Pardon the interuption.

Unexpected Gifts

I was toiling away at the writing tonight when I had such a good idea that I actually stood up and took a bow. It was an absolutely sincere bow for an absolutely brilliant idea, but there was no one around to appreciate it. I do suspect that in several somewheres, several people suddenly smiled but couldn’t tell you why if you asked them. But I know why.
So now I’m here, feeling like taking another bow, so here goes:
::bows::
Thank you.
Thou shalt now rocketh on.

N.P.: “We Are Done” – The Madden Brothers

my ticket

Vidi, vici, veni.
Writing late, nothing great, no way to discombobulate. Sunrise gets earlier and earlier.

N.P.: Everyone is Everyone (and Everything is Everything) – Au4

O while I live to be the ruler of life, not a slave,
To meet life as a powerful conqueror,
No fumes, no ennui, no more complaints or scornful criticisms,
To these proud laws of the air, the water and the ground, proving
my interior soul impregnable,
And nothing exterior shall ever take command of me.

O to struggle against great odds, to meet enemies undaunted!
To be entirely alone with them, to find how much one can stand!
To look strife, torture, prison, popular odium, face to face!
To mount the scaffold, to advance to the muzzles of guns with
perfect nonchalance!

~ Walt Whitman

The Wisdom.

“If you’re going to try, go all the way. Otherwise, don’t even start. This could mean losing girlfriends, wives, relatives and maybe even your mind. It could mean not eating for three or four days. It could mean freezing on a park bench. It could mean jail. It could mean derision. It could mean mockery – isolation. Isolation is the gift. All the others are a test of your endurance, of how much you really want to do it. And, you’ll do it, despite rejection and the worst odds. And it will be better than anything else you can imagine. If you’re going to try, go all the way. There is no other feeling like that. You will be alone with the gods, and the nights will flame with fire. You will ride life straight to perfect laughter. It’s the only good fight there is.”

~ Charles Bukowski, Factotum

He Said, She Said.

She: But you keep a sword in your bedroom.
Me: You say that like it’s a weird thing.
She: It is a weird thing!
Me: What’s weird about it? Where do you keep your sword?
She: …. [drinks deeply of Jameson’s Irish Whisky]
Me: The cleaver in the kitchen doesn’t seem to bother you much.
She: We’re not talking about your kitchen.
Me: Perhaps we should. Perhaps you’d be more comfortable there.
She: Maybe. Less swords.
Me: Fewer.
She: What?
Me: Fewer swords. There are fewer swords in my kitchen than in my bedroom, but vastly more cleavers.
She: There will be fewer women in your bedroom, but more proper grammar.
Me: It’s actually more of a usage issue than a grammatical one. If we’re being technical.
She: Has anyone ever just lit you on fire? Just like here, now, in front of a herd of witnesses, just doused you with Jamie’s and set light to you?
Me: Nobody’s ever cared enough. Until now.

N.P.: “Mladek” – Russian Circles