When I shut myself down last night I also shut down the computer with the words below the quad ghost lines on the precipice of being recalled to life. I’ve had the corpse stuffed and mounted for your macabre viewing pleasure. Heh. Ok, it’s not all about you; you are thinning to the point of transparency.
I know there are slicker ways of setting one chunk of text to contrast with another. I happen to like ghost lines.
I try my best not to exist in chronological order so that when the dementia claims me (should be by New Year’s. That’s a little joke, a very little joke.) and I put my laptop or desktop or pda or tablet or microchip or barcode in my mouth and chew on my on cipher of a digital history I won’t have to worry my pretty little head with linear stuff. I’m ok with remembering taking the training wheels off my bike on the same day I married for the first time (which makes it more like just exchanging training wheels).
And so this entry, like so many of its ilk, starts in the future works backwards and ends unfinished. As far as I know my head is in the same marginally adequate state of functional it’s always been, and so … shit, I know there was something besides ellipses. Just saying it won’t disturb me when I chew on my machine that I track like an experiential thesis on chaos theory, whatever the hell that is.
In theory I there was intent when I began this (the future, not the things that growl beneath the ghost lines) a method to the madness or at least a reasonable facsimile of a method, something close enough for Jazz or Government work. It would certainly help if the Government were in the jazz business. The line “Close enough” would cover everything. Enough implies a goal, a target, the reason close does count in horseshoes; it’s close to the goal, it does not mean the chunk of metal operates enough like a horseshoe where if you nailed it to your beasts feet it wouldn’t affect said beasties gait.
Good morning.
I am afflicted with relentless and savage joy. It’s probably pretty dang contagious and if we’re all very good or at least try hard not to be bad on purpose maybe it’ll go all pandemic on our collective asses. Do these pants make my ass look relentlessly, savagely joyful? Maybe you should try them on.
Among the many reasons, perhaps the least among, for this outbreak, is that the snow hasn’t been phoning it in this year. Last year was just sad, it’s like this town didn’t even have enough energy to work up the thing it’s always been good at; being colder than shit under a blanket of colder than something with more than four letters (just because motherfucker is all that comes to mind doesn’t mean that it has to be as cold as a cuss word. It could be as cold as a Banquet Hungry Man Frozen Chicken Fried Chicken with rubber green beans and mashed potatoes shaped starch stuff).
Last year, and according to the local population who view me much as the chimps viewed Jane Goodall (like some white girl with skewed ethnography and possibly treats in my pockets) the previous few years, the snow was stingy little flakes like the bottom of an old box of tide powder in a humid basement laundry room. The only downside to living in the paradise of North Western rain forest was that if you wanted winter you had to drive an hour South East and a few thousand foot upwards and you’d go from zero inches to sixty pretty damn quick. It was the treat I was supposed to get, the carrot, for moving this far inland and depressed. Oh. I meant that topographically, but I’m not sure there’s a definition of depressed that doesn’t fit.
This year it’s snowing like it means it. Granted, it means it a lot more twenty five miles in any other direction, it’s not like the running back with two broken legs and cancer is coming off the bench with seconds to go and running 98 yards to win the game, save his grandmother and bring peace to the middle east, but it’s trying. It’s more like that running back held off from pressing the button for more morphine in his IV drip long enough to watch the game. Oh, yeah, MSU went from starting the season unranked to going to the Rose bowl. It’s been a while. The last time I recall them doing that they weren’t eligible; sanctioned for recruiting violations. The students had some sort of riot. Well, that’s what the news called it. It really meant more drunken undergrads in the same place than usual, celebrating. If they’d lost the playoff, they would have been doing the same thing only not calling it celebrating.
It’s actually kind of exciting to be in that kind of crowd at a live game, though I really like a baseball crowd a lot more. I like a hockey crowd more, it’s a little more intimate a setting, like being in an elevator with a Brown bear and a mountain lion. I’m too short for a basketball crowd, I mean why bother putting in seats at all if everyone is going to stand; besides if you cheer at the action you go hoarse pretty quick. Football is easy on the voice and baseball crowds are a bit like the crowds at a dead concert, even them what ain’t following the game sort of cheer at random moments as the spirit takes them.
Oh. Yeah. Shit. Sorry. Relentless and savage joy. Snow. I mention the whole e-cig thing? I haven’t had a single analog smoke in almost 48 hours, in the last eight days I’ve just been finding one or two smokes in an almost empty pack. I threw away a half pack a few days ago. The carton I bought a couple weeks back has eight unopened packs in it. I know, e-cigs are still nicotine. The most success I’ve had quitting before was cold turkey white knuckling. The e-cigs are still delivering me less nicotine than I‘ve chewed in gum before or wore in patches and I’m not jonesing the way I have on gum or patches.
It’s not really a good idea to quit as often as I have. I mean psychologically. You stop taking yourself seriously or it’s all “Bad Haredawg this and bad haredawg that.” Relentless and savage joy is mixed in there somewhere, but I think it’s just a coincidence.
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