Tag Archives: Fish finger

McCrap on the Dashboard

When you come to your senses, put down your defenses, habits, cover: I-won’t-show-you-mine-if-you-won’t-show-me-yours, ‘Everything is F.I.N.E.,’ (fucked up, insecure, neurotic and emotional), like traveling in a car, stopping at the drive-through, throwing leftovers in the back, you keep moving, trash piling up, rotting, just over your shoulder.  And forgetting it’s there, get used to the smell, the festering of mind, farting from the back seat, but the moment you slow down, put on the brakes, everything comes flying forward, French fries, fish sticks, uneaten hamburger and half-downed cokes, McCrap on the dash board, in the windshield, wreckage of your past, so thick you’re blind. Kharma, like mud, obscuring your view.  You have to clean up, if you’re going to proceed, get your life, have your day in the freaking sun.  You’ve got to unload, get a grip, a view of the road, without all this drama, garbage, making the way unclear, it’s clearly in the way.  And because it’s in the way, it is the way.  The giving up, the surrender to, the letting in letting go, releasing, a panorama where there were once blinders, hell, no view at all.  Pick it up, every smelly bit, examine it and highlight for deletion.  An Everything-Must-Go-Sale at the Dumpster.  When the view is wider, the screen clear of mind, wipers keeping it open, each stroke of the blade, becoming, ‘Name something you like, Thank you more please, Name something you like, Thank you more please, Name something you like, Thank you more please, Name Something … you like … more please … you like … more please … you like … more please … you like … more please … you like … more please … you like.’

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