It doesn't matter what's my name.
I don't seek fame.
Eye seek your lobe.
May I probe
your brain? Penny
for your thoughts? Any
way you'd let me in?
I could show you then.
Let's combine our synapses, our souls, our beauty.
Let's bring this planet up or down, it's our duty.
But, we can only be one.
Either way, we'll have won.
You're probably reading this thinking,
"Omg, what is this guy all about?"
But, I'm sure some of this is sinking.
Because both our lives have reached a drought.
Not the kind that involves water, mind you.
Not the kind that makes your crops shrivel.
The sort that regards groups of two.
That want to be enlightened in the world's drivel.
Enlightened in a clicky sort of way.
The way fingers fit in between each other.
Like the colorful leaves on an autumn day.
Fall from the same branch, and lay on top one another.
So, before you go off, seeking more.
Know, that I know that you're here for the same reason.
You're looking for a word, like adore, or paramour.
The one that stands true regardless of the season.
The glory is all used up, use what's left...
Hey, you, you're still here? I'm glad, because you're beautiful, digital face overwhelms me with joy and memory. The glory, it's been used, it has holes and there's plenty of new ones sitting on the shelf. But, I'm not ready to open those packages.
Look, I remember the smiling faces, the aspirations, and the hopes and dreams. They rest with you.
What takes place when the glory is used up? Glory: an adolescent thing by nature.
Duty? Maybe?
Mr. J., I'm gonna let you in. I was let go from my job. But, it was probably the best thing that has ever happened to me. Because I relinquished, and then the old me came back and embraced me. And it wasn't glory I felt, but possibly...duty.
I'll let you decide. You mull it over.
Yeah, I know, you can't stay long. For now, bonne soir monsieur, vous et l'amore de la mon vie. Parce que, vous exitez.
To the memory of the smiles of the people who meant the most to me but didn't know it. To Vivers and Teresa, my goddesses. To the infant brother I helped raise. To the twenty year old me that you've chronicled and frozen in time so well. The wings are burned, but I have my legs.
i am guilty of using who instead of whom often, but not inappropriately using whom. i mostly use it when it's following a preposition. but still. do it for the bourbon. do it for the moustaches.
fucking tots
1 bag of frozen tater tots
1/2 onion diced
3 cloves minced garlic
1 can large black olives, pitted, strained, and diced
2 tbsp. basil pesto
cayenne pepper to taste
1 fuckload (but not too much) butter
lightly saute everything but the tots. veggies should not be completely cooked, just softened.
toss sauteed mixture with frozen tots in large mixing bowl.
evenly distribute in a casserole dish (metal works better than glass). cover with tin foil.
bake for 30 mins at 425. uncover. bake an additional 15 mins (or until desired crustification is achieved)
don't burn your mouth, and devour indiscriminately.
welp. we're here. i was pretty excited on the drive out. there was some drama the night we were supposed to get here, which delayed our arrival until yesterday, so we spent the night in reno. it also put me in a less pleasant space than what i probably should be in. but, it was worked out (ish), so i just need to get over it.
then this morning, mom called to tell me that uncle pete died. i wasn't nearly as close to him as bruce was, but it's still a shock. yet another reminder that none of us are here forever, and something rather opposite a boon to my emotional state. there's still so much in the air. i can't stop trying, that will be the end of it. so i will keep trying. because i have to. but it just doesn't have that thrill of adventure that i was hoping for. it's just a constant oscillation between being awestruck by the fact that i'm here (and here is absolutely amazing, by the way), and mortified that i've made a terrible, terrible mistake.
so, it's great that i'm alone and i'm here and it's super neat. and it's awful at the same time.
i don't know. just keep trucking. that's the main thing.
::
2013 26 April :: 12.21am
:: Mood: the usual
:: Music: David Bowie - The Next Day
Auschwitz, this one's for you
i don't even know if you bother to read this shit.
hell, i don't even know you bother to do this shit. so, i obviously am not reading yours. so, no. odds are good you won't be reading this.
but, nonetheless, this comic made me think of you. and i hope it helps. i'm somewhat afraid to encroach upon some of the touchy, weight-related subjects. but this seemed important.
WE have body issues. societal cultures and norms and gender constructs, in addition to inferiority complexes and mental and physical shortcomings and inabilities. but we are all people. and people need to get better at being a society that thrives on support of one another as opposed to condemnation of those that are, well, not us.
(my post about modern medicine and society's struggle with death is closely related, but for a later time.)
