sooner or later, something has to give. chaos rushes in, and brings change; and breeds new life. and from the wreckage and the ruin, out of the ashes and the end comes a begining.
a catharsis or some sort. the proverbial epiphany. you know, of literary fame.
but. ahem.
heh.
you know, all animals can learn to recognize patterns. a familiar situation presents itself. you have a store of previous experience from which to draw on. you associate events with similar ones from the past. because all life is amounts to a long damned series of patterns, of cycles.
and when you notice that the same fucking shit keeps turning out the same fucking way, you start to realize that if you can recognize the situation before it's too late, you can either avoid it, or- if you're a particularly clever animal- you can find a way to ammend it to your benifit.
i, my friends, am not a particularly clever animal.
and i've heard it said that there are only a set amount of plots in literature. basic themes around which all great stories- and all terrible ones- are built, regardless of their compication or simplicity. love. fear. death. revenge. man versus man, man versus himself, man versus nature, and so on and so forth.
this said.
i am kicking and howling against a wall. the wall either must break or i must tire out and give up. sink or swim, right?
wrong. because some of us will always be treading water. chasing our tails. staring the obvious in the fucking face and in dumb rage insisting that what is simple be complicated, what is complicated be black and white, and denying all things in between.
some of us will spend the rest of our days kicking and cursing that wall.
and those fucking patterns keep swirling around us, keep reticulating, collapsing in upon themselves and expanding exponentially. and some of us, perhaps, don't notice.
but what's really dumb, i chuckle, is that some of us do notice. and we look the other way. pick up our glasses, and toast to the impossibility of ever understanding. it's not that we can't. it's not that i can't.
it's just that. well. why fucking bother?
and so. it is aproximately one-thirty. p.m. rent is due. lots of things are due. i won't even expand into a metaphorical haze this time. i'm just letting it lie where it falls. and i've been awake for an hour, refusing to comprehend anything. throwing up a proud and self-defeating "fuck you" to the world, the natural order of things and the powers that be...
and it's 1:30.
and the voices are telling me to start drinking. because it's never too early, but ... always. too. late.
a catharsis or some sort. the proverbial epiphany. you know, of literary fame.
but. ahem.
heh.
you know, all animals can learn to recognize patterns. a familiar situation presents itself. you have a store of previous experience from which to draw on. you associate events with similar ones from the past. because all life is amounts to a long damned series of patterns, of cycles.
and when you notice that the same fucking shit keeps turning out the same fucking way, you start to realize that if you can recognize the situation before it's too late, you can either avoid it, or- if you're a particularly clever animal- you can find a way to ammend it to your benifit.
i, my friends, am not a particularly clever animal.
and i've heard it said that there are only a set amount of plots in literature. basic themes around which all great stories- and all terrible ones- are built, regardless of their compication or simplicity. love. fear. death. revenge. man versus man, man versus himself, man versus nature, and so on and so forth.
this said.
i am kicking and howling against a wall. the wall either must break or i must tire out and give up. sink or swim, right?
wrong. because some of us will always be treading water. chasing our tails. staring the obvious in the fucking face and in dumb rage insisting that what is simple be complicated, what is complicated be black and white, and denying all things in between.
some of us will spend the rest of our days kicking and cursing that wall.
and those fucking patterns keep swirling around us, keep reticulating, collapsing in upon themselves and expanding exponentially. and some of us, perhaps, don't notice.
but what's really dumb, i chuckle, is that some of us do notice. and we look the other way. pick up our glasses, and toast to the impossibility of ever understanding. it's not that we can't. it's not that i can't.
it's just that. well. why fucking bother?
and so. it is aproximately one-thirty. p.m. rent is due. lots of things are due. i won't even expand into a metaphorical haze this time. i'm just letting it lie where it falls. and i've been awake for an hour, refusing to comprehend anything. throwing up a proud and self-defeating "fuck you" to the world, the natural order of things and the powers that be...
and it's 1:30.
and the voices are telling me to start drinking. because it's never too early, but ... always. too. late.
VIEW 5 of 5 COMMENTS
and thanks for lighting the candle. That's incredibly nice of you; for real.
Hope some money falls out of the sky and into your pocket.
Blah, dont listen to me, my head isn't ever coming out of the clouds...hahah.
Have a good one you.
Remember to stay very hydrated, then you wont know the meaning of the word "hang-over"
-L.O.-