A Clear Case Of Automatic Transmission

I like to get all bubbly and explode into glial cells. You could say in most instances time is on my side. But not this. These explosions are abbreviations of a more elaborate embarkment. The warp of lobsters burning up the town with the quick agility of their antennae. This is what we used to call Abstract Expressionism until we discovered that the bruises on our arms weren’t caused by scaffolding but maracas. There’s an aesthetic excitement in getting grants. But it’s even more exhilarating when the world ignores you completely. That’s when you know you’re on to something. Wisdom comes packaged in thunder. I see loops everywhere now, laces and lacerations, slides in parks and experiences waiting to shove us into life like a dicey automatic transmission. Those clunks are motivations. But what do you do with a motivation if you’re not feeling adequately motivated to motivate it? You see what the problem is: a bad CV joint. The push is gargantuan. Fulfillment is but a Tuesday away. Each dollar is a leaf on the money tree. Whose trunk is rooted in nothing. The paradigms are spread out on the coffee table. They’re easy to shift about. You’ll see in the end that the beginning is always beginning it never stops it surges forward carrying a tsunami of misconception with it. Blisters are little explosions on the skin. Friction brings them into being. The damaged upper layer of skin tears away from the layers beneath and fluid collects in the space to create a blister. The fluid is called a serum and should be taken seriously. Don’t laugh. We’re not talking about pimples here. The texture of these walls take time to deliver their secrets. Don’t give up till I reach the other side. I’ll give you a call.