Castor is a star

here I go again, my my, how can I resist ya. Mamma Mia, does it show again, just how much I missed ya?

Way too much ABBA the past few nights, but that’s okay, cause I like ABBA, a lot.

But, really, I like Duran Duran almost as much, but not really.

Really, I like PB&Js but not as much as I like cherry pie but not as much as I like fried chicken but not as much as I like fried chicken livers but not as much as I swoon over telescopes, big telescopes, and even my little telescope especially when I take the cover of the lens revealing the mirror, the corrector plate, the reflection of the surrounding trees in both, the reflection of me in both. Makes me weak in the knees and excited at the same time. And when I say excited, I mean EXCITED!!

EXCITED!!!!1!1!!!1!111!!ELEVENTY-ONE!!1!!!!

Oh, excuse me, lost control there, for a bit.

I also like my small telescope, the 90mm sitting in my bedroom. Light, portable, decent optics, same design as the 10-incher. Doesn’t get as much play as the 10-incher, but that little 3 and a half-incher is still good. Or so I’m told. Wait! I know that little 3 and a half-incher is good, great, shows the rings of Saturn the moons of Jupiter, galaxies, star clusters and everything. Not as good, great as the 10-incher, but still good, great.

Whew!

(any innuendo rests solely with the reader)

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It’s hot, hot, hot, hot here in Phoenix. Gonna be around 110 today and the next few days after being around 110 for the past few weeks.

If T (temperature) increases and n (number of moles, atoms, whatever) is constant, R (universal gas constant) is a constant and V (volume) is kept constant (not realistic I know, but humor me) in the Phoenix area, the P (pressure) has to increase in proportion to T.

Of course, V is not constant because it increases with rising T, but the product PV has to increase in proportion to an increasing T, which could result in P decreasing with increasing T, depending on the increase of V.

Usually, at this time of year at these high Ts, a low P system sits over Yuma (to the West, on the border with California), which indicates V is increasing, the atmosphere is expanding with increasing T, resulting in a lower P.

What does this all mean? Eh, PV = nRT is the Ideal Gas Law and Earth’s atmosphere is anything but ideal, but the Ideal Gas Law can be used to show how P and V relates to n and T.

And really, all it means is that it is hot, hot, hot, hot, even for me.

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Our name is Sven and we like to ride reindeer in the Spring into the spring when clear and cold water flows.

There it goes, there it went, the other day, I forgot to play the game though it leaves me lame as though stabbed by a pitchfork hidden in the hay

(oops, can’t talk about hay….)

All of the sudden, the mud in the hole swallowed a roll I was about to eat. It was sitting there just a hair outside the hole while I sliced the meat, to eat, with a little smear of mustard or something something

Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! a man after midnight

After midnight I started a fight with the thing under my bed which was mostly head and neck and teeth. The fight was brief, just a grapple or two, our faces blue, winded we were, so quit, retired, had Snapple! Peach flavor, of course.

Horse, the second horse was the best, forget the rest

Won’t somebody help me chase the shadows away? Take me through the darkness to the break of the day

The day broke, into 17 pieces instead of the usual 24, but I knew the score, the Earth was rotating faster than the day before. Look! A whore! Walking the street in front of the grocery store!

Mamma Mia, here I go again, how can I resist you?

She wouldn’t take my offer, twenty-four dollars and my neck in a collar clipped to a leash studded with mud dabber nests empty of wasp eggs, or my offer of 4 dollars to show some leg, just a little leg, up to, say, her inner thigh just below where her pelvis began.

Oh well, oh swell, oh I swelled down there in anticipation of a little overdamped, over damp harmonic oscillation which made it hard to drive. But, I was alive, I was erect (in my seat), I was going to help elect someone I didn’t really like or want or care for, I should have offered twenty dollars more to get this thing to settle down.

Look! A brown dog in the road, with a puffy tail, the puffy tail being attached to a female wearing a bunny costume as is the custom in these parts after 12:23 in the A.M. A pretty puffy tail it is and no, I won’t rhyme with is because the only word I can think of begins with a j and ends with a z and dammit, it’s time to go to work.

Quark!

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I should be sleepy

I wish I were sleepy, I wish I were dreaming of snow piled high, of cold so cold I can’t imagine, of wading through snow, across frozen creeks, skiing, tracking, following, chasing a large woman in the winter, in the winter-est winter I have ever known. Gaining, catching her, felling her with a lunge, a grab around her knees, climbing her body, looking into her face, her eyes as our breath mingles, freezes, falls onto her cheeks, her ruddy cheeks, her chapped lips.

I wish I were drunk on Little Penguin Shiraz, but I don’t get drunk, hardly get tipsy, ever. Not me, not like me to lose control voluntarily, at all. Must always be in control, be observant, be vigilant, be aware of my surroundings lest a monster, a snake, a rat, a coyote, a large woman attack me, pin me, render me immobile, render me powerless, rend me, though I would like to be rent, torn, bloodied, control ripped from my mind, my animal released to prey on the weak, to grapple with the strong, to smell to taste the blood on my lips, my tongue.

