Here we go again.

[exit_of_signs]

Occasionally, I get the opportunity to observe nature, and it's really fascinating. Take a blade of grass, for instance. Or, a sunflower (I know, I know, ...not that you know), or even a wooden sign post. Even dead, the latter is more efficient than any of us. A blade of grass is a prime example of perfection through simplicity. No excess; no superfluity. Two immobile inches of chloro-conduit. It does its job and keeps quiet, and manages to look radiant. I think it's the greatest proof that God exists, and also the greatest proof that he doesn't. The next time you get a chance, I recommend that you look at one...they're all over the place. If you don't want to get your knees dirty, check out a wooden post. Observe the size and location of the knots. Consider that they were spaced as efficiently as possible to keep the tree healthy and strong while not inhibiting the trees processes. Even these minor "imperfections" have their place, and they stay there. They don't cause problems. We humans have this habit of destroying everything we come in contact with. Each other, ourselves, our very ecosystem. We make me sick.

Then again, we do have Chapelle's Show. Go us.
Fuck.
Lw.
--------------------------------
"Four"

You've been watching me.
You've been squinting at me, while I eat,
With your paper towel-crayon-ocean-eyes.
And you wonder about the O-zone layer?
You've been asking politely for a moment with mine-
Not quite as nice, not quite so little space between the lines.

You're seafoam, pasty brown. With holes.

I hate the beach,
With all its multiple meanings
And its little white signs;
It's all stucco-pink and English to me.
"You sure you're mine?"
At least I've learned to love talking you up.
All the southern rains are hailing,
And I've misplaced my poncho, haven't I?
The Arab middlesitter hasn't
Used her feet in weeks;
She's in better shape than me.
But I have that yellow tie.

You're seafoam. Pasty brown with holes.

Fucking twinkle-sounds
And your plastic halo-archies.
Red eyes have this tendency, this tendency,
This habit.
Straight lines in crooked times,
I'm praying they'll know what I mean?

Your seafoam, pasty brown, with holes...

Now you tell me a secret.
You owe me a secret.
These walls don't have mouths.
I must have forgotten.

You're seafoam-pasty-brown with holes.