And Yet, Pretentiousness Still Reigns.
The old man sits high in the sky on this night, looking dead and bloated, gazing down on the land beneath with a contemptuous, baleful eye. Wondering what happened and where those have come before have gone. The inky blackness of the night grinds down upon the earth like a suffocating blanket, euthanizing everyone below into a state of blissful slumber, and yet I lie awake.
On this, the second night of the dawning of the new year, it strives to be different, yet remains the same as before. The turning of the year does not predict or predicate a change in being, thought, or mannerism, but is merely a catalyst to indicate that change is possible, but not insured. It is nothing more than a sheet of cheesecloth filled with water. The bulk of the volume flows through freely, but the remaining particulate can be the most valuable of all the substance, for it is the minutest detail that can be the most important.
And as I sit here, waiting for the piper at the gates of dawn to bring me down into the slumber of suburbia, I think of these things. Wanting and waiting for nothing more than to be drawn into the nights warm embrace and drift down into nirvana, but instead I lie here, wanting to sleep and drowning in my fever soaked sheets, listening to the deluded whisperings of the man in my mind, sermonizing on obscure and unimportant matters, not fit to be listened too, but yet I continue to listen with sleep not forthcoming...
Friggen wonderful. 2007, back to work tomorrow and I'm sick as a dog trying to sleep with a fever thrown into the mix for fun...Looks like a good start to the year folks.
The old man sits high in the sky on this night, looking dead and bloated, gazing down on the land beneath with a contemptuous, baleful eye. Wondering what happened and where those have come before have gone. The inky blackness of the night grinds down upon the earth like a suffocating blanket, euthanizing everyone below into a state of blissful slumber, and yet I lie awake.
On this, the second night of the dawning of the new year, it strives to be different, yet remains the same as before. The turning of the year does not predict or predicate a change in being, thought, or mannerism, but is merely a catalyst to indicate that change is possible, but not insured. It is nothing more than a sheet of cheesecloth filled with water. The bulk of the volume flows through freely, but the remaining particulate can be the most valuable of all the substance, for it is the minutest detail that can be the most important.
And as I sit here, waiting for the piper at the gates of dawn to bring me down into the slumber of suburbia, I think of these things. Wanting and waiting for nothing more than to be drawn into the nights warm embrace and drift down into nirvana, but instead I lie here, wanting to sleep and drowning in my fever soaked sheets, listening to the deluded whisperings of the man in my mind, sermonizing on obscure and unimportant matters, not fit to be listened too, but yet I continue to listen with sleep not forthcoming...
Friggen wonderful. 2007, back to work tomorrow and I'm sick as a dog trying to sleep with a fever thrown into the mix for fun...Looks like a good start to the year folks.
posted by Reverend Moloquin at 3:46 AM
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