22nd
4 8 15 16 23 42
You may be saying, “who? wha? Sonuva…” but no. I don’t know any more than you do what these numbers mean. They magically and mysteriously appeared in my inbox recently, as the subject heading of an email. The body simply read: “Best, Walt.” Weirdly enough, the email was from some guy named Joel. Maybe spam. Whatever. I have decided that like all mysterious opportunities the universe presents, it is a window to the future. A window to opportunity. A window to a door to something else. So I have decided to perform what is perhaps the world’s first live blog number meditation. Enjoy.
4 score and seventy years ago. So. Sew. A needle pulling thread. Lead. Like in a pencil, not that rhymes with seed. Need. Feed. Feed the need. Read.
8 great Crazy Eights. Poker. Texas Hold Em. Mold Em. Scold em. Fold em. Laundry. Clothes line. Joe’s fine. Oh, Joe? He’s fine. Good old Joe. Joe Schmo. Whoa. Wha. Ha. Ma. Mama. Mamama.
15 The age at which I got my braces taken off. Not the age that I would have my first kiss. Came much later. Came much greater. Made much better. Butter. Can’t believe it’s not butter. But, her? No, him. Buthim. Buttim. A fat-free butter replacement.
16 Candles. Bandles. Bandy about town. Mouse. House.
23 Twenty three. Funny me. Willy nee. Will he be. Will he be? Willy nilly me. Sheesh. Weesh.
42 My dad’s age. He wears wifebeaters. Not really. But he should. Cause he’s topless sometimes and that’s disturbing. White curly chest hair and old man nipple burns my eyes. Flies. Like him. Bike for him.
love,
BJ
p.s. On my way to the lotto - hit me up gmail style and I’ll re back via ip (that’s lingo for iphone).