Dave's movie turned out to be a fake pre-cognition. Turns out he watched that movie before having the dream so ixnay on the oodoo-vay. His late night gas was the result of Old Rasputin Stout, a Rolo McFlurry and a glass of Yellow Tail Shiraz. There are remnants of Dave's illusions of invincibility from those decadent years but since nobody's journaling his exploits but him, meh. From everything evident, the month of July is going to be unusual. The emphasis on being preemptive has ensured this venue until 2013, so hopefully the stories will warrant the effort to contain them.

From 2008
If it's not a threat, is it a promise? breakage from normal handling falls into the category of don't ask, don't tell. My keyboard produces words better than my papermate on a legal pad but the words gather in a different place where they once elicited soaring bullseyes, the plummeting is a concern. They are read but remain like carved billets doux on a tree stump not quite Betty turned the Page. More like where'd the magic go? It's like I dialed the wrong number and I answered it. Crimson accolades where art thou? Saw today where Princess Leia worked drunk like that's a new concept. Impairment is the HOV lane on the imagination highway (exception noted for the gibberish recorded when King was offed) Otherwise it can be pure cognitive enhancement. Lilting the directives from the soul. Ensuring homage to the Now I ran in the rain today, a cross between Chester Goode and Jim Kenney on PFT day I used to be a 12 second 100 yard dash guy and I once ran 5 miles in Atlanta with a double dog hangover doing a Rocky finish ahead of a marathoner named Pugliese. But those onions are long digested, replaced by the rind of an ancient mariner too spent to recapture whatever glory presupposed by those thoughts. Instead I digress in willful repose making laughter in another place. Tickled that I'm a believer. Love is my co-pilot.