Coyote Gray Sr

If you squint at the calendar with the same dread you reserve for a colonoscopy reminder or an IRS audit, you’ll notice one cursed Thursday in November when the entire country agrees on a single plan, drag home a refrigerated zombie turkey the size of a toddler, violate its body cavity with bread cubes and whatever’s wilting in the crisper, then shove the whole crime scene into an oven that still bears the burn scars from last year’s experimental lasagna.
These are the same people whose regular cooking rotation is microwave something until it achieves sentience or catches fire, whichever comes first. Yet on this day, they strut around like Gordon Ramsay after three Red Bulls, Googling terms like ‘spatchcock’ and ‘herbaceous’ while convinced they’ve unlocked the secrets of the ancients. They debate brining versus dry rubbing with the intensity of Supreme Court justices deciding the fate of democracy. They baste like their life depends on it, which it kind of does because nobody wants to be the one who serves salmonella with a side of family lore.
The kitchen becomes a war zone of giblets and regret. Smoke alarms scream the national anthem. Someone always yells, “ It’s supposed to look like that!” while waving a meat thermometer like a white flag. And after four hours of chaos that could power a small Netflix documentary, they emerge triumphant, carrying a bird that looks like it lost a cage match with a blowtorch, skin crisp enough to slice bread inside, still auditioning for a role in a Tarantino film.
They set this charred monument to hubris on the table, carve it with the solemnity of a druid sacrificing to the gravy gods, and dare anyone to complain. Because deep down, every American knows the real Thanksgiving tradition isn’t gratitude; it’s collective delusion that this year, this year, we’re all secretly five star chefs who just haven’t bothered until now.
And somehow, against all evidence, logic, and fire department statistics, we keep doing it. Proof that hope is less a virtue than a chronic condition with no known cure.
Coyote Gray Sr.

7 months ago | [YT] | 1

Coyote Gray Sr

"Talent hits a target no one else can hit; genius hits a target no one else can see."
Arthur Schopenhauer

9 months ago | [YT] | 2

Coyote Gray Sr

On this centennial mark, B.B. King, blues master gone too soon,
Your Lucille echoes still, bending strings under midnight’s moon.
Riffs that heal wounds, voice like velvet thunder’s call,
We raise a glass to your legacy—eternal, standing tall.

9 months ago | [YT] | 2

Coyote Gray Sr

“Blessed are those with low expectations, for they will be seldom disappointed.”

9 months ago | [YT] | 2

Coyote Gray Sr

Form your own discerning opinions of the world by engaging in genuine conversations with others. The media amasses immense wealth by sowing discord among people.
Every media outlet inherently has a bias, driven by the agendas of a select few. Step beyond its influence: immerse yourself in the world and silence the incessant flow of media.
Allow your conclusions to emerge from personal insight, firmly rooted in the unfiltered truth of reality.

9 months ago | [YT] | 1

Coyote Gray Sr

Morning glories I took this morning. They genuinely displayed that color.

9 months ago | [YT] | 5

Coyote Gray Sr

A word exists, where shadows play,
Its whispered edge eludes the day.
With daring pluck, it breaks the hush,
A fervent buck against the crush.
No silken phrase can match its might,
Nor starched decorum dim its light.
It leaps, a spark from heart’s own core,
To shake the soul and beg for more.
Though etiquette may feign disdain,
Its honest truck outstrips the vain.
In moments stark, when passions stew,
Sometimes that’s the only word that will do.
With subtle luck, it weaves its art,
A rebel’s grace, a poet’s heart.
This tease, this term, so deftly spun,
Bears truth’s own weight, yet binds to none.

9 months ago | [YT] | 2

Coyote Gray Sr

The bad thing about streamed music is it doesn't know that Waiting for the Bus and Jesus Just Left Chicago go together and sound very odd separately.

10 months ago | [YT] | 1

Coyote Gray Sr

One glaring badge of the pathetic city slicker is that deranged obsession with torching the night sky in a blaze of artificial glory, desperately barricading against imaginary horrors—be they slimy bogeymen slithering from the sewers or rabid bears rampaging through your fevered delusions.
Whatever wretched phantom claws at your spineless soul, may it rip you apart limb by quivering limb—and may your worthless spawn finally evolve the basic instinct to let the countryside’s blessed blackness swallow them whole, without your cowardly glow polluting the peace.

10 months ago | [YT] | 1

Coyote Gray Sr

Blue Front Bar

10 months ago | [YT] | 5