Helloween Grouch Yanks The Recycling Plug

Except for choosing work over relishing the lengthy wave of consecutive holidays my first few November days are quite majestically blah. At least if I have to factor in gazillion admonitions of my pseudofriends to quit workaholism in lieu of old fashioned picnics or whatever idle preoccupations known to humankind. Thanks, but I'd rather be creative at work than hear crickets chirp. I am the helloween grump and I need no mask to make it apparent.

~ ~ ~

Just now it occurred to me that Halloween, All Fools Day AND Valentines Day are the same thing confused and celebrated on wrong months.

~ ~ ~

Last wave of recycling. At least for the moment. I swear.


flood flak
Created on: Jan 20 2006 @ 12:47 PM

posting five entries in a row doesn't make me a prolific blogger. it only betrays my level of boredom.

if i'm not a lazy scum i would probably find more productive ways to pass the time.

then i figure cross stitching is for wimps, and playing trivia unmasks my embarrassing ignorance, and i would rather not disturb the silence than encourage a lengthy conversation with a silly chatter who is as dumb as a box of hair.

therefore writing pointless journal entries is justified.




regarding erato
Created on: Jan 22 2006 @ 12:26 PM

you are gracefulness. like lofty kites doing watery pirouettes yet bearably imperfect in an off-key kind of way. i wonder how many people are gifted that way. the way you string random words into profound patterns of thoughts that compels us mere mortals into enchantment. it is as if we are voyeurs, uninvited but welcomed to tag along an enthralling tour into the depths of your privacy. you give us something to be grateful, something to be thankful.

* (erato "the lovely" is the muse of love poetry and mimicry)




that fine thread dividing bliss and sadness
Created on: Jan 22 2006 @ 12:32 PM

why do we indulge in this cruel pastime? are we that self-hating? or are we that sad?




insatiable
Created on: Jan 23 2006 @ 01:19 PM

this hunger cannot be canceled by carnal givings. it pounds on pavements like tremors. skins tremble, quaking fiercely as its roots seek deeper to where rivers cannot nullify its eternal thirst.

lower down the pulley, stranger. there's tenderness sleeping at the bottom of its quiet well.




truth or death
Created on: Jan 23 2006 @ 01:28 PM

fabricate a lie, it doesn't matter how thinly veiled, how shallow or how convincing. it's immaterial - it's still a lie. the world feeds upon it. it insist to have it's second, third, fourth helpings. it would be cruel to deny it with nourishment.

please don't be fiercely honest. it would make life unbearable.




such troubles with this nonexistent thing
Created on: Mar 05 2006 @ 11:18 AM

oftentimes i wonder if at all possible that people just stop caring and save each other all the grief. based on a twisted logic that when you begin to regard someone with affection you trigger an irreversible possibility at hurt. this is painful if you are the proponent; cruel if you're the benefactor. somewhere beyond comprehension the truth resides. foolish mortals that we are. so humbled and doomed in eternal search for answers, consuming lifetimes of what's within grasp but is never really there.



needful (among other) things
Created on: Mar 05 2006 @ 11:41 AM

one thing that amuses me: despite monumental advancements in science and psychology why hasn't anyone invented a cure to that common illness. why can't it be officially made that love be pharmacologically optional instead of its organic tendency of becoming a human obsession? are we that needy?




nostradamus in pink
Created on: Mar 05 2006 @ 12:00 PM

dispatches from the parallel universe:

Aquarius March 06, 2006. You've always been the objective type, far more prone toward facts and figures than anything that even remotely resembles nostalgia. At the moment, however, you're feeling like a regular tissue commercial -- and not at all shy about spouting phrases you would have made fun of not too long ago. It all comes down to just one thing: That love is, indeed, grand, and that you're not afraid to express it.

i'd buy the crap if i'm not a professional cynic. whoever wrote it hopefully isn't into banned substances. i'm afraid to imagine the one spinning the cosmos possessed of a grand zodiac typewriter.

too creepy for words.