You see… I have this box.

 

It is the perfect size to temporarily store some finishing supplies for this guitar I’m working on…

 

However…

 

It is infested with…

Statically Magnetized Foam Packing Peanuts

 

Holy $h1t!!! … These things are climbing up the sides in order to get out of the box… And nothing is going to stop them! The harder I knocked the box on my desk the harder they fought  to climb out and jump all over hell

 

 

 I reached in with my hand in order to scoop these little bastard out of my box and into the trash… They started climbing up my arm and jumping on my face… I was certain I would end up inhaling one and choke to death on it… I tried thowing them off directly into the plastic trash bag… Big Effin Mistake… This only enraged them and they actually started fling  around and up out of the confines of the bag jumping back out and attacking my hands…  DAMN IT!!!!  These things are as relentless as they are ubiquitous!!!!

 

 

I tossed the whole wild swarm out on the carpet… You Can’t Get These Freakin’ Things Off  Ya’ !!!

 

 

My wife and oldest daughter heard me screaming and came to my aid.  It seems by virtue of having not so hairy hands and arms, they were able to wrangle the Peanuts from Hell into the bag then went about snagging the tiny little ones that had strayed to the walls with some inside-out packing tape… And I finally got my box.

 

 

… The box turned out to be just a tad too small though.

 

SIDE NOTE:

Playing Your Cards Face Up

For most of my life I kept things “very close to the vest” and all anyone could see was the pretty designs on the backside of my “hand” … Pretty much all anyone wants to be seen.

For some reason, and I don’t know why, playing my hand like this like to about killed me in pretty short order… Only took about 26 years for it to become nearly fatal.

Even from that point at 26 years old I continued to play it pretty close to the vest, that fast violent death from a critical condition became a slow chronic death of attrition.

If this makes any sense to you, you might be my brother.

…

I was raised by people that I simply did not understand and was left with unshakable impression the didn’t understand me… I couldn’t make sense out of anything any of them said or did because what they seemed to be saying was never what they did.

If you can relate to this, you might be my brother.

…

I went on from there to be surrounded by unintelligible and indecipherable people… Many of whom called me their “friend” but being around them only made me feel more alone… As a matter of fact the more people that called me friend, the more alone I felt.

If this sounds familiar to you, we just might be brothers.

…

I stand up in here and and just splatter the craziest shit about what’s going on, what I’m thinking and I’ve even divulged some of my darkest secrets…Or at least things a sane person would keep a secret.

And I’m sure many… No, most of you that hear me are thinking:

“What in the hell is up with this headcase now?”

Well… I’m not talking to you.

I’m talking to my brothers that are scattered so far and wide this is the only way I can find them.