Where likability is
inappropriate is not—any more than you are present at your funeral when you are in the casket.
It is said that likability is
confidence plus humility—playing the unafraid child while remaining the adult in danger.
A burnout feigning naïveté.
Remind the maximum amount of people of the maximum amount of people who won’t return your calls.
Be the home invader homebody.
Get an audience member into you by arranging for her to witness other audience members into you—similar to your wife when you started tending bar.
One might have a face with un-botoxed cheeks—body fat minus sag—
one cannot take much credit for this. The pedophile belongs on the sex offender list for no shopping of his own. The keyword being “belongs.”
How much birdsong beauty is intentional?
The birds still get watched.
You can lead a horse to water but you can’t make him liked. You’d have to see him beaten while winning a race. Abused. Brushed. Dewormed.
The first time worms died in me here came the partner I deserved. She is wormless to this day despite her tangling with formerly wormed parts of me.
Be the gentle your lover is not (the two of you always rushing).
Eyes on his eye color—your attention attending to his attention’s candy coating. (Never mind that this is inappropriate.)
Your affection pends approval.
For now. It always won’t.
It always won’t one day not depend upon a defibrillator or anything a defibrillator is a placeholder for—family barely hanging on, a merciful justice system—
in the meantime, likability nirvana is on offer by way of the intimate—the soul’s nowhere to go. There are no moves, available tricks. Intimacy says Please unsubscribe—this is all I got.
Do you know what it is like to have someone unsubscribe to your face? By that I mean leave your face like an astronaut leaves the moon?
You should, it’s glorious—
the first step to others being left behind
in a one-step process after which
you get to live
in a small world after all.
Sing it with me now—
How much cancer in a Dorito?
No measurable amount. How many babies in a spermatozoon? The answer is none. Do people fit through your nerve endings? No. Electrical signals do. The people you see, hear and feel are products of your mind. When a tree falls in the forest Gaia weeps but no one hears her so she settles down with
Peoplemover
Life presents cul de sacs. Life also presents mundane analogies. Driving to avoid dead ends forms them, catching you in a nipple distended. Love identifies as a clearing of dead skin. Intellectualism sculpts dead skin jungle gyms. You can move faster than truth, you learn, by chasing authenticity. A jogging up a down-escalator sort of thing. Many post-s…
When you don’t like me, at least I know I’m right about something.
Your subscription caption was great—the conditional statements first, and then the observation.
thanks! Suited my mood perfectly.