I Return Broken Merchandise
Thoughts on Eleanor Rigby: bit the first.
When I was a kid, I thought Eleanor Rigby was about the zombie apocalypse. Not a little kid (I didn't really even understand what a zombie was until I was fourteen and Shawn of the Dead rocked my romantic comedy landscape), but a kid nonetheless. It was mostly because of the Father Mackenzie lyric - when he goes down to bury poor Eleanor and nobody comes... he buries her himself and wipes the dirt from his hands as he walks from her grave.
Only I thought it said 'his grave'. And then, if you know your Beatles, you of course know that the next line is 'no one was saved'. I ask you, is it such a stretch to imagine that the whole song is just about one big brain-craving amorphous mass? No. No it is not.
I find it really difficult to blog about recent happenings in my life. Stuff from when I was little - anecdotes and little imagined scenarios - are fine, but whenever the writing edges up to the present it tends to inch further and further away from reality. I regret it, because occasionally something happens that I want to remember and I can't record my thoughts without sticking a unicorn or a rain barrel full of hydrochloric acid in there somewhere.
It's a confusing world we live in.
Thoughts on continental shift: bit the second.
Without enormous tectonic upheaval - without plates clashing in a collision so violent we can't comprehend its destructive capabilites - we would have no Himalayas. Discuss. (The Himalayas are still going up like tremendous mechanical elevators. They're the overachievers of the mountain world. The Adirondacks and the Alps probably just sit in the back row of Mountain class and shoot avalanche spitballs at the back of their heads. And the poor Himalayas can't defend themselves because the Sub-Continent is the mountain equivalent of the front row. It's hard out there for a peak.)
Thoughts on rejection: bit the third.
It is impossible to comfort someone who wants to be upset. Even if that person is yourself.
Cheers
When I was a kid, I thought Eleanor Rigby was about the zombie apocalypse. Not a little kid (I didn't really even understand what a zombie was until I was fourteen and Shawn of the Dead rocked my romantic comedy landscape), but a kid nonetheless. It was mostly because of the Father Mackenzie lyric - when he goes down to bury poor Eleanor and nobody comes... he buries her himself and wipes the dirt from his hands as he walks from her grave.
Only I thought it said 'his grave'. And then, if you know your Beatles, you of course know that the next line is 'no one was saved'. I ask you, is it such a stretch to imagine that the whole song is just about one big brain-craving amorphous mass? No. No it is not.
I find it really difficult to blog about recent happenings in my life. Stuff from when I was little - anecdotes and little imagined scenarios - are fine, but whenever the writing edges up to the present it tends to inch further and further away from reality. I regret it, because occasionally something happens that I want to remember and I can't record my thoughts without sticking a unicorn or a rain barrel full of hydrochloric acid in there somewhere.
It's a confusing world we live in.
Thoughts on continental shift: bit the second.
Without enormous tectonic upheaval - without plates clashing in a collision so violent we can't comprehend its destructive capabilites - we would have no Himalayas. Discuss. (The Himalayas are still going up like tremendous mechanical elevators. They're the overachievers of the mountain world. The Adirondacks and the Alps probably just sit in the back row of Mountain class and shoot avalanche spitballs at the back of their heads. And the poor Himalayas can't defend themselves because the Sub-Continent is the mountain equivalent of the front row. It's hard out there for a peak.)
Thoughts on rejection: bit the third.
It is impossible to comfort someone who wants to be upset. Even if that person is yourself.
Cheers