Syntax Arm Wrestle

Masturbating in the absence of professional optometrists endangers the sobriety of waterlogged store clerks. 

If You Know Me By Now Then You Don’t Know Me At All

If I crash my bag of incontinence and it flourishes beyond my reach would that make it O.K. for my defendants to do as they very well please?

I ask earnestly and would appreciate an answer pithily lest this caffeinated cup of tear-drops loses all character.
I’ll have you know my tongue only appreciates painstakingly cultivated character,
in all hot beverages be they tall, thin, and wide or not at all in between either way from here to there.
In a matter of speaking.

So if you will without much further undue digress afford me singularly a response
Do not mind my feelings, truth is of the most – the utmost, I beg your pardon – validity.

I wanna make you happy

Electrocuted branches writhed under the stormy blue sky, which hurled upon the hills and ditches and pot-holes, golf ball sized droplets of acid rain

Sanity Papa, Sanity upon You!

It’s midnight, the birds chirp in their sleep, the moon is a prickly old bastard.

Mother locked father in the closet to protect herself and the neighbourhood from his nightmares which burst out of him at the most inconsiderate of times

She leans against the door and says: “See the bigger picture into the future!”

He sits on a small hill of heels and replies:
“Make big needles in order to thread the droplets of saliva pinned under a blossoming Ox with antlers and wings, with long corkscrew lashes and grandpa ear bristles.”

“There you go off with your Bull again!”

He sings a hymn of giggles and chuckles.

Can’t Be Serious For Two Long (heh)

Even though the suspenders kept her versatile grudges in check (which bounced just bellow the bellowing plexus) her castle remained a greatly impenetrable theory.

Incognito, My Dear

Saturday morning frost prickles curtains underbelly

Today out of slumber I rose peacefully

Thoughts a carnival of ponderence and winter loathing.

This non-localised-sense births coherence when partnered with rhyme!

Much intrigue in my deductions… Much indeed.

Try not to think of plots in holes. I free myself with this game I holds.

What stifles more other than rhyme marrying grammar? If, of a union, there was none – then words would be so such fun!

Steer Not This Clutchless Destiny

I cancelled blogging from my thoughts for all meaning and purpose had plummeted from my heart.

Themeless, my blog, thrusts me into aimless productions.

What worse act could befall a mind which suffers for reason in every way?, than having nought to say.

Then an idea struck me as lightning carefully strokes all trees:

«Perhaps the extradition of senses and meaning shall inject much needed stimulus into the very digital veins of this hollowed out blog!»

At the very least, it shall be the primer for it’s death; an eulogy carried out to sea, ejected by the earth.

A type of personal Stimming

I rock back and forth because it calms me.

I picked my eyebrows as a kid, staring off into space.

I become a writer and find the literary web entangles me more than occasionally – how do I solve the stresses which come with idealessness?

Complete obliteration of grammatical meaning.

My own kind of literary stimming as an aspie who finds no reprieve in the mainstream advice for “writers block”…

No, it isn’t a block of any kind to me; ideas never stop flowing; but I over think, over analyse, trying to formulating the ineloquent bits of storytelling – and seeing as I am not a machine; I can only produce so much logical solutions before I burn out with anxiety and frustration and then the torrent of self-hate-speech flows in.

‘You lazy little…!’ “Just write”!

How liberating the non-sense writing, the obscuring of words and the weight they carry for a writer. The value in each letter.

Crow-bar Dough under Spongebob rhombus tights!

The tickle of a surprise in the nature of a stumbled upon sentence very oopsy-daisy like but with toddler giggles always heart cheering.

Sporadic Blogger Inside Out. Au revoir!

Read not my drivel for i have lost all syntaxical ability!

How far I’ve jumped underhandely only for cupcakes to be flavoured infrared!

This journal-scribble reminds me of candy

And praise myself surely should I not having had such an idea which to my delight assures me the appeasementability of my nonsensical poetry?

Completely out of context

“Good day cashier! I need some assistance, have you any idea where the farthest gas station may be maybe?”

“Six degrees twenty one miles.”

“…Eh?”

“Twenty one forty six?”

“…What are you on?”

“Eighty two?”

“Is this one of those places…”

“Thirty nine forty two!”

“Oh for fxxxsake! I just want to know where-”

“Nine nine nine nine! Eight!”