Wednesday, November 29, 2006
This cold weather lends me that vicious and angry edge I just can't get a handle on in summer months. My inner hunter draws back his atomic bow, lets fly a thousand laser thought arrows per short Autumn day, right out my eyes with each blink, burning world after imaginary world to kind of what Burning Man looks like on Sunday, hell of hung over. Some country singer, whats-her-name, Patty Loveless maybe, sings, I can feel bad if it makes me feel better, only she calls I and me you. The October Country warned me of all this chaos, payment for Indian Summers spent living inside Hesse short stories, thinking my name is Chinaski Yossarian. Laugh Now, Cry Later, the new Ice Cube album released 6/6/06, and the story of my life, with the emphasis on now. All the same, Ann wrote true when she penned the to-the-point proverb "Sleep is for pussies". This hunger it burns like fortified wine for breakfast, unleashes armies of H.P. Lovecraft style demons, graceful and dangerous, ever famished, my great misunderstood musketeers.