the little things

The little things in life matter. They really do. I have to do little things constantly like chopping up onions very fine with my best knife - I think I inherited it from a roommate ten years ago. Or take a long hot bath with a gallon of milk added and half a bottle of mr. bubble - things like that just to feel slightly more human every once in a while. Or staying up all night once in a while for no good reason. Filling the time with digging through boxes of old magazines, writings and papers, watching dumb or bad or even good movies - the ones you wouldn't watch at 9:30 Tuesday night, or Sunday afternoon. The little things matter.

this mediocrity

Sounds rather harsh, when asked to explain yourself in a single word - mediocre. Sounds harsh, although is neither untrue nor harsh at all. In any given twenty four hours, how much is free time? How much is work, sleep, eating and leisure? Is leisure even a category? Then, how much is wasted? How much is waste? Watching a Seinfeld episode you've seen seventeen times. Staring at a keyboard or notebook rather than writing. Clicking the ad links on the right side of a browser. Add it up in a day. If the sum total of waste is more than three minutes, that's unfortunate. If it's thirty minutes, that's disdainful. If it's three hours, that is mediocre. And I'm not quite certain - nor unwilling to do spell check - if that is the correct spelling or not. Mediocre.

7-4 1230

Distant hesitation
Again, the stories blur
The lines of comprehension
Fragile as ever, the spectacle uncertain
Between these nights of starry mumbles
Delicate in word and silent in deed
All those lost and empty intentions
Like a torn and ragged, but loved, old rope
Black was the softest back then
Comfortable and contrived
Unspoken were the words
Such the beauty of ignorance declined

editorial

After three or four hours of working, go home to quickly do a load of laundry, clean a couple rooms, grab some lunch. Lots of playing going on elsewhere in the house. Looks fun.

Should this ever happen? Who's at fault?

a beginning

This is a test. Only a test. It will only hurt a little. How much and how long depends on the depth of character and what he or she is willing to lose. Characters have to come from somewhere, so why not a blog. Often the best thoughts come when least expected, when not expected at all, even when unwanted. Weblogs are quick, painless, easy and accessible. There's worse ways to capture thought and analysis. See, seventy-six words just there, without saying a bloody thing. Another twenty-five and we're over one hundred. So word-wise, do that perhaps ten times each day for two months and you'd have sixty thousand words. A work of art. Of course, you'd need some talent. There is that conundrum. Which is both the tool and the torture.