get to the top of the first one, we can then climb the second one. But we have to remember to bring the first one with us when we climb the second one so we can climb that one after we reach the top of the that one. That is how we can climb up to the moon and eat meatballs. And daddy, you are the only one I want to eat moon meatballs with. Because I love you and you love me… And we love meatballs.
Party. An odd word for it. Mostly it is like a meatball of people all mashing together and cooking in sauce. Not so much a party as it is a feast of indulgence. And never does it feel worth it when you wake the morning… or afternoon. A feast best not eaten. Better to not be a meatball in my opinion. Last night I was a part of a meatball that left me wondering who I was when I finally did wake. Not my room. Not my car out front. Yet I had keys to both. The clothes on the floor, not mine either. And, a large tattoo of an ugly spider on my calf. It burns like hell to. Where the heck did that come from and what did I do last night?
Night is when the spirits range wild. There are places where the spirits are more there then others. In those places, there are people who develop certain sensitivities to the spirits. Odd folk they are. Witch doctors, Shamans, Spirit mediums, Ghost talkers… the list goes on. They often live apart from other people in little shacks or old RVs. People bring them food. Not so much out of care and concern. More out of fear of them and what they may be capable of. Even those who claim they don’t believe in spirits and ghosts still walk quietly around these folk. To anger one is to invite disaster from a plain of existence beyond our control. One such person of powers in the spirit world had an