Here, at the end of May, the sun has almost risen, climbed above the horizon , beginning a seasonal tease of long days, short nights, warmth creeping to heat, as we receive the gift of sweat.. People show their skin and more Tits and ass, packages. And for the truly prurient, bellies.

Bellies, the glorious testimonial to baklava and beer. Sometimes,for women, babies grow in those bellies, in útero ,to be more precise. Promises, curses, dreams.

Cycles. That is what the universe shares. Dramatically at Stonehenge or Bethlehem. Always more than a day. Offering light for concupiscence, Darkness for the same.

The really clever people have made their own suns, small enough for rockets to carry. Although useless for growing grain or trees or fruit, these microsuns receive their ill deserved attention.

We make a different sacrifice to these lesser gods, happiness,.

I can keep quiet no longer. There should federal laws against interleague play, the designated hitter and the pitch clock.

Furthermore chewing tobacco should be Mandatory.

Ok. That’s enough rant.

I’m up, watching YouTube. There’s an attractive 40ish woman, posing in a mesh bikini.

I don’t know what it’s like to lust any more, to carry a seduction through to its conclusion, to be with a woman who values my company more than watching an episode of Adam 12.

This reflection is descending into a rant about being 73 and lonely.

Did Frosty The Snowman have an Advance Directive about Melting away?

We’ve had massacres at concerts, bridge destruction, personal electronics malfunctions, births, deaths. You know. Life goes on, John Mellenkamp reminded us.

I’m watching trains. My guardian angel, Jade, told me to avoid the news for two days. That is getting easier and easier.

News, I think, is how we’re manipulated, by the people who make the bombs and pay off the politicians.

Enough of that. If you have chance to get laid, go for it! Nothing beats an orgasm.

Do the Amish masturbate?

I’m looking at my house. It’s filled with stuff, I once deemed important. Books I planned to read, CD’s I thought I would listen to, movies on my Watch List.

Now, all of this sits here, ready to entertain me, inspire great thoughts, or just stimulate thinking.

I had locked myself in Bedlam and thrown away the key,. Now I must plot my escape. Let me keep it simple. 1)Pack up what I don’t want.

2) Throw out the old newspapers, the clothes I no longer wear can go to the thrift stores.

3) What’s left is the grieving over getting lost in such a big way

Is sex the cherry on top of the sundae of love or found in all parts, the ice cream , nuts, syrup and whipped cream, too?

And what about the hot fudge?