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Lot's other vacant W-Life


Whenever I look up at the Moon on a cloudless night.
 I wonder what the hell is a vacant planet parked by us anyways?
 Like a beautiful woman ready and waiting for nothing, no thing at all.

 Yeah, I hear all the little discovery channel scientists out there telling me it's for our tides and seasons.  Well whatever.  Like anyone really cares.  It's just another vacant lot of --WHO?
If you strike the double UU you get HO...Ho, Ho, Ho and a bottle of jack sh)t.

What am I-- a cigerette smoking  'beepin' owl??



If you ever driven by a vacant lot and said to yourself. I wonder who owns that --WHO?  And see the spider webs and tall weeds growing, rocks left or thrown in odd patterns.  The fence which is not keeping anyone out is somehow only keep the flying trash in?  Beer cans and coke bottle remains are the festive ingredients of the lot's dirty memory of  past times-- and good times.

 People walk by the vacant lot and get used to the bad contents of this land and  almost start to enjoy the swirling trash and newspapers that land there on windy Wednesdays or Storm Thursdays. (Yeah I know too many ANDs a run on, who cares)


Often, the sound of a flag pole hitting metal can be heard.  It's lonely echo, bouncing off the nearby sidewalks and walls of the very unhallowed  vacant lot.  An occasional horny dog can be heard growling or barking at the empty air.  Every once in a while a truck is backing up making that 'beep beep' noise.

 You get up to see if someone has finally came to claim this little island of-- nothing.


Instead, it's just the weekly trash truck  and the false alarm of new development is not apparent.  ~A lot of the times people get charmed by this open area especially in big cities. And when someone from 'down town' tries to put a forty story building there  or a new gas station.  People are not too excited of loosing their trashy heavens. They have become so accustomed to  and sometimes protest with signs, singing and hatred, at the new real estate developers.

 Well, I am not one of those, no progress guys but I am certainly a-- 'Wife of WTF',-- are they doing now personality.  You are probably a 'Huzzy of WTF', are they doing now  guy or gal too.  Especially when a sitting or standing President tries to give a speech or enact some new legislation.  The one where private business "partners" with Government??  Yeah partners -- what gives there?  They are creating a new tax zone not for the business but for it's future customers and residents.



I used to love-- the sound of an empty north pole or a flag pole being beaten to death in the wind. Or being the 'middle man' always ignored, 'unknowingly.' Because it reminds me of the little 'somethings' out there in the world, that really turn my heart bright red with glee.  I am not into the great events and cosmic solutions most people think I am.  Trying vainly to teach or preach.
 Instead, I am enjoying all those crappy-- small things. 

The things that don't matter.  That's what matters to me the most.


A dirt clog of my youth, formed in my hand.  And being there without purpose thrown against a red brick wall with a instantaneous dirt splat.  In a glorious 'terra star' formation.

 Yes, I am waxing eloquent like never before going super-luminal with words that mingle together like a good chili dish from my-- multi faceted and tasking wife-- on lazy Football Sunday.




I would get up and walk out doors between plays and might be smiling slightly as I step on an open acorn shell with my bare feet.  Then run into an invisible spider's web.  With a big fat spider, 'smack ~dap' in the middle.  I imagine it crawling down the back of my Forty Niners jersey, the spider that is, unbeknownst to me and secretly biting me in my arm pit or worse.

 I try to shrug off the odd fear about the webs and realize they are just there for the lazy ass spiders to catch a bite to eat.  I walk indoors now waving my arms around trying to wipe away the last of cob out of my ear.  When I hear touchdown!  Not the Forty-Niners.  Another defensive touchdown for the opposing team.


What gives?  What gives?  No breaks for the weary and willing.

  Just an endless sea of brake lights for hopes and wishes.  This is why I like the crappy small stuff.  The things that don't matter.  Because in the end it all doesn't really matter.  Who wins or who dies.


The spider is laughing and making a new web with a better design to get me or just a useless fly.  I was supposed to be writing about spiders and webs. And how these weave together lies.  But nay who cares?  Who really gives a sh5t?  It's just me and a flag pole endless beating our heads. Making useless noises that will lead me to no one, or another vacant lot of lasting dread.

Who will hear or care to hear. The life of a vacant Wife-- lot. Always used but never appreciated. Just take my Helium 3 already. Boy---


So Neal Armstrong, thanks for the mammaries of memories. Mother may I put 6 useless flags beating in the "airless" environment of the vacant moon.  The biggest of vacant lots in the heavens.
  I wonder who owns the Moon anyways--- probably a female of some sort?



 Because it's high time, to start the new masculine development. "Beep, beep"

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