Without A Care

I am the Lonesome Cowboy. I did not see you, I do not see you, I shall not see you. I am always alone, slowly drifting from high plains to low valleys, crossing ranges, humming quietly to the sky, forever floating along, entirely without hearth or home, lacking all essential amenities, solitary. And good night to you then.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, sitting quietly and contentedly 'neath the overhang of an immense boulder, waiting for the night air to bring me a whiff of the scent of whatever it deems most interesting this evening, if any scent at all. So be it. My life is but an interlude, a wait, a short time spent learning whatever lessons may shuffle along my way. Peace, then. Peace to you and to the world, and may you take the other trail, your own trail, so that we may never need to face one another in that distressing way that silent, passing strangers always awkwardly do.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy. I eat all the cookies in the bag without a care in the world, or a pal to share them with. And who could really ask for more?

I am the Lonesome Cowboy. Some call me Ed. Others never call. Usually them. Those. The ones who never call. Maybe if I got a phone...but no. Not I.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy. You do not know me, nor I you, and so it is likely to remain. Be well. Do not seek me out, for I am not there, nor shall I ever be there again.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy. You know me, you have seen me, but did not realize that fact. And were I to appear immediately, in front of your eyes, your face, your self, you would neither recognize nor even see me, such as I am, indistinct, indirect, incomplete, for that is my nature.

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? I don't ever care.

Sitting

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, sitting in the shade under a bending bush, sheltered from the soft shine of the stationary moon, counting, one by one the pleasant rounded contours of the members in my pebble collection, all anonymous for the present, though soon to have names, each and every one, my quiet little companions.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, the one, the onliest, the most lonesomest. But I am in no record books. My name, such as it is, appears in no lists and has no rank in any register. My visage continues unrecognized and has never been captured by any photo-graphic apparatus. In other words then, I am every man, and by extension, also everyone, and everything, and remain aloof and free and untethered. The end.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy. Boots, jeans, flannel shirt, blanket, saddle, pillow — all I own any more. Passing time next to my horse, I occasionally toot my tiny tootle flute. What else can one do? And is not this enough?

I am the Lonesome Cowboy. You have never heard of me, and never you shall, for I am but a ghost, a phantom, the shade of a shadow — just me and my tooty flute, Annette, who I lovingly massage with my finger tips and invigorate with my warm breath to pass the long, long, lonely nights.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy. Who? you may ask. No one, I may reply. For such it is. Such is my life. So is my soul. No one. Not one, not many, not who or why or when or what you may think, or casually assume. For I am the one, the only, only one Lonesome Cowboy, here alone, not one of may, not much on my own. Just here, just now, and so soon gone. Farewell, then, and may you at the end at least be well.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy. You may have heard of me, but not likely. You may have seen me, but without noticing. You may have heard me, without listening. I may have passed by, entirely anonymously, no more than a faded, silent shadow.

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
And me? Who?

Read, Redd, Redded

Pat and Trite, the Obvious sisters, have opened a shop selling used notions. Sales have been a bit slow but are expected to increase once people start remembering what they have forgotten, like "Life, liberty, and the well-regulated pursuit of happiness while carrying firearms", or "A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, but remember that a bird in the bush can't poop on your hand", or "A stitch in time saves nine, or more if there are runners on base, and anyway, three strikes and you're out, so maybe you want to be sure about what you're getting yourself into". They can also remove stubborn stains from T-shirts and some other laundry, in cases of messy eating, through the application of healing touch and prayer. Just ask.

Pat and Trite, the Obvious sisters, will soon have a book out, published by Somnolent Press: "Tidings To Nap By", subtitled "Regular stuff is good enough", sub-sub titled "Ordinary thoughts of ordinary people to help get you through most of the day unless it's 'One of those days, you know?'", which they'll cover in their YouTube series. Curious? Want to know more? Here's a sample: "If baked potatoes just don't seem to be working, it's not them, it's you. You need to add both butter and a little salt." Or: "Night is a good time to sleep, so you don't end up feeling tired the next day when things are actually happening, and anyway you get bored just sitting up in the dark, alone, with nothing to do but yawn." Order now, order often, don't think so much — they've done it for you.

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? I shouldn't, I can't, I won't.

