Sky high days

You know those days where the sky is an impossible shade of blue and you feel like you could float up into the stratosphere? When every leaf is perfectly green, every ripple on the dappled river holds boundless promise, and the smile of a child causes joy instead of paroxysms of guilt? When you start to consider that God might just possibly exist?

Today was not one of those days. Today the sky was clouded over, it was sticky and humid, and there was a pall of sickly yellow-gray discoloring the world. Today the river wallowed stagnant, and the leaves were curling over. Today is not one of those perfect days. Today is a day of hope. Hoping the seeds sown today make tomorrow into that perfect day.

A child smiled at me today and patted my dogs.

I like the pretty lights

My resolution for the coming week: Stop fucking whining and Choose Life [tm] you idiot.

I also will be attempting to repair a fractured relationship.

Rockin'.

The fourth dimension

Time.

Where does it go?

Hellooooooo Time, come back to me!

I resent sleeping, because it is a waste of precious Time that could be spent… doing what? I am an unemployed bum. I have vast tracts of pristine Time available for me to squeeze the delicious juice from every moment and sup on the Cup of Life. So… where'd it go?

Let's see… today I washed my hair. And that must have taken about 6 hours. So the rest of the day must be accounted for by the load of laundry that I did (1 bed sheet and 2 bath towels). *scratching head*

Also, according to this site, I am 30% gay.

On the upside, I think I have the twiddly bits for Snow right.

Biography obsession

I may appear, to the naked eye, to be obsessed with rock star autobiographies at the moment. Recently I read Marilyn Manson's the long hard road out of hell.  While I am not tremendously impressed with his music, the persona and the message are interesting. Most interesting was the discovery that he thinks the same way I do. Well, about certain things anyways.

"Doing a drug is okay, but needing a drug isn't… Drugs weren't the root of the problem, they were a symptom."

"He had nailed himself into the all-American coffin: he'd gone to college, gotten his girlfriend pregnant, and now he was going to marry her and be miserable or, worse still, content… all I could think was that I didn't want to grow up and have to tolerate this life that everyone thinks they're supposed to live… There had to be something else."

There has to be something else. There has to. There is no worse fate, to me, than mediocrity. To simply be content with mundane existence. Wake, eat, work, sleep, rinse and repeat. Day after day after day. Is that sufficient reason to be in this world? THERE HAS TO BE SOMETHING ELSE. And maybe there was. Maybe I was supposed to have all those moments with my son to cherish. But I threw that away. So maybe I look for it in a syringe. Maybe that is the root of the problem. The interminable emptiness. The vast expanse of nothingness and futility that I inhabit. Or maybe it is just another excuse.

So. Incredibly. Fucking. Trapped.

Smiling with the mouth of the ocean

A rainy Lithuanian
Who's dancing as an Indian
Painted in my tiger skin
(Especially in Michigan)

Red Hot Chili Peppers – Especially in Michigan

And he claims to be sober…

I hate you Hallmark

A fetid pox on Hallmark for these stinking, evil holidays which end up wracked with guilt and disappointment for so many.

I know I have always said I would rather be ignored on this day – Fathers' Day. But not this year. This year I was hoping for some sign that I am forgiven, that I am not ousted from the Circle of Trust [tm]. And this is the one year where there has been absolutely no acknowledgement.

I guess I have my answer.

I aren’t dead

Leastways I think that is the quote from Granny Weatherwax. I need to re-read some Pratchett.