So this is just a therapeutic exercise in expelling as many thoughts and words as I can. There’s no rhyme, no reason, and no rules. Just words. Think of it as free form poetry, only without the coffee shop and people in scarves they don’t need cause it’s 90 degrees.
I’m on a train
Choo Choo! All aboard! That’s right, I need everyone to become a board before getting on this train. Any board you want: 2×4, particle, card, etc.
This is a board only train you guys, so don’t expect anything exciting.
Guess the problem is that I’m hollow in the head. All those damn termites.
“I’ve been on a conductor of this board train for 20 years,” a chalk board in a conductor’s hat said. “I’ve given this job everything I have: my youth; my marriage; my chalk. And what do I get in return? 3 free passes to Six Flags over Plywood…”
What are the cross ties of this train’s rails made of, you didn’t ask? They’re made of string cheese and the red plastic thingies they wrap around baloney.
Or bologna.
Or Babybel Cheese.
I’m not sure. I’m not a train builder guy. I’m just a piece of board, standing here in front of another piece of board, asking you if you want to get hammered.
I had a bad experience once when I tried to make myself into a birdhouse. I ended up getting myself all screwed up.
The problems all began in boarding school. All the other students use to call me square because my width equaled my length. I was a late bloomer.
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