8 20 2015 | life ∞ love | chapter 67 — as never before

8
20
2015

life ∞ love

chapter 67 — as never before

———

———

“Coming together is a beginning; keeping together is progress; working together is success.”

Henry Ford

———

as never before
saga continues
w/ an ultimatum of self
faced
fathomed
function’d unto some mantra of accordance
to be featured
via story
here/now
coming together

see babe,,,
(sigh)
been daytrippin’
(nighttrippin’ too)
nah
not how you’re thinkin’
but def
str8 
slipping
round the clock
from beta-version test-script
o
high-flying standards
i’ve
(unwittingly?)
(unskillfully?)
(prematurely?)
precisely
set for self
& successfully
smash-hitt’d
into my face
like cream-puff pie that gone pow
(sound effects:)
‘y-owch’
/
'yum’

quite glum because of it

good news b
work 2 do
& since no having cake'n'mackin’ too,
losing the turkish D.
line drawn
drawing guns
& already being
back 2 back
w/ the doppelganger foe
that been cliffhanging my soul,
bout time
to rep my stand
pace
face-off
spin rounds that fire
true
in a
once and for all
kinda way
(4 some reason
seeing more clearly continuous-like now
& into the 'how come’
that ever-since
been behind the fall —

1. quest for self-perfection (aka denying fabric of finely balanced life)
2. fissures in the levy add up (self-esteem = fragile thing til suddenly CRUSH’D (stomp’d gusher b i))
3. general life ∞ love confusion spun-out beyond control (direct result of street-living as the Wild Things do? perhaps boo)

any-hoo
suddenly appears to me
all 3
quite simply,
the result
of
mind heart spirit, unaligned —
a moral dilemma
to crack
skillet
school like skrillex
(anon, too)
(tom. soon)
til then
working @ hyperloop-swinging 
a tight confine —

about 2 open  to u



blondyn



blondyn.com
2015
CC

6 4 2015 - Chapter 17 - Training Harder Makes Us Stronger

6
4
2015

CHAPTER 17

Training Harder Makes Us Stronger

———

The measure of who we are is what we do with what we have.

—Vince Lombardi

———

boots—laced.
socks—yanked.
calves, thighs, quads—
stretched in haste—
then
stretched.

afternoon was at large
but sunshine on this day
kept burning bright and hot.

day for a picnic, he thought, and figured he ought go.

but o…
traffic…
everywhere…
always…
2 mph gridlock…
ny city landscape…

rushhour’d arrived early.
with only those imaginary bike lanes
open wide.
the bikers were there
but got out the way
as soon as the horse drawn chariot
clip-clopped up the center spot.

afterall,
horses had no chance
to wait on city traffic.
had whips on their hides.
nickels and dimes of time at stake.
+
those drivers got their kicks
passing bus
by maserati,
taxi after taxi,
magically—
the young son aboard the chariot lights up—

“Father!”

as open-mouth pointing on blondyn—
sprinting traffic—
froggerin’ in + out
(swift regardin’)
leaving n'even Shadow Ego a chance to catch darkness on the quick of the kid’s step—
just how blondyn got round.

kid was committed
opted for thorough training.
iron’d creases
day in + out
and time to time,
flew handlebars.
knew what ground tasted like.
didn’t like it one bit.
and to keep far from
kept going.

he was swinging stride on the River Path
that ran towards the waterfront park
as conversation carried on in the Chariot yonder back—

“Where’s he going?” asked Son,
“Jus’ Free,” said Pops,
“But what’s he after?” asked Son,
“Mostly Destiny,” said Pops,
“And what’s he rocking?” asked Son,
“Whole Lotta Love,” said Pops, “As well some other things…”

at present
was a podcast—
Greek / Roman Mythology.

blondyn’d been capital obsessing
ever since he’d flipped switch on the track—
https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/myths-history-greece-rome/id595090853?mt=2

episode he was learning on was featuring Heracles—

Son of Zeus.
Born of Mortal.
Trained, learned, raised into a Raw Fate—
Order to complete

