Reverse Cowgirl.
I've been holding back writing lately so that I can build up my words to a crescendo and make a cannonball-like splash. I figured it was about time to unravel my tongue and uncross my fingers and take the dive. This is a journey; no walk in the park. As MSI would say, "it ain't no fuck in the ass." I never got my three months of grieving time, and am now experiencing it in bits and pieces amongst this open market thrift store pile of dirty clothes and happiness. Don't get me wrong; I am happy--very happy. It's just necessary to get used to these interspersed bouts of sadness relating to the past and our equal missteps. They will disperse in time.
You weren't that grumpy this morning.
Bingo!
I've found myself starting too many projects I can't finish again. I always dig too many bones without maps and manage a head cold upon the start of my search and reconnaissance missions. I'd make a terrible Saint Bernard. (I guess that's why I chose Fitchburg High School.) I need to choose quality over quantity like I do with most aspects of my life, and finish what I start. Nobody likes a quitter. Unless we're talking about cigarettes. (Then there are still diehard smokers who will hate your guts...but that's a different angle for a different entry.)
When we're together the world is at a standstill. The Summer Solstice and March Equinox are backed up and tangled and I see both the Sun and Moon above in a mystical and nonsensical hug-like eclipse. Oceans only wave when we walk by hand in hand, and rivers become mere streams when we pour our money into their banks. What can I say that hasn't been said? We are perfect; and the feeling is mutual.
I'm sorry that my happy writing isn't as epic and falsely enigmatic, and is static and falsely stigmatic instead.
-Michael
You weren't that grumpy this morning.
Bingo!
I've found myself starting too many projects I can't finish again. I always dig too many bones without maps and manage a head cold upon the start of my search and reconnaissance missions. I'd make a terrible Saint Bernard. (I guess that's why I chose Fitchburg High School.) I need to choose quality over quantity like I do with most aspects of my life, and finish what I start. Nobody likes a quitter. Unless we're talking about cigarettes. (Then there are still diehard smokers who will hate your guts...but that's a different angle for a different entry.)
When we're together the world is at a standstill. The Summer Solstice and March Equinox are backed up and tangled and I see both the Sun and Moon above in a mystical and nonsensical hug-like eclipse. Oceans only wave when we walk by hand in hand, and rivers become mere streams when we pour our money into their banks. What can I say that hasn't been said? We are perfect; and the feeling is mutual.
I'm sorry that my happy writing isn't as epic and falsely enigmatic, and is static and falsely stigmatic instead.
-Michael