2003-05-11 - 12:52 a.m.

It's all just air on air.

It is almost one in the morning, and I have just returned from my illustrious job as a security officer (explaining stripper-like description of badges and uniforms from earlier). I thought I would cast a quick quote into the night before I get into bed in preparation for absurdly early Mother's Day breakfast, taking place in seven brief hours. (That may not sound early to you, invisible reader, but this rough and tumble security officer works from 4pm-midnight. Oh, yes. A ranger of the night, indeed.)

Quote of the night:

"And what is literature, Rabo, but an insider's newsletter about affairs relating to molecules, of no importance to anything in the Universe but a few molecules who have the disease called 'thought.'"

-Kurt Vonnegut; Bluebeard

That just makes my insides all cold...a real help in alleviating the Blahs of earlier, in that it aggravated them and forced me to acknowledge the thoughts that threatened to drive the Big Brain Bus off the cliff, so to speak. So acknowledge I did. The impermanence and illusion all challenging me to free myself from their vice-like grip, and while I am not (and may never be) free, I am at least peaceful.

And if said peace doesn't last I can always dumb myself down with episodes of the Fifth Wheel and Survivor. God Bless America. The land of inane distraction. I need not accept the illusions of self and happiness. I can define myself through my consumerism, and with the help of Coke I can "feel real" for about a dollar a bottle.

Mmmmmmmm...Real. And fizzy.

�

previous - next

