how to mix it up

wow...I've been lovingup the always sunny in philadelphia series...what a good show..a little with the raunch because some words due to my ''nuclear age'...always '17'..I hear a cringe when I hear the word dong..and it isn't about a bell..duh...words like that, poop words but what's a polite reference to something like that I don't know...quite tongue in cheek is prefereable of course but it isn't done...we're not so polite, well read is what we should be, so we could and there were a lot of Nooks on the plane coming to Phoenix...I've been in the house almost the entire time I've been here...I've been in the hot tub and will go again when baby awakens because I don't want to run the motor while he sleeps inside the room that faces the place where the tub is..under the great Mesquite...I was thinking it would be good to visit a reservation because I think even though I can't aspire to being a native american somehow through my work and time in america that I have become part of a tribe, maybe it's the Rainbows but I was thinking it's more like the GarciaGreenGroup...ggg
green being the painter Tom...Garcia being Jerry the former Grapeful..and so on..we've been on the wire about nuclear stuff since way back and then there was the general Morrison who was the soul of the Indian of course...and nobody better claim that title while his spirit is still in the world..wild man..
we've got one like him, gone away at the moment to help a brother with a broken back...and yeah, my little son rests there wondering what it is to be a man and be seven or ate...I don't make a typo there...I see the fat gray haired lady with the agenda involving beets...bloody towels...blue Mercedes..something about going solo...and I wonder if my Raven clan associations in Lyons would help with that...no doubt...I think that writing when one has no purpose is stupid but I don't do that nor do I talk about what I've been doing, rather it's a reminesce about the solo entry, Han(d)...and his recovery as a myth and muse of times to be...how we've perhaps educated our resource of nuclear power, not so much contained it as understood that there must be rings planted at the sites, hops, cocaine, marijuana, tobacco...and there's the song cycles that the hopis will teach the plants as they wave in the summer wind...the rainbows did that one gathering and I could see it..baby cries...AWAKE...

hope soo..darn text is shrinking shrinking..and I was writing about the women's health fair at the community center in Neah Bay and how I was busy trying to ignore my feelings to the point when I got home I cried because I had buried them ten feet deep in a hill of sand and regret...like why would I be attracted to that person?  you just don't know, you just art..hehe, art, sometimes typos are for the good...I sat there, looking all around the room, I know this person very little, try to be polite, isn't really something I should invest in...I think it comes later but it's here and I let it slide into the sea, the rain comes down in buckets, the roof leaks like a sieve (really,, truly) but I'm like hmmm..why do I dig this person?  it's bit Tony Hillerman..the hair..the face is 'up yours...I'm the one with the club..you're going down, baby' and I'm like shoot there goes my font shrinking again, hgehe...squidlitts...
ok so he's a fisherman for one...he had his truck repo'd like mine was...he isn't interested in me, I don't think, well if he is heck if I know it..I'm like yeah...and I realize that it's all about the laws of attraction with a lot of cultural interface going on, he could be Japanese the way he looks, about as big as myself, maybe younger, OH, that's it...yep...I think at 62 I'm over the hill in the men department, he'll never go for me because I'm older...shoot, I looked at my arm when I was in the bathroom up there, it's like wrinkly saggin' and yet I go out there and see him blue teeshirt, jeans...don't remember shoes, hair in a traditional cornhusker hank always wears it like that, it's Navajo but it could be apache, something I don't know, my instincts say Navaho...but you know, asking for trouble I tell myself, am I? I don't think feeling that nice about someone is trouble, what I think is it always gets yanked away from me somehow so I'm very afraid to let it happen again and yet I know this is what I want...to tame this bad boy? eh...what's a bad boy?  well...I'd have to be real with him, that's probably a challenge, I have no self-image...you know, like you think women are supposed to feel good about their bodies, I like mine, it's soft, curvy, kind of svelte, swanky, something...I can dance...I love to dance, I like my face, but would he?  I don't even know my indian roots but I think there's some in the french canada place my family won't talk about so maybe there's the tears...I can't be who I've been told I am not...something like that maybe, but no, I never let anything get in the way when I feel as I do but I saw myself doing that, just like asphalting the path to sitting right there on his lap, which is where I would have been, sobbing on his chest, 'I have a crush on you!!' how good I am to hide it...why should he know...well I went to his house one day to tell him not to bring fish to the seniors...and he was wearing only a towel and I thought when I was upclose with him...I don't like this guy like THAT?   but there he was sitting right across from me and I knew I did...and I went home and cried about it...so frustrated...really frustrated...his number is in my contact list...I could just call him, say hay, I do...have a big lumpy wet noodle of a longing for you...a bright bird on a wet beach, a cloud coming in with too much rain...a history of a shared land...maybe I'm a first person as well...I wouldn't know I feel tears that must be it, someone in my family history is a bastard way back...we could find out, there's the ancestry thing going on I could find out...I think they buried it well though, I may never know...I shouldn't go on about that, my father is six years in the grave and never spoke of it just like Grandpa Hummel would never talk about being at the gates of Belsen Belsen when the US Army opened 'er up...and he never did...would I?  would I speak about this really strong pulse of heart, just like my wholel left side where the heart is...bigger stronger, man the type bounces big and small...hehe...going on and on...that's the one...but when you get him up close and inspect his pores, are they going to please you...you get up close and you're like eyuwww, that's the guy?  and you know if you don't spell it out, seek it out, you're going to do like I did, and go home and cry your eyes out because

you didn't...