In the New Year, There Will Be a Great Visitation of Energy

List of things that aren't important:

Celebrities, gossip, drama, things that might have been, spam, TV offers, bargains you don't need, bullshit, superficial shit that idiots think important, the best cell phone plan, how much money you might have saved, that new thing that everyone is blathering about, what any asshole thinks of you, stupid sluts like those pictured, whatever happened to you X years ago, a little wait, a longer wait, a bill or two overdo 'cause you don't have the money, the past.

List of things that are important: The friends you have left, your family, your plans, your dreams, what you do with the time you have left, and the talent and light that God has given you. And the always undreamed of tomorrow, the miracle that comes to us every day, and no one sees. And love. Like the lad said, it is all that we have.

Goodbyes

They are never easy things. As I sit here, 2330 hrs, in the death of the year, I am ready to say my goodbyes to the year, to the things it meant, and to the things that I leave forever behind with it. So, Goodbye, 2005. This nameless, rootless decade is halfway done, now, and it has brought me no farther than where I started, after all. Goodbye, Lafayette, I fear that I will never see you again, and I am awakening to what that is to mean to me, only now, in cold december, 700 miles away. Goodbye, Barbara; goodbye Carey; Goodbye Jason, and all the other names that might so easily fall from me. Let me leave them here, at last, in this ethereal realm of ones and zeroes, so fitting a repose for such a dreamlike year. Let it contain you, for I can no more; and let this be my time capsule to no one, never to be unearthed, as it will never know the soil. I tried to say goodbye. I fought the good fight. It is, after all, the only thing that I do well. So to all of it, and all of you; So long.

Keeping a Sense of Perspective is Sometimes Difficult

Oh, yeah, I'm home from work, later and longer than I wanted, a couple of days in, and the old warhorse is still running with the colts, after all. So I am looking at going over the water and teaching the English to willing recipients of same. Nothing left for me in this dirty old town but a grind that I don't belong in, and a bunch of phantoms, and I have got more than enough of them to keep me company. If anybody asks you, just tell 'em that you saw me down in Birmingham, sleeping in a boxcar going by, and that you would like to tell them a better tale, but then you'd have to tell them a lie...

Bastards Compell Your Humble Narrator to Return to Work

Still feeling like week-old afterbirth, but the rotten conditions at work include the shitty rules governing people still under probation demand that I return to work, regardless of how I feel, or the fact that I am (quite likely) still contagious. This is going to be a very, VERY long night. But this is, after all, I realize, just God's way of reminding me that I should be doing something very different, very far from here.


And so it goes...

Plague strikes your humble narrator

After a couple of days with some dear friends, I returned home to nap and awaken...deathly ill!
Unable to get out of bed the next, day. I have now been away from work three days. Chills, soreness that is downright hard to believe, and wooziness. Have to take frequent breaks from even sitting. It took me an hour to work up the strength to enter this post. Ugh. Doctor tomorrow morning. Feel like death.

I Really Wish I could Get the Hell out of Here, Pt. 1

Old friends have cast me aside. They won't call or write or anything. I made a terrible mistake, sure, and now I can't seem to get back to where I want to be. Where I need to be. The relationship didn't pan out. It went to hell when it failed. Whatever happened, though, it was my own decision that led me into it, so I have no one to blame. If I ever get back to Louisiana (and the highway has many, many turns) I'll know better. Hell, I knew better before I left. My tender years are long behind me. It's cold here in Dixieland, a hell of a lot colder than I like, and this place is everything that H.L. Mencken called it, a cultural Sahara, for me become an island on which I toil alone. There might not be a way out of here, just yet. But when it comes, there's no looking back, this time. Mixing my metaphors freely, I'll just say that I think of it as the last exit on a lost highway that I am very, very anxious to leave, at last. I wish I wish. I wish things had turned out better with B. I wish that friends hadn't made me make the choices that I had to make. I wish that I had never left Louisiana. I wish that I had gone there, in the first place, years ago, and never come back to this green valley that was my prison for so long, and is my prison, today. I am looking for a light. I pray that I find it soon. I have stored up some patience in these almost four decades of waiting, however. My time will come around again. Not like I envision today, probably nothing that I have even thought of thus far, but I am patient and time always tells. The wheel still turns. People have moved on, and we cannot blame people for cutting us out of their lives. We all have to nake our own decisions. And men, well, we have to be men.

Creepy Feelings, Inc.

I dunno. Somebody has decided to die, or maybe they are busy having an accident, or they have planned a spectacular accident that will cripple them forever. I know, somehow, and I call them and let them know...

When the Djinni lets me.

Too Much Time on the Internet

Hoo, boy. I play CoH, CoV, web design, blog, too;
let's see. Maybe I should get myself a new hobbie...
I'm contemplating beermaking. I invented a NEW SLEUTH, and I am writing a short story that I am
currently excited about...hmmm...uh, I found this cool picture...yeah, really sums it up. Wish it was warmer. 27 bloody degrees, and here in the South, at that. Friends from Louisiana called to say it was "down in the 40s". Losers. I'll be where it's warm again, some day...haven't been to Hell yet, after all.

Hangover of the Gods

Ugh. Hangover bad! Feel like about 2 dollars and 17 cents. Blarg. Now, that's Keira Knightley, the actress. She's hot. I mean, I'd like to hang around with her, in bed maybe, and say, hey, Keir, check that out over there. Wow. Yeah, I mean, I'd be like, you know baby, not right now, I have a hangover, and she'd be like, aw, let me give you a hug, dahling. So fine. Cool. Oh, my head.

Avarice and Neglect

When I read the transcript of the President's remarks on his "Plan for Victory" in Iraq, I heard a lot of statistics recited, a lot of hoo-hah about Iraq's phantom military constantly making strides toward seizing the reins from a beleaguered American military, and of course, ubiquitous pats on the back for his cronies (that all his speeches seem written to contain); but I didn't hear anything about an, ahem, plan for victory. At this point, I just want to ask my President, what is "victory" in this precarious situation? Of all of our stated reasons for being in a foreign, sovereign nation to begin with, i.e., the removal of weapons of Mass Destruction, and the Hussein regime, one proved false prima facie, and the other has been accomplished...the one reason that our president vowed to us he would never, never use American troops for, and that is nation building, is now our only goal. History teaches this is a failed mission; no project the likes of which we are attempting ever leaves anything but generations of misery. And this in a region that is only now beginning to emerge from the hangover of British occupation that wrought the Palestinian/Israel dilemma. Mistakes that we seemed "Planned to Repeat."