Going to go our natural landscape—to be OUTSIDE and off the couch, some Perch perchance, when some “slouch”—putting potato chips in their mouth, month after month, year here, year there, the routine ritual of Lucky Charms being on The Food Pyramid, a python – period – . to jot the thoughts of what’s and what’s-not’s sticking to the plot of my being kept away from my real “HOME” I miss, Mom and Dad get a kiss, from I who adores the upstanding Americans planning college educations and tax-paying THIS BLESSED U.S. NATION (!!!)

How about Haiti?

How about France?

All I know is that I adore LIVESTRONG courtesy of Lance, my pairs of pants and shirts—SOME STOLEN BY THE STAFF HERE AT “AVERTE” — now I can’t wait to come home to my great and loving parents “Partnered” with a Holy marriage in a church— my being away from Charlton, MA really hurts— the insult of being moved away, and for what? pressing on the clutch and to SHIFT for all CAPS in the Capital JMRQ

Call it “jmrq” if you’d like, on a motor and boat or bicycle— winter time to pick an ice cube from tray of a deceased individual’s “ashes” when taking College University classes— me loving the classy up-kempt and showered off—but were showers after Phys. Ed. really a necessary must do at Saint John’s??? I wouldn’t get sweaty like the Shawn Kemp of a west coast NBA team, that, I think he was on the Boston Celtics or what, the Seattle Supersonics???

I have his rookie card, digging through cards to fine one is tired-some with a shard of a sleeve, the card holders on pretecting with tact my thumb for or an other “wave” of James Boned’s “Octopus” I never have seen—divided feelings upon my indulging in works what works? Well, maybe THESE WORDS: I LOVE MY MOM AND DAD AND AUNT DONNA DONOHUE—advancing in age and taken a-back the delicate ways I have of calm, peaceful, resolute, my millions USD—that’s “My Loot” to be spent with a “hootboard” I signed up for decades ago—my attempt at garnering readers, seeing right through me, that the truth be: I lay down in bed, and steady dreams of summertime sweets, the popsicle treats, with good food to eat, for me, here, and near some who bother me like Peter M. always best-up HE MESSES WITH ME… Peter is a refurbished crack-head who always speaks too loud, I’m sullen with a shroud, speaking at normal volumes, Preaching and reaching over the table for a caffeinated cup of coffee—don’t you see?

The decaf, I go without drinking the Decaffeinated sludge—no caffeine buzz?

What’s the point of this reading of hundreds of users, my viewers, given the gift of to peruse my prose—to do what you do!