BlogKu and General Spew

Posted on October 23, 2011. Filed under: Miscellaneous, Musings | Tags: , , , , , , , , |

It’s strange. I never, I mean NEVER shut up. I usually write as much as well. The odd thing is trying to figure out what to put on here. I decided when I started this not to be one of those people who bitch and moan about their “woe is me” issues… that’s pretty much why I’ve been silent for so long. (If you can’t do the math on that one, just hit the little X button on the top right and save yourself now)

That’s the thing about bipolar. My moods come and go, sometimes one will stick around longer than another. I miss mania haha. I’m attempting to get to a point where I’m “surfing the high-end” so to speak. I’m on a med cocktail that should safely get me there. Trick is to hit the crest and stay there without flinging out like a hypersonic projectile into outer space. (I have my shrink’s cell and pager numbers and I’m not afraid to use them, much to his chagrin!) The thought of that happening seems impossible at the moment. Ah the joy of the down-swing, I know it well.

Having said that, I think I’ll move on.

It’s hard to be funny when you haven’t been out and about much to see the humor in normie behavior/action. Around the house I crack my 13 year old up. Don’t be fooled, 13 and more intellectually on the ball than most adults in this godforsaken backwoods in which we reside. I’ve crammed vocabulary prefixes and suffixes, word origins and so much more down her throat since, well birth, that she’s a teacher’s wet dream.

Last night I introduced her to Haiku. She is a poet like myself, and like me (totally my influence, yes) she writes free form verse, a very loose style, somewhere between prose and poem. I loathe rhyme. I find it trite and pedestrian.  Hmmm, I need a word here that rhymes with gopher and means punch bowl.  I think I’ll change it to digging ditcher and pitcher. Yeah, you did it! -who cares about the original intended imagery. (asshat.) Because that’s so true to what the original thought you wanted to express, right? I say fook that. I only respect one “standardized” form of poetry… haiku.

To hammer into Q the 5-7-5 syllable structure I started by knocking out an old one I composed and delivered to my favorite icon, The Rev. Maynard James Keenan. I know he got it, it was confirmed. As if the source confirming it weren’t enough shortly after he received it he changed his homepage for the first time in YEARS from an image of himself making a peace sign that partically obscured his face to, you guessed it … a HAIKU.

Woohoo, my brush with fame. His haiku was about The Aristocrats but hell, who composes and publishes a random haiku straight from their rump and slaps it on their previously neglected homepage ~unless~ they had recently been inspired? That was ALL ME. SuperpartybangbangrocketpartygogobabyWOW! I was (and am) pumped about it (to this day.) The Rev and I go way back, (in my head) haha.

Ahem, as I was saying, I knocked out my Maynard haiku then proceeded to spew forth random “randy” and sometimes downright dirty haiku out of the blue. They came like naked ninjas. I had my Q cracking up till she did unladylike things. (She was laughing too hard to blame it on the dog.) I even went as far as to make a limerick/haiku bastard lovechild.  There once was a man – The man was from Nantucket – He had a big … you get the picture. Q did too, she had bladder control issues, I loved it. I can make that child laugh till her face is a rictus of pain. Utter silence, eyes squeezed shut, arms out – contorted oddly with hands locked and fingers splayed. Total immobility. Like a snapshot of a seizure. Then there’s an exchange of air, not sure if inhalation or if she’s exhaling, either way the sound is the same… the dog is the first to hear it and her head pops up in confusion, then it falls into the human range. It’s a high pitched yet breathy gasp (inhalation I suppose then,) and the “Still shot from the Exorcist” moment ends. She doubles over clutching her abdomen gasping for air cursing me for whatever bodily function failed her. I remind her that no one can MAKE you do anything. If you played the butt trumpet it was your choice to unleash your hold on those sphincter muscles…

She doesn’t go for it. At the mention of butt trumpets she decides to do an encore more often than not, followed by an awkward dash to the ladies. The journey looks like a dazed hungry zombie… slow, graceless, yet with purpose. I ADORE my QQ.  Her laughter, (or most times, inability to laugh because she’s caught in a full body spasm of complete hilarity,) brings me such joy.

There’s no feeling in the world like making your kid laugh till they fall over, literally. She actually has ROFL and LMAO (LHAO). We don’t use insulting acronyms, they’re an abuse to the person you speak to and those particular two are trite and untrue when used. (Unless you’re present during a goof session between my Q and myself and you want to quickly describe her status.) I’ve never before or since seen someone roll on the floor laughing, until my Q.  She loves to hate me for it. I love her for loving me so much to hate it when I do that and still ~beg~ for more!

I have no idea what I intended to blog about, I just kinda started typing. I know when Q gets wind (hehe wind, butt trumpet) of this she’s going to be furious. I will explain it was for the sake of art and expressing myself.

 I’ll do it through interpretive dance. She LOVES that one hahahahahahaha

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