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handstones

I pushed the blanket of yellow leaves off the cement. Same as always: they are back! Why bother to sweep them? They will rot. She said, (as I prepared to give her a one-handed massage) �You shouldn�t ride a bike!� And I thought: �I have to find a reasonable level of risk between telecommuting from Norway while wrapped in a thick sheaf of California King-size comforters and eating only what I can have delivered by trustworthy organic providers and dedicating myself to blindfolded kung-fu jungle warfare hang-gliding.� I�ve got to ride a bike, woman! There�s no joy for me on this 72 metro bus. It aches like a mistake like herpes or a heartbreak this broken wing an injured haunch this crippled thing I tried to get a jump on Christmas but it got the jump on me I�ll be healed about the time I get used to doing things in 100 steps � Put down the glass � Pick up the pitcher and pour � Switch hands � Lean the pitcher against my chest � Open the fridge � Prop the door with my leg � Put the pitcher back in � Take the Vicodin� � Pick up the glass and swollow I had two chances to look at my tender swollen lump before they wrapped it up in a shiny blue sheath of rock hard cloth making a six week house for a very stinky arm.

Posted by tiny daniel on May 3, 2005 1:16 AM |

Comments

nice stuff Daniel,
when you get a minute remember your Dharma Brother and give me a call. I got tomorrow off (Thursday)
have some ideas. A-ron

Posted by: Rinpoche Silverberg | May 4, 2005 8:36 AM

Pssst.. happy birthday ;)

Posted by: S | May 9, 2005 4:50 PM