PONY GIRL or CHALUPA SUPREME?

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I’ve been thinking a lot about Meesshooo and her name. Forget that I can’t even spell it. I’ve done her wrong. Making her all about me instead of the clipty-clop wondrous flying PONY girl. It’s anosmic. I mean how would I like to be called MEIN HOOF? First we went to the vet for her HOT SPOT. Then to the empty sequestered park for big dogs ONLY but they never came. I looked at the trees. The memorial placards. Just on the other side of the fence was a raucous party of toy circus dogs. With a gay dog named BUDDY driving the herds with his doggie penis nobody could stop sniffing. After a half hour I asked a lady with a small shivering Chihuahua Terrier, permission. If we might be invited over, would she mind? Or were we too big? We had a good long chat by the fence but she wouldn’t budge. Her dog had mental problems she explained. It came from a litter of 30.

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ACHOOO

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My floor is adrift with snow white piles of wadded tissue bindles. Influenza? I couldn’t imagine how or where but then I remembered a detail from my Thanksgiving marketing that all the employees were mysteriously absent. The shelves were bare and I was complaining to the cashier that asked did you find everything you needed? NO I didn’t find anything are you kidding? He said yeah well sorry, we are understaffed. He didn’t mention they were all dead from the flu they got at “Papayas Health Food Store.” That they should have closed or at least posted a skull and cross bones at the threshold WARNING like I’m warning you it’s coming. Enjoy the Christmas papaya boobs from my island to yours. ACHOOOOOO!

I’m getting a hazmat respirator from Amazon.

To deconstruct a coniferous anti-mulch pile I piled originally to demote weeds. For the leak here. Thru the ooze of black mold. Instant sinusitis for the immunity challenged. And it’s already back to bed and my convalescence.

With never ending rain this week the leak somewhere trickling in the garden. Underneath a pile of papers the water bill wallop 2X 3X 4X. Feeding the jungle along the line to the house from the street. Logic might promote searching below the most buoyant growth. But I’m about as inclined to dig a trench as use a diving rod to uproot this moist gurgle of spillage.

A guy definitely buried these pipes. And my design isn’t that of my counterpart. Winning competitions on SURVIVOR. Combatants who think geckos bring good fortune. Don’t dust my roach population. A shit out entire linage decimated by carnivorous left over dinosaur men. Who extrude MINE_UTE white stripe logs that desiccate. Leaving a snow FLAK-E ash of shit, infesting the reality of everything.

Running a maze. Into a ravine and suddenly flooded back; a fractured apartment complex. The kaleidoscopic concrete infrastructure architect MC ESCHER? A turnstile dam obstacle course and I’m not a fan of steampunk or meth assemblage. Even if my most authentic self had the muscle to hammer A permaculture of my own insurrection.