Tribute to Liberation,

One puff at a time...

Restarting to Shine

The final shoe stomps down, I have arrived. Sprewn about: couples, families, singles and their dogs; all sitting in enjoyment of this oasic mecca: Barton Springs.

Shoes untied, workshirt comes off, down come these pants. On my way creekward, I would quip to a male passerby: "if ladies can run around in their underwear, so can I" He chuckled, all of his 17 years.

Back down on the waterfront, striding towards the deepest entryway, walking right past his group with peered ladies, all, running around in their underwear. The tallest little thing, having chosen solid pink, eyes interlocked as she gasps of emerging panic at the prospect of me, her, those eyes, skin. A mound.

Remembering (at a handsome twenty seven) to keep my gaze open, un-opposissive, serene. As if I could possibly have that decade of knowledge to pass down in more than ten evasive words. Just admiring, caught in this simplicity, all the folleys and lollies and joys of this world. A serious thing comes up at work, nothing personal, and I'm reminding myself "So?!" at the idea of taking anything too seriously. "So what if my job disappears…"

So what if she sees me looking, it's obvious she's the more nervous, too… looking strong, as if she commanded all the known answers, afraid of everything but this boy.



Running around, she plays with her five month old labrador, it jumping carelessly as my eyes wander so. No need for sunglasses, us distracted in each other interaction, your puss shining through. That spirit, those hips, that smile, too.

You running over laughing as Fido approaches my uncloaked brisket, my eyes tracking only inches above his head your inner workings… a smile, we chat, you get nervous -- fidgeting -- shaking pelvic, light glimmering in all the right places, your hair as if to glisten "I'm not here. I don't care." Well, not there.

Giving doggie unearnt specks of meatsicle, we watch as you lose your eyes to firm pet stroking, almost to whimper "me me me." You you you; goddamn, you. Give you a number, maybe, your call.

Little printed, fake-plastic Trees...

An online moniker, used in local austin bulletins, "Moved to California", was decided to be keeped. A controversy of not understanding, these imaginary little lines (as Hunter might say) scattered across some all-knowed-it country. California, then VS here:

Returning to my car, some twenty-long hours later (yes, an uncharged machete); your shaking acquaintance, neither sure how we be gotten, here. Aspirins scattered about in wreckless attempts to more further implicate; lighters missing, a tooled trade. Not consenting while watching this all slip by, naming tools (and their purposes), hardly able to get a word further in; overhearing you snicker to your rookie "I only knew to look because he said his 'lawyer had advised me to not answer that question' so I knew!" Yes, laughing, smiling knowing all would be swell.

This policed state Drug War costing $82,000,000,000 every single year, where-as-in California "Be on your every way, good sir." /

For less than one gram [.035 ounces]...
Just think about that.

"Consent gives me a boner."

Stolen from Reddit.

Definition, a "bad" girl.

Hi Qi

No updates from Lawyer Ben -- from this point, onward, it's some $ort of L'estrange (Camus) -- have written a Roll-y-wood Appropriate resume with supporting documentation.

Good night & safe passages.

Pogo the Dog, as ridiculous as my co-workers searching feverishly for my facebook link... will have to do some editing before anybody discovers this internet time-capsule.

Back to oh six.

seven years -- my god -- the ride is over long before ever known

Censorly-arranged molecules, Hunter.

Bravissimo, trust.

Justice has never been cheap in america, not even for the innocent."

[wonderous S. Thompson]

Is not legal... yet.

Thanks, Officer Joel Martin of the Rollingwood Police Department, for not only ruining my December 18th, but also for taking yourself off patrol for a walloping two hours to process my Class B transgression: Possession of 0.035 ounces of marijuana... glad you got a good laugh viewing my California Medical Card -- equal protection, much? You can cheaply support HB 184 via interwebs, which moves "crimes like mine" to a Class C Misdemeanor, or do the real deal by mailing your representative a friendly post card. This is NOT decriminalization, no kids will be harmed in the passing of this House Bill... instead, YOU THE TAXPAYER will benefit from not having to churn 70,000 crimeless victims through the state jail houses... Your call! Let your voice be heard!

Some fine police work there, "detective."