. You got some?
Messenger Bag: Yes. It’s tasty. I made it myself. Guaranteed GMO-free!
Mad Scientist reaches inside of his expensive, canvasy self, and hauls out a huge chunk of the tastiest cornbread in the galaxy.
Backpack: (takes a bite) YUM! (crunch!) What’s THAT? (pulls out a wedding ring!?)
Messenger Bag: WOW! My lucky day! You’re going to be my wife!
Backpack: Your WHAT?
Messenger Bag: I baked a Magick Cake! It has different pagan objects that symbolize different fortunes! You just happened to get the wedding ring!

to be cont’d ….

Where Is My True Work?

Dear Human,
My messiah complex is basically an exaggerated, unrealistic, and totally unfocused job search. Holy crap, Batman! I’m not willing to numb the pain by reaching for that extra cookie today. I know that sugar and flour won’t fix the problem.
My job or business, whatever it is, is that happy intersection between my passion and your needs and desires. Like me, you are an emotional animal disguised as a so-called “normal person”. Like me, you crave for love and work and romance and friendship and chocolate and cats and techie gizmos… ok, at least two of these! Chances are, you are a white Indian. Or else African or perhaps Latino. Or just a space alien! Ha, ha!
Whatever makes you cry and go crazy and want to pull your hair out by the roots, chances are, I or someone else have faced the same shit. Uh, oh… bad word! I’m not ready to pull the plug. My secret to overcoming death, is KEEP BREATHING!
You’re a stranger. You have a heart. You have a sense of humor. I hope! You’re probably not a psychopath. A psychopath is basically a guy with messy hair and buggy eyes dancing down a path, wearing tattered and dirty clothes, a very dull brown or black, dressed much like a street person, and acting like a terrorist…. ok, a mentally ill person. Scary, but not too obnoxious. Let’s hope he at least smells recently showered! So he won’t stink up the BART car. God bless them all. The mentally ill. Sure ain’t easy being called one.
I need to stay productive. Or else I’ll lose my mind!
Oh, and universe…. thanks for that erotic dream! I needed that uplift!

love, Linda, whoever I am….