Listening to: Lost's SUPERB Mix
How does one start when one has nothing to say other than, frankly, one has nothing to say?
This blog has remained a big blank space for the past week for no other reason than the well's been dry, devoid of original thought or anything even passably interesting.
In the spirit of the season, I submit my hobgoblins to you, for your consideration, and trust such beasties scare up something more than the small-minded foolish consistency that my readers have come to expect. Not meaning to creep up on ya' and go "boo" but it's about all I have at the moment.
Arise zombie: speak and eat some brains.
This past week passed in a pissed off blast of Indian Summer. Cold in the morning, hot as catshit in a pan in the afternoon. "Fall, fall, for fuck's sake FALL," I kept chanting.
Fall arrived today. Finally. Even some snow tonight. As, I said, the Zombie speaks.
Hollow as I am, a husk of what I was, bone dry and crypt cold, I welcome the turn of the planet towards chill. Blow away the wisp of what I was, I'm so over that.
Delapsus Resurgam, When I fall, I shall rise. Everything that falls is renewed as something else, different, maybe better.
Maybe. It's nice to believe that, anyway. At Ground Zero it feels good to believe in something.