Posted 11:57 AM by Alfred

I want to write something so thought provoking that if they ever made a song out of it, they’d just have to bring in an orchestra. The producer would be all, hmmm, ya know, this is a fukn song, bro, your standard gee-tar, bass, drums, etcetera ain’t gonna cut it, we need some violins, some fukn cellos, and a few oboes up in this bitch to really convey the emotional content of this mofo.

And I’d nod my head in false understanding, like, “hey man, I just wrote the shit, you’re the bigshot chairman of the boards, so run with it holmes, sounds good to me.” All the while, though, I'd be thinking, if we had the right dead guitarist on this track we wouldn't need all that crap. But I would have forced the record company to hire a guy that was looking for answers, not further problems and/or commentary, so I'd keep my trap shut & let him work his magic.

Is there a certain point in life when some overriding theme starts kicking in, or is it really in just appreciating the random moments that put a smile on your face? I used to think, as I stared up at the stars or down the neck of a beer bottle, that there was more to it, there was this zen like realization waiting around some corner or another, when I would understand what the whole deal was. Now I’m just content if I’m enjoying myself. Am I wiser or stupider than I was back then?

What’s the big goddamm deal with everything meaning something anyway? Who knows, maybe every philosopher that ever picked up a pen is full of shite, and we’re just floating around on a rock, preparing for our eternal dirt nap so the worms can nibble away on our flesh and bones and renew the cycle once again.

Science or sorcery or both? Is this planet just an atom on a scrap of dirt stuck on the wing of a fly in some alternate dimension, and as soon as the fly finishes eating a moldy slice of lettuce he found on a dog’s ass are we going to go flying, fluttering, off into the back alley of some outpost of the galaxy greasy spoon, splacking into a garbage can and suddenly ragnarok, or at least our pathetic version? Just cuz an insect was full?

Ok whut the fuck am I talking about? I got shit to do folks. If someone you love is in the room, give em a hug. I’m outs.

update: I'm just about to head out the door for lunch, but I just had to heckle myself over that 2nd to last paragraph, with the world on a fly's wing bullshit. nothing that Stephen King didn't say much better in the Gunslinger and an idea that is so unoriginal and boring that if not for Carlton's repressive editing policies I would have removed it like the ubiquitous piece of parsley riding side saddle on the plate cradling my t-bone steak.

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