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Cut myself on angel's hair and baby's breath
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Cut myself on angel's hair and baby's breath If you believe in demons and demonic possession you are an idiot, plain and simple. I was thinking like I used to think, but different, but in a different location, what would it be like to stalk in the desert, in the summer, in the heat? Would I run out of water before the thing was complete, would I slowly ebb away, slowly evaporate into the dry desert air, desiccate, become mummified food for desert beetles for cactus wren for Cooper's hawks? Or would the thing just be sped up, hurried, sloppiness be damned as long as someone went down? And what about rattlesnakes and scorpions in the desert night? Would they be drown to my not quite gone body heat as the desert heat radiated away into space? The one thing I thought of today was how green it was in Pennsylvania where they were playing the LPGA US Open golf tournament. Nothing but green, nothing but foreign, nothing but thinking how miserable it must be to be 85 F in that environment, how many bugs must be out there, how messy a windshield, how many bloodsucking chiggers must be in all that green green green grass and my ankles began to itch and I began to bitch until I remembered I live in the desert, the dry dry dry desert, and I was thankful for the sweat dripping off my chin due to the miniscule increase in humidity due to the monsoonal flow. I walked in the sun for just short of 3 hours today. Felt good. Felt great to see scurrying lizards and hurrying Gambel's quail and hot rocks and hotter air and blooming little cactus all pink and sticky and pricky and ouch I shouldn't have touched that one but the spines looked so damned soft and I could probably use a fish hook barrel spine to sew the button back onto my shorts. I'm about to fall asleep, right here, right now, at the keyboard. I'm blaming the sleepiness on too much wine and too much wine is probably the primary cause but I believe I'm just a bit depressed but the morning sunshine following a slumber as though dead will snap me out of that depression snap me right out to a barber shop to get my out of control hair in order for my first day of work Monday, this Monday, this coming 7/13/2009. Only 3 days until 7/14/2009, whatever that means. Don't forget the snake oil. Don't forget the chicken grease. Don't forget the tiny bits of quartz for grinding away your heel because you're too damned stubborn to shake the bits from your shoe. Don't forget anything, ever, especially that bit about electrons...  you put the left foot in, you take the left foot out... |
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July 14th is... Bastille Day. The All-Star Game. So unless you like brie and/or baseball, it has no meaning.
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