SONG OF THE DAY: Lay Back and Chill (kudzu'd)

I got too many balls in the air sometimes, because I get into a zone, briefly feeling synchronized with the Universe’s inspired creative energy, and I’ll keep putting balls in the air. But then the fatigue will creep in, and I’ll realize I need to let some of ‘em fall. So I do. I try to warn other folks affected, but I ain’t got but one me, and even though living on Earth in the human body is a prison of sorts, the Power of Lounge compels me to make the most of my time. Not in a productive ass mechanistic way of thinking, but in making sure my heart feels the warmth as much as possible, even during dark times. Especially during dark times. Thinking like this has earned me haters along the way, but I can’t be concerned with hate. This world we live in manufactures an abundance of haters, mostly because it don’t wanna love. I try my best to do the type of thinking that keeps my heart full of warmth, especially during dark times. But a warm heart is content, and the global economy is built in lack of contentedness, so the hate gets manufactures, and the fog gets in our brains, and we forget about our heart, and start feeling entitled to delusions. Anyways, I’m about to let a couple balls drop, and soak in the bathtub upstairs in some rosemary mint sea salts, and try to get my ass to bed super early, hopefully for the next five nights in a row, so I can start dreaming a little better again. And sometimes in order to get to where you’re synchronized with the Universe’s big bang essence and can put a whole bunch of balls in the air, like your little fleck of stardust version of planets floating around the sun, you gotta lay back and chill.

SONG OF THE DAY: Waiting For a Train

Humans aren’t currently built for time travel because we’re too hung up on controlling time, expecting schedules to be met and people to be precise as machines. Imagine that shit, expecting me to show up somewhere at an exact hour that I sort of agreed to because we were talking and you seemed to expect it. In the grand scheme of space-time continuum, expecting me to be where you wanted at exactly 6 pm is like scheduling a meeting to the millisecond – it’s pointless, and fruitless, and irrelevant, and frankly a waste of time. We weren’t meant to be productive, or hold schedules that tightly. It’s hilarious to imagine some uptight scientist military dudes trying to nail down time travel talking all that, “at 1400” shit. Y’all already lost it. We were way closer to time travel as humans when we didn’t have all this distracting egotistic technology, and just built pyramids out of rocks. Ain’t nobody building no fucking pyramids any more. I mean, the biggest one of the past half century got turned into a Bass Pro Shop in Memphis, which is like doubly fucked up. If there is a Creator, and there is time travel, you know they put a big ass x-mark next to humans when that shit happened.
Anyways, I like waiting for trains, to take pictures, or watch, or really just to sit there and not do shit. Sometimes it’s a disappointment once the train actually comes because then I lose my excuse to do nothing and chill.

N3V3R B33N G00D 4T CL1MB1NG...

never been good at climbing

trees, but always excelled at

laying underneath of them

SONG OF THE DAY: Chillin' On the Westside

Was communifying with my eldest offspring the other day, and she textified to me “when will ppl chill and just let me live” and this struck me as pure gospel universal magnetic truth, with which I will likely stick and poke upon my leg around my ankle next week when I am off all week because work shuts down during the holidays whether we celebrate them or not, but who the fuck is gonna turn down being paid to stay home, not this dirtgod, so I’m gonna use my time wisely, sitting in my basement apartment, tattooing poorly “when will ppl chill and just let me live” around my leg, and it will likely look weird and oblong because it will be from my eye sight line of vision, much like my stretched out yin yang on my chest I did over two decades ago – a perfect circle to my eyeballs, but pulled tall in strange way to somebody not inside my mind’s eye.

This world remains full of so much manufactured and unnecessary drama, at global scale, at local scale, inside my own fucking home and car at times, and all I can think is WHEN WILL PPL CHILL AND JUST LET ME LIVE because this is always true. So I hope in this time of manufactured drama and socially engineered consumerism frenzy, you remember to chill, even if you are struggling beneath the weight of these burdens, and juggling multiple jobs which do not cover the even more multiplicitous debt, that you get those moments of chill, window down or door open or just walking, and the power of lounge washes over you, inside first then outward, and you feel some goddamn peace. This world is an asshole, and sometimes when overrun with asshole behaviors we want to counter that with our own worst nature, but I remind you that WHEN WILL PPL CHILL AND JUST LET US LIVE is a two-way street, and not even a binary two-way street but a giant circular roundabout with a thousand lanes and we can sit there and honk the fuck out of each other, smash fenders, angrily demand that our direction is entitled unto us, or we could chill the fuck out, make our way, and keep it loungin’.

C0NF3R3NC3 0F TH3 4BSVRDS...

conference of the absurds,

discussing immense nothings

on idling daily basis

SP3ND S4TVRD4Y 4FT3RN00N...

spend Saturday afternoon

vacuuming my Civic out

with old school music bumping

elite fraternity of

wealthy motherfuckers make

worldwide rules, ruling worldwide

some days, watching world walk past

from park bench base is best way

to better understand world

Loungewirthistan guerrillas

read Ibn al-Arabi's

Metaphysics for insight

at fringe of Loungewirthistan,

shadow dweller guerrilla

contemplates regenesis

Sir Chillington Loungewirth builds

prophet-able pipelines right

through poor people’s dim eyeballs

Sir Chillington Loungewirth and

his immoral homies plot

their next “election” victor

industrial heavyweights

tilt whole world's psychic axis

sideways thirty-three degrees

Sir Chillington Loungewirth built

his fortune the old ways - by

exploiting the poors’ labor

Sir Chillington Loungewirth's wish

to make industrial arts

larger than small shadow life

Sir Chillington Loungewirth, he

of the Isle of No Fucks

fame, sits upon his throne