I’m sitting here all sad.
Sitting here at the window
Watching grey clouds roll in
Thick cloud cover shading big
parched trees but not
raining.
Just kidding. I could use something though. A vacation. I just had a vacation. Psychotherapy. How do you pick a psychotherapist?
Is crack really as addictive as they say?
I saw a painting by Gustav Klimt once. “Am Attersee” I think it was called, but I can’t find anything on the Internet with a color balance approaching what I saw. Beautiful, dark but with this hidden glow to it, pure genius.
The Danube was like that last night when my wife and I took a stroll along its banks. The sun had gone down and the river was calm but for a few ripples from the occasional boat. Some rowers rowed past. The orange glow faded to purple yadda yadda yadda.
We held hands and walked and sat on a bench when we got tired of walking. The air was full of romance.
“The first thing my mom said when I finally told her because I knew you’d eventually tell my parents because you’ve been bugging me so much about it was, ‘what’s he so upset about, what about the time he wrecked two cars on his way home from the Erotic Industry Fair?'” she said, gazing into my eyes.
“I know, I know. It’s not about that. I also rearended that VW in the snow that time. I know. This is…”
“This is what? I didn’t see any dent. You allege the dent is from her hitting the car.”
[And then it got complicated. Etc etc. Post edited due to dictates of common sense.]
Also, first it’s decent rock icons dying, Joey Ramone and whatshisface, that Clash guy. Now Bob Hope and Idi Amin – guys you didn’t realize were still alive. Who’s next? What will the next cluster be?
LOL @ “guys you didn’t know were still alive.”
I need a vacation too (not death of course) something that I can return from within a week or two.
Yours is the third (of the first/last blog entries I’ll be reading today) story involving crack that I’ve read today. And I just remembered this wack dream I had, in which some kid wanted me to cut his hair, and offered me a bag of crack and speed mixed togther, in trade. And I was all “what am I supposed to do with this? Meh!” and so I got something purple, instead.
It was kind of a lame dream.
So. Um. Beta was driving? Or your mother-in-law hit it?
It’s not important, I guess. Clearly it was all about the crack.
crack is sort of addictive, if you like that sort of thing. actually, even if you don’t. it’s quite possible to sit in the middle of a white sheet spread out on the floor (so you could see bugs if there were bugs) and look at your arm and even if you can’t see them think “i believe in the bugs i believe in the bugs i believe in the bugs (it goes on)”. and then you can think why do i do this i don’t like bugs.
so i’ve heard.
I like bugs. I was just thinking, isn’t it great that flies aren’t venomous? We live across the street from a gigantic pig farm. Imagine flies were like spiders venom-wise, or copperheads. We’d have to get screens.
Joe Strummer.
“London is drowning, and I live by the river.”