Cervantes Was Wrong About Everything

Here's an adecedarian I wrote the other day.

About what I said before about the
Breakneck speed of my all white, exploding,
Catastrophic, glorious hunk of metal. She’s my
Dulcinea, or was it Rocinante that he rode all night,
Ever-questing across the deserts, upon his
Fair steed? Regardless she’s got the horsepower, the
Giddy up, of a thousand stallions, especially when I
Hit the gas, step on it, kick my spurs into the floorboards.
It impresses people when they hear her bellow from the
Jet streams of tar and soot of her hindquarters, the
K&N air recycler pushing us across the plains of
La Mancha, across town to the next party, the
Mandatory fiesta of the week. Chivalry is
Not dead. My roommates came home with an
Ordinary new girl every night, spending the
Pleasant evenings locked away. I’m the Don
Quijote of this great place, taught to me by the many
Romantic movies I watch, I learn the pick-up moves, the
Smooth talk that all the pretty plastic chicas swoon for.
Tomorrow I’m trying on some new armor that
Undoubtedly will help me get a better transaction
Verifying, castle storming, 401K stock option,
Windmill chasing career they sent me a
Xeroxed copy about. I just hope I’m not too over-
Zealous about the whole thing.

Dwelling

I've been absent from this blog for quite some time now. When I realized it was finally November, I thought it would be a good idea to get on here and throw down with everything. It's getting nice and chilly outside. The fireplace in my house has been burning lately. We've gathered some wood from the forest and stacked it on our porch. Some nights I sit and read by the fire. Other nights I sleep next to it trying to stay warm. Then I just stare at somedays. I heard that the reason fires are so engaging to us, is that they engage 4 out of our 5 senses. Everything but taste. I don't have much else to say at this point. Everything is rad though. I wrote a poem the other day. This is it. Its about ugly, poorly built buildings. I don't really write poetry but here it is.

I drive at night along the black new streets.
My eyes see things the darkness cannot hide.
The droves of spacious lofts how soon applied,
destroy my land (my place) yet still complete
the function that all housing needs to serve:
to make a place for families to stay warm.
But often these monstrosities perform
a darker function that we don’t deserve.
They steal the life from children and from men
The end of time has started once again.