“Jump around / Jump around…”

The fledging unhopping on the street, thrust from nest too soon, vulnerable, lifted from below, and patiently aided to flutter off to the cobblestone side.

A butterfly flaps its wings and in STL people are happy.

For the first time in my life, I was embarrassed to be associated by my religion, to the point of wishing disassociation, lest I be labeled as I wasn’t. But rather than a futile gesture of passive non-association that relegates the extremes to speak for the entirety, let me speak out with satire.

An SI win, and thereby I am funnier than a double-Pulitzer prize winning humor columnist.

Spiral staircases, 4 bedrooms, wet bar, in-unit laundry, balcony porch:
Too big to fail.

“Can you help me unravel my latest mistake / I don’t love him / Winter just wasn’t my season…”

F:
+Rooftop porch
-El Proximity

“…We walk through the doors, so accusing their eyes / Like they have any right at all…”

M:
+Fireplace
-Character

“…Here in town you can tell he's been down for a while / But, my God, it's so beautiful…”

K:
+Lofty ambitions
-Leaky ceiling

“…'Cause you can't jump the track…”

I think I’m in love.

“…Breathe…”

We heard you like pushing shopping carts, so we put a shopping cart in your shopping cart, so you can push a shopping cart while you push your shopping cart down Barry.

You know what’s funny?
Cellos.
True. You know what else’s funny?
Reading about cellos? Sorry. What is it?
Gone now.

Free Cello, worth every penny.

“Oh you know how it is, wake up feeling…”

Sorry for not being here: rapture.

“…All you want to do is nothing on a day like today / But if you do that you'll be missing the world…”

It’s over now; I’ll show up soon.

“…Get up, get out, and get gone…”

The truest rejections are self-imposed.

Set off by commas.

“It's easy to compliment people who are similar, but difficult to complement them.”

One night I might know why
Into your eye
I stared and spread bare arms to fly
Away, saying goodbye.

Throwing sharp things at walls.

“I only called you back because you said I wouldn’t.”
Oh, I said that so that you’d call back.
“I hate you.”
I know. It’s great, this hate-love relationship.

130 plays in 2 days.

“Up, up, up, doom and gloom clouds gathering…”

The weather may be dismal and the space not ideal, but with enough cool people there’s still too much light.

“…I've got pots and pans all scattered 'round the bedroom…”

What’s the wurst that could happen.

Bridesmaids features the same flaw in protagonist and antagonist: the need for external control, with the inability to control internally.  The matrimonial setting is appropriate for the discovery that one cannot address one’s own flaw by oneself.

I paint the way I write: I draw a line on the page and it looks like something to me.

Imagination is third person present, second person past, or first person future.

If I got a tattoo it would be a snail, because I carry my home on my back. And I would get it on my back. And if anyone called it a tramp stamp I'd punch them in the face.
-Dorothy Parker

The year’s first night of summer weather, the year’s first Cardinals/Cubs game, and my first time in Wrigley Field, all celebrated with a 6-4 victory.

“Did they win?”
For some values of they.

Have you ever been trying to text a made up Greek word but your phone autocorrects it to sphygmomanometer?
Right when you called I was typing Jordan but got Korean and really wanted someone to share it with.

Can’t make this stuff up.

Thor’s script lacks enough dialogue to go around the 3 actors in the astrophysics plotline, but in turn there’s really only enough script for 2 of the superheroic, mythological, and scientific plotlines.  Perhaps appriopriate that it is my first 3D.

There is a mild sandwich crisis going on at coffeehouse: not enough counterspace for all of Jeff’s sandwiches.
“Who is Jeff and it seems like he knows how to eat!”
Jeff is a person who ordered a bunch of sandwiches at this coffeehouse but didn’t pick them up. He may not exist. Or he may represent our subconscious need for a spiritual guide figure. I expect a future conflict from prophets who reveal his true name is Geoff.

New Wave philosophy.

“All wars are justified, in the end. because the winner says so.”
That's only for wars that have winners, though.

What’s the point of arguing.

“You and I both know nothing destroys the credibility of an ostensibly intelligent argument than unintelligent writing.”
That, and piranhas. Piranhas just devour credibility.

Messing with a friend and with friends without Messing.

Got reverse burgled: someone came to my apartment and locked everything up.

A happy medium: neither over nor underdone.

“Murder on the Orient Express” offers catharsis through fiction for the Lindbergh kidnapping, the Crime of Agatha Christie’s Century.

A different century, a different crime: I had drafted a narrative of an airplane passenger found dead, stabbed by a boxcutter, within a cabin of suspects as diverse as America: people with nothing in common except that they lived through 9/11.

To kill Osama bin Laden in fiction is the height of presumption; the explanation, “well, Agatha Christie did it” is no better. But now I have a third reason to rewrite.