So, Obviously

Pat and Trite, the Obvious sisters, wanted to go fishing. But that meant being outdoors with bugs and mud and wind. So instead they bought a half-dozen guppies and flushed them down the toilet. Catch and release, see? No hooks, no sunburn, no mosquitoes, no stupid driving. So perfect that they might write a book about it: "Pat And Trite's Guide To The Outdoors". Life can be both so much better and so much simpler if you just think things through first. And it leaves more time for watching the Kardashians.

Pat and Trite, the Obvious sisters, decided that life would be better if it had meaning so they fired up SmarTalk AI and began asking questions. Now they are lifetime members of the One True Church of Foreverland, Inc., and can sleep in every day of the week without any obligations or questions needing to be sent to their or anyone else's conscience. As long as they stay up to date on their love offering ($15/mo or $400/yr and keep their magic prayer cloths clean and away from the dog, who just loves to chew on them. (Proof that they're the full-on genuine magic cloths.)

Pat and Trite, the Obvious sisters, formed a neighborhood watch committee to watch their neighbors, because one never can be too sure what any of those other people might be getting up to, and some of them have even been to foreign countries, even heathen foreign countries where not everyone washes their hands both before and after using the toilet, and they know which neighbors those are and will be compiling reports on their activities, in case the information is ever needed, and it surely will be, considering some of the things that have been going on out there for way too long.

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? I didn't vote for any of this.

Life Lessons Earned

Two-penny tango master and wannabe millinery hero Gleet Headrot is said to be prepping for his next speech by carefully-timed farting into a megaphone in time to the Star-Spangled Banner, a tune he wrote for the occasion. That is all.

Lady Moosebone was in town for a visit. They had a parade in her honor, and later on a barbecue in the park. (Roasted rat on a stick.) No one seemed all that hungry, but the picnic was definitely the highlight of the day, at least for those carrying cameras, and for those selling barf bags.

Lord High-Tooter Woofley has a cabin on the lake, so I hear. Never been down there myself, but have seen a few strange lights in the night, and several dump trucks hauling away used fur coats. This must mean something, one would think. I myself try not to think.

Farley Tward was a childhood friend of mine until a swarm of flies carried him off. No one but me seemed to notice. I never heard a word about him after that day, but ever since I've been a bit skittish around swarms.

Meliflua Periwinkle was my third-grade crush. She always smelled good. Really good. I couldn't keep away from her. Finally, her parents got a court order to keep me from sneaking up and trying to sniff her. They eventually had to stuff me into a crate and ship me way out into the Pacific, which is where I am now, aged 48. And I haven't seen my cat in all that time, though I still miss him. There's no one worth sniffing around here either, so I'm managing to stay out of trouble, mostly, I think, though it is hard.

Hanston Farb Slewsmont. Now there's a name for you. Used to run the local dairy. Fell into the cottage cheese vat one afternoon, so they say, and became permanently curded. I suppose that could happen, especially if no one was paying attention, so I quit eating cottage cheese about then,though I still have an occasional craving for it, as well as a few other things, which perhaps I'd best not mention here.

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Always earning, sometimes learning.

Tics

President Ronald Bump will speak on television tonight, denying the existence of air, because "Who ever saw air?" The rest of us will be out back, working on our moon tans and doing a bit of impromptu howling. Can't wait. I love howling.

I avoid politics ever since I was infested by real tics. (Can't be too careful these days.)

First & Foremost Tall Lady Melatonin Bump was lately seen doing a bit of ceremonial walking to and fro. Both to and fro alike declined any opportunity to share their thoughts, though it all seemed reminiscent of a professional figurehead warming up for the big event, so if that's a hint, then it looks like we'll be in line for a bonus anger nap later on.

Second-In-Command V.P. Dunce has been doing a bit of strutting up one side and down some other, apparently hoping to reach a perfect cadence should he ever have a chance to fill any sudden power vacuums. However, no one was paying attention, not even him. Once he stepped into that gopher hole and went down on his face, any potential crowd which might have formed to witness the grand expected event decided to stay in bed and to continue dreaming of oatmeal.

First President Forever & Emperor Of All The Eye Can See!!! Hornwald Clump, went on television again to proclaim victory over unattended sanitary landfills and unlicensed squirrels. This will help a lot, maybe even more than anyone might want it to. Or something like that. Who knows any more?

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Tokking, contrarily. Feels good too.