kanji

27 April, 2005
his clothes are dirty but his hands are clean

you'd think, after my little brush with the medical Beast and the End Of All Things, i'd find a little bit of peace... and purpose, renewed.

so it was, for a day or two. just walking around unencumbered with dread, the maladies of the past few weeks a dimming memory gave me appreciation for drawing breath, the ability to move freely, and the opportunity to look past those days of heavy import, where the future could have meant no more than a few hours.

hell, just getting my hands filthy, and expending my energy until sundown was life-affirming enough. as it always has been.

but, comes Monday, and epiphanies fly out of the window. bye-bye, epiphany.

not to trod upon the toes of the Righteous (since they're pretty self-inflated right now, and are looking for any excuse to cry "persecuted!", and then rain down Armageddon through their personal connections to the afterlife), but i think it's crap that most think that Sunday begins the week. nope, Monday deserves the bottom rung... it's all urgency and business and bullshit, full-tilt. Sunday deserves the pause of refrain, after things wind down.

it's the bullshit that brought me back down to earth. bullshit like the checkbook drained by responsibilities, simmering on subsistence level for two weeks. bullshit like SlickWillie changing his mind about going back to Indy (after deciding against it, weeks ago). co-workers making with the Sopranos slang, so they can get away with saying the "N" word in another language.
fuck, i'm even letting the over-the-cubicle-sex-talk piss me off... and that's just prudish crap, on my part. even if the parties involved know he fucked the groom's wife-to-be, hours before the ceremony when he was invited on their wedding trip to the Bahamas. and the groom's six feet away.

enough to give you the hump... Quasimodo-style. with the neckache to go with it.

maybe the epiphany is to get the hell out, before i'm corrupted, too.

.


hit me with your rhythm stick




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