10
Impossible
Heraclean Labours

AKA
monstrous challenges
for command / conquering,
all on his own and without getting paid.

the Labours permeated the marrow of his life story.
Heracles did all 10 and then 2 more like no big thing.
and to crown his legacy, he founded the Olympic Games in honor of Father Zeus…

cat was Critical Mass

thought blondyn,

suddenly—

chopping.
sounding—
rising from helicopter pad,
nearly half-mile up.

blondyn caught on the volume—
up’d the pace higher—
higher yet—
next moment
was flying out camera phone via—

click—!

snap—!

flash—!

landing
from airborne photoshoot,
he jogged in park,
napped spot,
took stock
in product
of iPhone Rounds
fired / captured.

  

“so make like Plato & get the story.”

he swung pack,
pulled shop,
type-type-typed on grassy hilltop.

blondyn

CC
2015
blondyn.com

#inspire  
#dream  
#creation

5 29 2015 - Chapter 11 - Driven

5
29
2015

Chapter 11

Driven

out the Whole Foods…
a character…
fired!

“ ‘oly smoke. ”

-onlooker

he said it
upon getting hit wit a carrot
that blew out the bag blondyn was holding on the run.

“kid jus’ rip that stash?”

-passerby

she said it
upon seeing the way
blondyn juked
the pedestrians, traffic, construction zone
before swinging the corner without trace.

“yip!”

-poodle

come now, poodle, thought blondyn.
ought know by now
city streets no place for fluff.
but there was plenty to go 'round,
anyhow.
that’s one reason the kid aimed his game
on running a razor fine line
to cut through it—
straight to it—
hauling heel to toe 'n hard
for the CopyDesk
where blondyn was scheduled to promptly set to work.

yep.
youth scoot like top-gun
on a crusade to save mankind
&
pressed for overtime,
but what was it all about?

well.
somewhere long the way,
blondyn saw Writing
like a fortune 500 figure
saw Enterprise,
which given certain considerations,
(financial,social,self-esteemical)
had whisked blondyn in peculiar situations
(financially,socially,self-esteemically)
some of which—
he’d finally decided—
made for copy
worthy of writing.

seeing as writing required the kid
to be in for the ride—
and since the story of his day by day
was the only story he could sincerely own/align—
blondyn finally had come to terms
with taking a feature role in the show.

o mama.

he promised the ego was Grade A Okay
+
Lean-Tame Certified.
just time to try something new.
that make it any less a crime?
in this day and age,
probs no.
but in Skyscraper Metropolis,
waking up entailed friction
somewhere 'long the line…
and freestyle rhymin’ could be such a chimin’ thing.
given that realism,
flash journalism—
social media novel—
narrative reflection/refraction
on the life + times.

but honestly why?
how come?
what’s it all about anyways?

above all things,
blondyn’s ultimate dream
be to awake each day
to that compelling future—
some way by which
to commit his essence
to a fraction of

The AEternal

via a sense of mission—
belonging—
a duty to confide in
via gravity to explore,
interact with,
and derive some depth of value to deliver
and potentially
set another free…

couldn’t find it between 9-5,
nor in the restaurants,
beauty salons,
or the other 'odd-jobs’ he’d worked
in those yonder past askance moments of the hustle

all the while
he’d been chasing after
that purpose
to lasso the whole life + love of him
and pivot upon his routine existence.
daily bread to extend beyond.
to think it dawned upon him in sleep
that high-speed literature
was the place he had to be—
it was the whole reason
that blondyn was wheeling to the CopyDesk
like a gazelle with a cheetah hot on his prance.

skrrrt!!!

rrrt!!

rrt!

rt.

-Red Wing Boots, upon slamming brakes on street

he stepped out the smoke,
black tar, clinging on his step,
as he approached the building.

“well look at that,” he said. “Gotham West Market.”

yep.
the CopyDesk.
yep.
time to get to work.
yep.

blondyn

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2015
www.blondyn.com