Wednesday, September 15, 2004

Jesus, it is a ball-sack purse.

Ball-sack purse

Seriously. What a great place for a woman to put her man's balls.

Tuesday, September 14, 2004

I'm late on the drinking stories

I know, I know. Takin' my sweeeeeet time doin' it too. I have had a couple of requests that individuals be included in the drunken debacle stories. Well, I'll need to be reminded of whatever night/day/weekend/whatever instance you speak of. More than likely, I was blasted, so I might not have such a sharp memory as to the details of the event, k? K. Throw me a fucking liquored bone here. Thanks.

Moving on.

Been thinking a bit, and I need to valve some of this out. Full release.

So you've got your life going. You have acquired some items, made some decent accomplishments, overcome some respectable obstacles, and made some real headway in the whole get-to-know-yourself-better-before-you-die thing. Congratulations. Yet, you remain totally empty on all that. You remain unimpressed with the lot of it. Brilliantly anticlimactic, so far. All of this... stuff. All of these... things. For what appears to be... nothing. Hmmm. Hard to invent a point for your own existence when it really shouldn't be YOUR job to do so. Right? Wrong. If not your job, then whose job is it? If everyone has the same question, why would someone else bother to answer yours for you? We are our own knitting, and it is up to us to mind. Damn. That makes projecting all the countless failures outward, something of a joke, does it not? Responsibility for self is a bitch and a half, ain't it? Especially when it deals with such intangibles as being self-impressed. Damn. Could someone just "inform" me when I have done something worthy of self-appreciation? Why must I keep my own eyes peeled for that? Jesus Christ, what a pointless burden, right? Wrong. That forces you to look inward, which always makes you feel so ridiculously self-absorbed. But that is utter nonsense, and off topic. You see your Grandma's face. Pretty strange, eh? Yes. Very.

She is indeed happy in your image, and that gives you a comforting feeling. You get that everything's-gonna-be-alright...-right-Bob? kinda feeling. But then you consider it further. Sure, Grandma's all Apple Pie and Puppy Dogs, but let's be honest here. You would neglect an animal, and you have never been a big fan of sweets. So what has Grandma got that makes you grin like morphine? She has you, buddy. She is part of that which built your opportunity to impress yourself. Her, and a whole orchestra of others, playing their part in the musical pit of your dusted past. They danced the same dances you are stumbling to now. They persevered and slaved and lazed and got rejected and felt worthless and beat all odds and voted and cried and abused things and built wonderful things and destroyed everything and left you with all that they were too confused to reconcile themselves with... but that's not your gig, not when you're seeing her face. Grandma, with all her apple pie-ness is not showing you the burdens, confusion, torment and difficulty of it all. She is showing you the possibility of contentment. There is your comfort goal.

But that cannot be the plan. A destination is never a roadmap to itself, for it knows not (cares not) where you are to begin with. The plan (map) is the burden, confusion, torment and difficulty of it all. But that's the ticket to the contentment goal. That's what you've got. That's what you are able to understand. That's the medium in which you'll mold your future.

And that future sculpture will be more than you, far beyond you. It will be Apple Pies and Puppy Dogs to someone you have yet to meet. If you are lucky, it will be comfort and contentment to some (many) you never will meet. That would be self-impressive. That would be purpose. That would be legacy. That would be enough to be content once you are gone.

Thanks Grandma, for the plan.