By Joel Pelegrina
I take shelter in syntax shacks designed to withstand attacks from all would-be blowhards hell bent on finding kinks and cracks in the facade of my wall of plaques.
I take an ax and split the difference between the right and wrong side of the tracks, whites and blacks, nicks and knacks, and all the unforeseen twists and turns of plot my unfinished story lacks.
Undiminished by flacks wielding errant facts and no longer yielding to hot messes with porcupine tresses fielding multiple offers from various cooling racks in order to spool confessions like threads hanging from frayed edges and freedom snatched from strings attached, I latch on to every patch of Truffala Tree surrounding me in the form of kindred spirit and mon ami(e).
I am a mad loot maca root parachute offshoot often left to execute free-falls flawlessly.
Descending so lawlessly (sky-blue homily) as walking boots talking ’bout adventures keep calling me asking me hopefully to interact honestly and telling me hurriedly that off they’ll be hauling me as soon as I and Impact declare our love (solemnly).
Now more grounded, brand new colony neophyte novelty hasn’t worn off unlike the wool over my eyes shorn off the Lamb of Odd time-frames, -lapses, and -signatures keeping my synapses firing like salutes to those now skyward who came before with more than just by-words and waning tidal residuals along my emerald shore.
With plenty left in store, I am a chain-link roller rink one-man think-tank bank loan microphone seed sown end zone justifying means with mind blown from communal words and tummy full from edible greens.
My favorite pastime is to create colorful cut-scenes lying in wait from a spate of vivid day—and night—dream rhyme scheme sentence structures trying to plate formerly tarnished rates of productivity with accompanying asides marked with a dollop of self-confident meringue varnish served with a garnish of left-brain folly and right-mind when it collides like a trolley with the facade of my not-so-tanned hides.
Like amusement park rides, this is drum-accompanying dim sum carting you off to the intersection of numbness and exhilaration, where oncoming revelation has you contemplating Universal Oneness and finally bypassing all your off-ramp overdoneness and unironic self-deprecation.
With no hesitation we should more often than not get caught up in the elation that ensues when self-confidence imbues all our random thoughts during bouts of self-examination with the correlation between floral hues of selfless acts and fine-tuning our calibration.
Joel Pelegrina, once enamored with the itinerant life of the wayfarer, now finds himself most at home when wiling away the hours whittling driftwood words into wondrous shapes both exotic and known. Each handcrafted piece is lovingly made, carved with an array of ancient implements equal parts archaic and modern, with methods both traditional and avant-garde. Needless to say, it is not for the flea market or occasional arts & crafts fair for which these relics are made, although in such company they would most perfectly reside; no, these artifacts and totems are meant for more personal locales, in the lofty residences of all those of open mind and gypsy soul, perhaps best placed on the mantels of all the inner sanctums in which we find the most solace.
Editor: Dana Gornall
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