As I reached my third beer of Yuengling, mind you, I broke through waves of euphoria to a general compassion for humanity. I realized how fragile we are, and how beautiful that makes each and every one of us. Or perhaps it’s not an individual beauty, but a beauty of the species. It all can be as simple as that.
Gotta keep movin, gotta keep on movin. Grown so ugly, don’t even know myself. I’ve fallen in love, in love with the pentatonic scale. She greets me after a long day under the flickering fluorescence light. They depersonalize me; they put me in a dentist’s chair.
‘What are you doing this evening?’ Those six words ruined my evening; now I stumble downstairs to the sushi bar to fill meself up with saki. Goddamned extroverted automatons. The batteries are beginning to recharge. Feel the freedom of the Black Pearl. You’re inside the Pearl now. She protects you.
Why cantcha be nicer to me? Do I emit an icy glare? Am I not approachable? I suppose it requires brass balls to approach me. The blues slick depression. Are there any decent blues bars in Paso Robles? Do Mexicans take a liking to the pentatonic blues?
That’s just what they want. Put us in a steel box and drop us into the basement. Moan ‘good times’. I know not good times, only A to D riffs, two chord masterpieces. Moan. Whine. Let it out. When’s the last time I smiled in front of a friend? When’s the last time I laughed? The worst part of my nightmares is the awakening.
Warm up, warm up those strings. Seven notes including the top of the scale, that makes six. Six notes encompass coolness. But those notes need pity, depression, angst, and passion for reinforcement. Sell the riff. It doesn’t need to be complicated. Jackie White will appreciate your simplicity.
Grown so ugly. My brain continues to shrink. There’s a fucking hurricane of thought in here. Stout gusts steal my traction. Has anyone ever been in this position? Caught in a miserable episode after a relatively easy and successful week; sitting in a hotel room madly pecking at a keyboard with a saki buzz? No, you’re all too busy living life, consuming. Millions consuming the works of a handful.
My calices have healed; I’m no musician. I don’t feel the subtleties of tossing in a minor chord. This is because I cannot play by ear. Tis my character flaw.
The drillfield has a magnetic pull to it. I could feel some force ahead of me, pulling me onward. It is the perfect place to get messed up and chill upon, equivalent to the hill back home.
There is an extra connection to nature. One tree I walked by was particularly large and I found myself deeply humbled as it is so much older and wiser than I. It must be at least four times older than me and witnessed a lot of crazy stuff happen. It holds stories of many men before me and will see many to come. I could almost see its knowledge bursting from the bark. It is just a shame that it has no way to communicate with us humans. We could learn so much from the wise old trees.
The adult trees have a motherly caring for their younger plant brothers. Notice as they reach out to shelter their fellow adolescent blades of grass.
I’ve got a Snake Plant. I’ve got thirteen points on my driver’s license. I’ve got a room in my name. And I’m not paying any attention to Craig Ferguson’s monologue whatsoever.
Scotch scotch scotch scocth scotchy scocht scotch. Lemme grab some Walking Man… which is more difficult than you would expect… melting into floor… blobbing into a bolb… Look at my productivity! That’s, like, eight years of diligent divine cosmic research! I’ve sacrificed millions of brain cells for the sake of your education! Somebody get that kid off the escalator and that blob bolb off the carpet before it soaks in!
It’s a shame I can’t record the goofy clownesque tone of voice in my head. And mindreading in TV and movies always annoys me since people don’t articulate thought in complete sentences as they do when orally communicating. Another mind can’t unclog the shower of thought buckshot projected from the foreign mind of the possessed. His eyes will be covered by teashades, and his knuckles will be white from inner tension.
You see, this here laptop’s sound quality is far from perfect. You can hear those little five volt zaps firing out of their racehorse gates at c (where c = speed of light, the Universe’s ultimate velocity circumscription). This has got to be the fastest I’ve ever typed in all my history of histories! It’s because I’ve been practicing my writing lately both at the office where we herd the Bombs and at home where I unleash my creative side through creative blogging, thereby scaring the shiznit out of some guy in Portland named Joe. He messaged me asking if I was real or make believe, since my self-eloquence is so fucking eccentric he couldn’t fathom that a creature should even exist. Too weird for mass production, yet too rare to extinguish. Loners will keep breeding and populating until we destroy ourselves due to our per capita lack of empathy. Ha ha aha aha ha!
Anyways, I continuously and successively and successfully continue to digress. So the five volt zaps shoot out their racehorse gates like crickets on a vinyl LP. Seriously, I can hear all that silicon in me laptop chirping away. Welcome, my son, why didn’t you take the Blue Pill? I just heard electrostatic discharges through the headphones.
So the Man has put me on this 2300 to 0600 work schedule this week, I’ve never operated on this kind of sleep pattern before. I don’t know what day it is, what time it is, or if I’m awake. “Everything’s a copy of a copy of a copy.”
I got off a little early this morning so I drove around the Potomac banks area for a while. It’s awesome to see the world asleep at 0300. Only other vehicles on the road are Krispy Kreme delivery trucks.
So I sat on the front porch and watched the sunrise. It was fantastic to observe the infinitely powerful all-natural sunlight slowly beat away the synthetic radiatingly disgusting orange glow from the miracle of electricity pumping and bleeding out of Suburbia.
Verse is to day as chorus is to night. And it’s that contrast in the transition from one to other that’s makes a good song. And that is why lyrics about sunrises and sets are so common.
But I digress. So I’m sitting on the porch at 0630 with a smile, a beer in one hand, and a wave in the other directed at the neighbors beginning their commute to a freshly new day on the job. I don’t think any of them noticed me; they looked half awake.
Guess I’ll take a nightcap and sleep for many hours. Goodnight, children.
