Monday, November 09, 2009

The paragraph below was opined on Friday. Today? still a bit under the weather, but better. Friday I was hacking like Buddy Hackett; today just like Gene Hackman (while he's asleep, dreaming of United Airlines checks.) Gratz for caring.

feelin like shit, thanks. Both metaphorically and physically. Metaphorically’s the wrong word, though. Spiritually, intellectually, shit, shit, gratzi, you’re welcome. House deal appears dead. A last minute fiasco with the operative teaching of shit ain’t over til it’s over, words to live by and cry by. Appearances can be deceiving and I ain’t giving up hope, but let’s just say I’m not skipping to anybody’s lou, least of all mine own. Opening up the damn thing again Sunday for all the tire kickers. Back to square one, er, two, one of those. Got a cold with a cough that digs spikes in my throat, like a mountain climber just jamming those boots into the Cliffside. To cough or not to cough. To clear with pain or to subside with constriction. The age old questions all seem to have universal applications. Maybe that’s why they’re age old. Anything that doesn’t translate dies with the dodo birds. A nice challenge would be to generate something so hyper specific to a period and/or place that it seems diametrically opposed to transitive potential, but styled in a way that allows for appreciation despite the complete lack of relatability. I miss my wife. I miss my daughters. Turkey day is close but not close enough. The house formerly known as home is quiet, too quiet. You know you’re lonely when the lack of sound prompts you to wish the neighbors would scream at each other for a spell, just to let you know you’re alive, that it’s not all just some drastically boring decrepit dream.