Work Flow

Its hard to write your thoughts down in a concurrent manner. But by writing thoughts I've determined that sections of an idea are the easy part, developing them into something a reader could enjoy is the hard part.

To me......
Thoughts have to go through my brain like a work flow; often rewritten hundreds of times until the misplaced statement becomes organizes and flow is established.

While I can write decent ideas, combining them into a readable entity is a totally different animal. The spontaneous brain determines how a story can flow or zig-zag around.  Simply "going for it" hardly ever works for me,  its best If I write some ideas "first down", and then toss them around into a work flow.


                "Words have a lot of power when written correctly and agreed upon by all."

The Wondering Crack Head

"I'm Crigity Crack",
yelled the hack,
He smokes the smack,out back,

"Yuns fellas all yackity yak,
till the day is black",
He's still holdin his hurricanes in the sack,

Now Mr. Crigidy lives in an ally,
And gets kind on rowdy,
When he sees "outsiders",

"What you lookin at you googly eye fool?"
He hates it when outsiders drool.
There shock and awe,
Created this cesspool,

But taking advantage of their befuddled state,
Mr Crigity looks on with his eyes filled with hate,
Reaching for his tin,
He shouts,

"There’s only one rule",
swinging his arm like he's attempting to duel,
"Dolla, Dolla, d...DOLLAR BILLS YALL"

Frightened for there lives,
The men run away with their wives,

Their footsteps echoed,
A rhythmic beat,
For Crigidy Cracks,
Rapping feat,

"Bj's for my baby doll,,
Don't go running,
Down,
my hall,
Unless you want to have a ball",

Hour upon hour,
Mr Crigidy continues to yell,
damning everyone to hell,

And sometime after the the sun set,
He collapses where he stood,
Spent,
And his mind content,

He glanced down at his hurricanes,
"I brought this on myself, you stupid old fool" he thought,

But his dreams of fame,
Did not falter,
Until he looked into his cardboard box,
And was filled

with shame,

The Lost Weekends

Our weekends,
wrap around,
decaying molecules,
until there is nothing left.

Should we report the theft?

Can you spare a glass of water?

An Ocean
In the oceans,
There are meadows,
Where the children play,
and drink laxatives,

But they don't need,
any diapers,
cuz nature wipes away,
their crap.


Red Dot
A storms a brewin,
out on the horizon,
the seas be chopin,
to that jazzy rhythm,

dont chum no water,
when the sharks a floatin,
out on this desolate,
ocean.

Its half past ten,
on the eastern seaboard,
that news be playin,
till eleven o'clock,

crash boom bam pop,
show us that red dot,
of a possible,
plane crash.

Hello, Hello, Hello

I can see,
The world on TV,
For bigger then it appears to be,

But without the danger,
I meet no strangers,
or friendly faces all the same,

I jump to action,
at a sound contraction,
burning the couch with gasoline,

For world is small,
why not have a ball,
with strangers and friendly faces,
the same.

The cost of life

I choose life over death,
at any cost,
cuz one things for certain,
I am here.