St. Patty's Day . . . so many escapades, so few gems in postings on 3/17. Here's a sample from earlier efforts:

heard Barama today say
if we can't act as a team, we fail as a group of individuals
or succeed at it
depending on whether we accept goal achievement full of exclusions
where best does my exclusion of concerts/audience/theater fit?
behind the gates I say
pretty hard to disagree you say
until duty calls
but unlike the guy who burns canola oil
in his biodiesel transporter
more like the present which keeps the past
merely as milestones that we passed
under the light of the lovelamp
as it brightens the way
it's just the cost of transformation
freeing kindred souls to roost
and if you're lucky, you get
two believers linked by the same soul

why does someone have to get hurt
when you transform yourself and
end up leaving behind
someone you love?
probably because it's not by agreement
just the casualty of moving on
moreover, it crotchblocks nobody's freedom to
say seen it all
and done the rest
when The Big Transformation day arrives
and really mean it when you say it
then, it just so happens
that mine came when I met her
and like hocus pocus
love is a many splendored thing

somehere she's finding out about love
wonder if I'm in it?
she experienced my love
straight from that one paternal model
diametrically opposite the one she fell for
that made up the dad pattern
based on legacy and heritage
the one which reveals that mine ends up right here
assimilated into this variant of crazy
seen and re-run a few times
back there
only this time it's different
thanks to the love that's in the center
of everything
not why do fools fall in love?
but what makes the day and
the night
seem like one big continuous flight
on the love ship very free

My cosmos is a vagina where the g- spot is everyone I love surrounded by world dwellers now with those who passed clustered on the labia. This simplification lets my mind, limited by billion-year-old carbon, arrange the place settings in the fallopian tube wing to sort out who's in my life now from all the rest. If I let it wander outside my virtual cave of consciousness, the vastness overwhelms any semblance of sense and I say fuck it and focus instead on distractions like Ann Hathaway's cleave. Sometimes the gift of patience and the tsunami of time nurture the teaser of getting to the real purpose and worse yet, pacifies any urgency to get there. There is here and here is better than Sky King promised it would be.

Maybe a little bit of both but I can still hit a high C and replace body fluids like a 20 year old so I don't have to hide from anything except I know in the past I hurt people because of my choices and even though I can live with that, I wish it could have brought me to this place with no harm-no foul. But you can't choose your theme song to be The Chicken Dance unless you're pacified by flapping your arms. I'm more of a Disco Inferno guy even though now I hum "if you want it, here it is, come and get it" alot. I'm proof that if it has tires or testicles, you might have some trouble with it. Kid. love - out.

Today the culprit is DSM-IV, the manual of the psychiatric empire containing all the known mental health disorders. It suddenly reminded me of the Bible, The Book of Mormon, The Qur'an, the Bhagavadgita and Abbie Hoffman's Steal this Book. My adept motion of tickling the doobies strewn along the pool bottom so that they'd elevate enough for the screen to capture them triggered the realization that solipsism is the I'm OK You're OK of this antediluvian sidetrack now upon us.