“He strikes me as a Jimmy Swaggert type of character. Uniquely American. The thing’s gonna end in tears. The last thing on his memo pad was “crotch-shots”.
A little further back along the track. It’s early days. Fair comment. Should in theory be okay. Haptic buzz? Everything’s been max-specced. It’s like a day in history.
Facebook is encouraging me to update my image. My first thought is I don’t have an image. Where else is there to go? As any red-blooded Italian would say: Basta! Enough!
There’s always this: “The Man did not appear to hear, but The Warden, typing, still watched him, gauging carefully, making sure it was the peak. You could not handle this time like the last time. This was stronger. This was the last time squared, and you could have to square the strength of your approach, and then if you waited till the other’s peak was past, then logically you would have it made, but was it worth it? Hell no, it wasn’t worth it, not when you might crimp your own concatenation, what was it to you if some damned son of a bitching stupid fool of an antediluvian got himself beheaded by a progressive world by going around in a dream world and trying to live up to a romantic, backward ideal of individual integrity? You could go doing things for a jerk like that forever, and never help him any.”
“A unicorn ridden by a sasquatch. It’s worse than Washington state. It’s north of there.” It’s funny how the book is as good as the movie. James Jones (1921 – 1977). From Here To Eternity. He got the title out of Kipling. Out of who?
Feb 14, 2017. 4:30 pm. Calm. Zero precipitation. Valentine’s Day. Beautiful. The rains, as they said they would, have washed away all but all of the snow. Just some hearty dirty patches here and there. But they’ll never wash away the tears. The tracks of my tears. Now cut that out.
And this:
By the hoof of the Wild Goat uptossed
From the Cliff where she lay in the sun,
Fell the Stone
To the Tarn where the daylight is lost;
So she fell from the light of the Sun,
And alone.
Now the fall was ordained from the first,
With the Goat and the Cliff and the Tarn.
But the Stone
Knows only her life is accursed
As she sinks from the light of the Sun,
And alone.
Oh, Thou Who hast builded the World!
Oh, Thou Who hast lighted the Sun!
Oh, Thou Who hast darkened the Tarn!
Judge Thou
The sin of the Stone that was hurled
By the Goat from the light of the Sun,
As she sinks in the mire of the Tarn,
Even now – even now – even now!
I know. It’s tragic. Rudyard Kipling (1865 – 1936). To Be Filed For Reference. And that is enough of that.
I don’t know. There’s just something about getting on that Grandview Highway bus and getting the hell out of here.
