too much thinking

sometimes when i try to view things full size, they resolve at the same size.

ptsd

last night i had a dream, which included this blog and google.

as far as i can remember, this is the first time i've dreamed about the interwebs. regardless, in my dream there was a very angry, hurt male mentioned previously. his emotional distress was a direct result of discovering he'd been mentioned in such a negative light within these virtual pages.

whether inspired by my dream or just curious, i decided to google my name tonight. a variety of boring things came up, but i did happen upon this. indeed, it is a little bizarre to see your name popping up in other's blogs, especially if they're strangers.

if i had to examine all this i'd say i'm perhaps suffering from some twisted merger of guilt and karma that has resulted in my subconscious experiencing a case of post traumatic stress disorder.

absence and presence

a black vest and long shirt still formed to the shape they once encased, but lying on the ground, commemorating the snowman's last breath.

footprints sunk deep into dried concrete-- filled with rain water.

we are everywhere in our presence and absence.

is this real life?

okay... i have two fingers.

oh really?

i disagree.

p.l.f.

they were three. three intrepid individuals, come together for one purpose.

as they gathered underground that night, however, this was unknown. in the room-- where the light quality lent itself to being either "day" or "night" but nothing in between (no late-afternoons or early-mid-mornings)-- the three busied themselves, unaware of the developing mission.

certainly the cloudless sky and fanged moon played their part-- an appropriate background for which the goings-on underground could unfurl. (most don't want a bubble bath during gunfire or whimpering amongst the tulips).

neither can it be denied that the all-kinds-of-liquids, which took to the size and shape of their containers, assisted as well. the tall, round, and golden filled the elastic organs as easily as the hot, squat, and piquant.

it was flowing and fuzzy.

creeping out of the styrofoam woodwork, uncurling from the lace curtains, the room was suddenly crawling with hidden purpose. it gathered and slithered up the metal table legs and assumed its position, big and fat, on the lazy susan.

the three couldn't ignore it, after all they now had a purpose-- a collective duty and mission for something they had neither felt nor smelled before. how had it surprised them? they had been surrounded in purpose the whole night-- knocking on its fibers, walking on its veins, sitting on its threads. but they understood, without hesitation or regret, that they were now the three and only members of the puffin liberation front (p.l.f.).

the one with rosy cheeks grabbed the camera for documentation. the one with curly hair alighted on the purple parasol. the one with large glasses seized the key, and they tore off to liberate the puffins.

the journey was shorter than one might have imagined for a mission of such magnitude. in a matter of seconds they were at the terrible vehicle which contained the two large-billed birds. without confrontation or struggle, the pair of winged creatures were rescued from their cramped and confined compartment. the parasol opened to shield them from lurking cleptoparasites while flashes filled the dark to capture the joy. out in the night the animals took a new shape (like the aforementioned liquid) and filled the space that had been their hopeless spirit. as the p.l.f. retreated back underground, the puffins dug at their itchy feathers with the anticipation of freedom and cheered their muffled chainsaw cheer.