I am in control, drinking water, wondering about the image on my desktop, the little image of one woman, one man embracing, losing control, losing to their lust, their desire. I wonder, why has that never been me? Why have I never lost control in that way, in any way.

It clattered to the concrete apron, the instrument of destruction, the sound of steel and plastic in the air along with the sound of life bubbling away, the sound of pain, the sound of death of fear of pain. I was in control, scared but in control, scarred from that moment but in control.

It is never truly dark in this apartment. Lights from the parking lot are on all night. Streetlights are on all night. Glow of the city is on all night. I never have to turn on a light, at night, in this apartment when I become paranoid about the state of the deadbolt on my front door and get out of bed and walk through my bedroom my living room, check the door, check the deadbolt. I never turn on a single light.

There was a single light that night, behind them, silhouetting them, allowing me to use my sights. Lucky me. Unlucky them. Stupid them.

Dammit.

The wine is still in the kitchen, my shirt is in the floor, tens of billions of faint yellow photons are streaming through my kitchen window and I’m not sleepy.

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but only with my right nostril

stale smoke, like a stale Pall Mall, like an old, bad cigar. No, not a cigar, a stale Pall Mall, like Dad used to smoke. Filterless, partially crushed from all that time in his pocket, his hand reaching for them 20, 30, 50 times a day, nothing but cigarettes and coffee as he worried about the missiles, the parts, the electronics, the soldiers, the mobile launchers in the woods the snow the mud the cold the wet.

He wants a pipe, a tube running from his casket to the open air when he is dead and buried, a tube we can pour beer down and lit cigarettes, lit Pall Malls, filterless, so he can smoke and make up from the past 20 years when he couldn’t smoke. Might have to put a rain guard on that tube, keep the rain and snow out when we’re not pouring beer and lit cigarettes down it.

Maybe the smoke I smell is from a neighbor’s dryer, maybe we’re all going to burn up in the night. Fire. I don’t want to go in Fire, don’t want to be in the Fire, don’t want to smell my hair frying, my skin bubbling, my fingers burning to the bone to the knuckles to the wrist. Fire is bad, a bad terrible way to go.

I don’t want to go, at all, in anything. I want to live forever, I want to live even if I’m in a coma, in a vegetative state because once I die there’s nothing, nothing at all. Without breath, breathing, there is no hope.

I shouldn’t have had my wisdom teeth pulled. But, I did.

If I am going to go, I want to go out with a bang, literally, a big bang, an explosion, at least 34 pounds of C4 wrapped around my body my head my ears my face with the detonator in my hand the button for me to push

I don’t want to fall off a cliff

I’m afraid of heights

I’m afraid of everything, nowadays, including my shadow in the waning gibbous moonlight, including the kangaroo rats rustling in the dry leaves beneath the jojoba plant beneath the desert willow beneath the busy oleander beside the water reclamation pond

I would like to go as reclaimed water, reclaimed water reclaimed through a water reclamation pond swimming with ducks and snails as I seep seep seep into the aquifer far below the surface of the Earth

The smoke is gone, the smell is gone. There is no fire, not tonight, not in my mind my belly my insides. There is nothing

I am in the void, I am the void, I am the center of everything that does not have a center

I am the universe, this universe

I am everywhere

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do Democrats believe in the integration of church and state?

Plus, Hair Totally Ruined American Musical Theatre For A Decade.

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opened to page 178, to a section titled The Photoelectric Effect.

Is that how he did it? Is that how he made the body disappear, one photoelectron at a time, bombarding death with light, high-energy light, evaporating death one photoelectron, one broken atom at a time?

Possible, not probable I thought as I caught a whiff of hydrochloric acid. More probable he dissolved the body the old fashioned way - an acid bath. Still, acid and bones, do they mix? Aren’t bones a bit basic, a bit of calcium bonded with other stuff? Wouldn’t basic bones react with acid in a violent way? An experiment is in order, I think, but first, where is that odor coming from?

I made my way to the back of the room, to the closet door. Opening the door, the odor hit me full in the nose, in the olfactory bulb of my brain. Ding Dongs!!

Yes, Ding Dongs. Chocolate cake outer shell filled with creamy filling. Now I knew his weakness.

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July 27 is Parents’ Day

What is Parents’ Day?

Mothers Day was in May, Fathers Day was in June

Is Parents’ Day nothing but another Hallmark Holiday?

I think so.

June is over, July is here and it will get hotter and hotter and hotter in Phoenix, and then the humidity will begin to climb and the dewpoints will better 55 degrees and I will complain and then I will take a vacation to Alabama at the end of the month, to see the parental units. Alabama. In July. Humid, Hot, Bugs, Brats (no, not sausages. little kids)

Polly wants a cracker…

It seems the writing frenzy of June has gone, doesn’t it?

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I don’t like getting all dressed up to go shopping, either, or out to eat at the Cracker Barrel…

see more pwn and owned pictures

Hmmmmm, the Cracker Barrel…founded in Tennessee….how curious….

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