There are occasions when I think my writing makes me out to be at least a mild jackass, though I don’t think I’m being immodest when I say that I don’t think there’s anyone who knows me who would describe me as such.
I just get a wild hair, and then that coupled with being dead center in the middle of the workweek, results in rant-like material. Though I suppose that tone does somewhat jibe with one of the reasons I call these little bits of writing “cauldrons”: an offensive stew of myriad ingredients viscously maintained by an all-permeating, foul broth in a huge black, iron bowl under great heat.
Some metaphor I’ve gotten myself into this time. But maybe the ingredients are the ideas (seemingly random at times), the broth is some kind of central train of thought that I try my best to maintain, the iron pot is the emotional shield I construct, and the heat is the antipathy and animosity.
There. That almost works. But then I shift back into feeling good and the whole analogy takes on a different tone. This one, perhaps, is one of gleefully sinister and subversive anticipation, as in what might be the result of imbibing such a potent mixture contained in said cauldron. Kind of expressing negative feelings and then consuming, thereby destroying them.
Then again it could well be all bullshit. But at least I try. And I guess all I’m trying to say is that I’m not really an ass, but sometimes I play one on social media.
But anyway, forgetting that (for now), something I think I need to do is start incorporating at least a photo a day into the mix. It’s a little work, and though I really don’t need any more shit to do, it’s something that I think might make things a little more interesting. If to no one else, at least to me.
I did start the final season of “Breaking Bad” tonight with the first episode, “Blood Money”. Without disclosing spoilers, my initial observations are that Saul is still Saul, Jessie is an idiot, Hank is a damn sight pissed off and -- by all indications – very close to finally getting his man, and Walt is thoroughly screwed. But then again, if you seriously expect cooking meth to turn out a wise career choice, what the hell else do you expect?
To get away? No. Not with his self-defeating mix of hubris and trail-leaving.
I did like his last line of the episode though: “If you don’t know who I am, maybe the best course of action would be to tread lightly.” I think that fits nicely in with the psyche of my beloved serpents.
-- ∆☩Y§ ☨♆∀☥✠
CVRRENT SOVND: “Rusty Cage” by Soundgarden from “Badmotorfinger”