Is it all quiet on the western front or I am just reliving an old movie, comfortable in the fact that that huge bucket of popcorn will far outlast the big gulp in other hand. But on the other hand a restroom run is sure to give it all away so I casually slink down into my seat so as to be less noticeable in my unease. Yes, that's it, my unease.
There is the saying that life is hard, and then you die but since I've never been a believer I can't recommend such useless ideology. Rather the advantage is in being, but even this can be worked to give off a foul odor so as to be quite noticeable upon the sense. If there is no sense can there be no feel?
In such playful jest I take refuge rather than to err is to be human. Without free floating conceptual images are we to find our refuge in mental constructs, rigid with desire so as to 'create' a reality within which we would rather play the odds? Is not life but a game? I sure hope that notion finds it's way somewhere useful like a twenty dollar bill. Despite the fool's gold riches who can claim inheritance of such grand proportions where the stature stands straight, tall and quite remarkable? Some can walk into a room and be noticed. Me, I'd rather notice from a distance. I hope that I am not giving away the store because in an economy such as ours that would be a very, very bad thing to do.
But I am unrepentant. No, that is not my religion though it does come close. Oh so very close.
Sort of like Niagara Falls as performed by those three stooges. It's too bad that it has become customary to take on such hilarious escapades that do nothing but help to dig one's grave deeper and deeper. I suppose that is because they don't want any bodies floating around during the flood. I've heard of cleaning up after yourself but some like the hired help to do it all for them. I can't blame them, who would want to have dirty hands?
Anyway, here I am playing I spy with my little eye and wouldn't you know it, some goof-ball interrupts and acts like a spoiled child demanding attention. Okay.
As I was saying in jest and joust, electronics are a wonderful tool in the hands of infants. The things that they do is, well let's call them not unique but perhaps crude is the answer I'm looking for. Why is the answer always in the heavens? I should put that on a pedestal and bow and bark my udder glee but alas I am too late, someone has already deified themselves.... again.
If only I had a Scooby-snack. Maybe that would quiet them down just long enough for the drugs to let loose their hold and allow the true insanity to be revealed. That's funny because the only one buying it anyway is their own theater of blood, lust and lore. Time, space and the incessant urge to reveal one's loins is like the National Inquirer, every issue full of new and interesting twists on some very old and mundane affairs. My god, how many times do we regale ourselves with the same old stories told and retold so many times that even the Mad Historian himself has taken on a glazed and wide-eyed facade of being 'not there'. Where oh where could he have gone?
I'd like to take a moment for pause...
OK. Are you happy now?