blocked. no, not blocked ... beleagured

But hey, look. I'm fucking prolific. I think I might just break last years record of 26 posts. An accomplishment I don't think I will be brandishing too conspicuously. This blog in and of itself is a pitiful testament to the lack of humanity I have come to accept as my lot. I was empty but now I am seemingly only full of less than positive things to say. So who's to say I am better off or not.

I lost my keys today and I cried. It is no secret that crying is a daily activity for me. But the keys really got to me. I went to a lunar eclipse party the other night on the winter solstice and it was miraculous and mystifying. I felt so much and so little staring up at the color-shifting night sentinel. I was very aware of the Earth and the Sun and the power of planets. I felt moved and movement. I felt the order or things. Many people in my life refer to the Universe in similar terms to the way people who claim to be theists refer to God as someone upstairs liking them. These people in my life will say things like the Universe really has my back. After losing my keys for absolutely no discernible reason and in an extremely brief amount of time I cursed the Universe for having the back of those who are in much less turmoil than I currently find myself and instead merely shitting upon my shitty situation. The connection was lost and I feel heavy-laden. Jesus Christ, unhand your light yoke. I am crushed and abandoned.

a toast

There is a Bjork song I listened to once and I posed the question asked in the song to my car partner. "Where is the line with you?" AT the time I was referring to sexual perpetuity I wanted to assure myself we were congruous. As with all things at this very particular time in my life this memory and Bjork's query has taken on new meaning and received a new context. So where is the line? The surer I become about what it is I ought to be doing the more I become inverted and entirely unsure of everything. What is my place? Where once I felt like (in the words of Bilbo Baggins) butter spread over too much bread I now feel like those burnt corners of the toast that the butter never reaches and will either be torn asunder from the rest and given to the dog or left on the plate to become stale, worthless and wasted.


I do have confidence in somethings, however. American justice is not dead nor entirely ineffective. My terrific friend was granted the payoff of determined justice seeking. In the name of self preservation and love of the ideal of a safe, peaceful city she has proved hope and diligent resistance can combat any evil. Dragging into the light secretive injustices can embarrass and make impotent those who think they can get away with treating another human as anything less than an incredible creature worthy of respect and compassion.