Tuesday, February 05, 2008

One shoe on, one shoe off, not out of any deep theoretical reach toward higher meaning or antiquated symbolism, but simply due to an itch, between the toes on a foot that somehow always aches for those two missing brothers and speaks its mind in random acts of scratch pleading. Sitting at a desk, staring at a screen one foot cool the other a bit overly warm, the hum of electronics applying a soft gentle din over the not quite silence of the valley, heavy mechanical apparatus a mile or so away digging away incessantly at a rock pile, potential fountainheads hard at work wiling away the day in revolt of the necessary sellout if they follow their true id, while yours truly happily chases the mediocre cash and bangs away uselessly on a keyboard, speaking to you, whoever you may be, in whatever city you may reside (or visit), doing that thing that you do, in grandiose or piddling fashion, it matters not, or, er, not that it matters or not, because it probably does in the cosmic scheme, I mean in my own personal periphery, the effect I feel not.

And all that for what? Naught. Sometimes life can feel irrelevant and so drenched in gravitas simultaneously that twisting one’s head off and screwing it back on counter clockwise seems mighty apropos and quite possibly necessary, metaphorically speaking, obviously. I won’t, can’t, condone wanton decapitation for the sake of some haphazard quest for clarity.

A more sensible approach thereby might be to simply watch this (and to remember one man’s clarity is another man’s sabotaged rubik’s cube). Take that for what it’s worth, invested in a 401K in the S&P 500, in maybe 40 years you’ll have a 5 spot and a big mac meal (but damn, Mickey D’s feels that inflation button as well, eh? Curses.)