Oh you glorious, devilish sun. You came out on Thursday and took from me the will to blog.

You looked at me straight in the face and said, “Donkey Pegasus, this life isn’t just about work. It’s not all about bearing your sole through your blog or trying to save face with Binkus. It’s not all about what you’re missing out there on the road with Vook and Pepé. It’s about lying back in the park and letting me warm your furry face. It’s about observing mama birds coaching their young on the fine points of flying. This life, it’s about resting atop a bit of soft green grass to spy two black butterflies playing the game of chase until they too tire, and rest silent on a calla lily.”

That’s what the sun said to me on Thursday about 2pm, so I obeyed and haven’t touched the computer since. Because if I am not obedient to the sun then it must mean that I am a slave to the moon. Okay, that’s not true. Actually, that’s just silly and retardedly dramatic. Yes retardedly’s a word and if it isn’t, then I shall make it my personal mission to make it so.

I am giddy, can you tell? Can you detect that spring has reached me? Touched me deep down where only the humble season of the earth can touch a donkey? At his core. Or maybe… oh, I don’t know… just maybe it has something to do about love.

Lisa.

L is for the way you look at me.
I is for the ingrown hairs on me.
S is very very sentimentalirary.
A is even better than a fresh and juicy red bell pepper.

Love, is all that I can give to you…

Nat King Cole? Ever heard of the love minstrel? Well anyway. Don’t tell Lisa, but it was on Thursday, on that very patch of green grass that Madame Solar commanded me to rest upon that I realized, in my tranquil hazy dozing sleepiness that Yes! I surrender! Take my truth and play it on a harp! I carry my torch for Lisa. She who brings me coffee. She who counsels me after a nasty Binkus episode. That blond buxom beauty who likes to watch Desperate Housewives and puts three sugar packets in her coffee along with about a half cup of cream. The one who wants grilled cheese sandwiches and french fries, not a nicoise salad with extra rare ahi or a complicated crepe, every time I buy her lunch for a job well done. This simple ballerina from Bakersfield. This keeper of the cupeth of my love. LISA. Pretty huh? Say it with me. L i s a.

I’m thinking of asking her out on a date. Like a real gentlemen. I may not look like a hunky pool boy but at least my love is true.