Back to (ab)Normal
That was a close one.
I was very near to the point where I thought I had my emotional house neatly MerryMaided -- not just tidied but entirely liftanddustunderitedand. I was beginning to feel the world settle back into an albeit new but tolerable equilibrium. And it was...
well...
boring.
Nothing like a good vehicularstress enima and a gallon or two of internet delivered incendiary love juice to stoke the furnace of my covetousness. I try like (hell?) to be a good man, but the more I do I realize that deep down I'm not that concerned with actually being one. At least in the sense that has been foisted upon me over the years.
When it comes to getting myself together, I think I prefer being strewn all over the place.
I feel like one of those woden cubes that come apart in pieces. You start as a cube and you spend all this time trying to get your pieces back into the shape they started in, simply because that was how you started and maybe because some piece of paper told you that that was the goal. By now all I have is a memory of what that first shape I was and very real and familiar pieces of myself tumbling together in my hands and no matter how I try they never make it back together...
I suppose I could go online and find a cheat page...
or not.
segue
I'm so in love with Jet. They sound like 1973 when I was 10 and you knew it was rock and roll when it came with long hair and denim and leather and rolled out of a Chevy van with that weird sweet smokey smell and it was so loud it hurt and made you want to puke and you heard it with every piece of your body and it scared the living shit out of you because it was gonna send you straight to hell but you loved it anyway.
Hopefully they, along with Jack and Meg et al. will save us from the 80's hair band nostalgia thing that is in the pipeline, because if that happens I'm gonna find an automatic weapon and a tower and start shooting. I'm serious. I'm a man on the edge.
I was very near to the point where I thought I had my emotional house neatly MerryMaided -- not just tidied but entirely liftanddustunderitedand. I was beginning to feel the world settle back into an albeit new but tolerable equilibrium. And it was...
well...
boring.
Nothing like a good vehicularstress enima and a gallon or two of internet delivered incendiary love juice to stoke the furnace of my covetousness. I try like (hell?) to be a good man, but the more I do I realize that deep down I'm not that concerned with actually being one. At least in the sense that has been foisted upon me over the years.
When it comes to getting myself together, I think I prefer being strewn all over the place.
I feel like one of those woden cubes that come apart in pieces. You start as a cube and you spend all this time trying to get your pieces back into the shape they started in, simply because that was how you started and maybe because some piece of paper told you that that was the goal. By now all I have is a memory of what that first shape I was and very real and familiar pieces of myself tumbling together in my hands and no matter how I try they never make it back together...
I suppose I could go online and find a cheat page...
or not.
segue
I'm so in love with Jet. They sound like 1973 when I was 10 and you knew it was rock and roll when it came with long hair and denim and leather and rolled out of a Chevy van with that weird sweet smokey smell and it was so loud it hurt and made you want to puke and you heard it with every piece of your body and it scared the living shit out of you because it was gonna send you straight to hell but you loved it anyway.
Hopefully they, along with Jack and Meg et al. will save us from the 80's hair band nostalgia thing that is in the pipeline, because if that happens I'm gonna find an automatic weapon and a tower and start shooting. I'm serious. I'm a man on the edge.