Sentimental Sunday
To my surprise, event've occurred in the past 72 hours which I had not expected nor would have guessed. It's almost as if the external world is telling me that it really is alive. How thoughtful of the world!
[Though, my ideas of the world are merely impressions generated through a series of sensations, passions, feelings and memories. And because I'm merely a bundle of these sensations there's no way of being certain that these sensations are really there; you can't reason a matter of fact such as the impression of shaking a man's hand on the roof of my apartment complex. Oh No! No more free will, reality isn't real, hamburgers eat people, lottery winners are temporal nexes to the gateway to Eastgate, then Eastside, then Southside, then — Southpark Avenue, shots with a pretty view, have another beer or two, chillin with the weirdo few, face catching morning dew — and back to reality. If he were alive, I'd punch David Hume in the balls and ask him to tell me if it's real or not. God I'm weird. What else is new. Thanks for a reason to open up my 5-year-old philosophy book Ms. Morrow. "I reject your reality and substitute my own."]
The past few days were good days. They were unique; perhaps my wits have been dull in the past few months and I haven't appreciated how unique all that fucking stuff was. Who knows.
*take a drink*
Here's a few things: 1) The number of single girls has narrowed to narrow, and the number of attached girls is ... large and unfair. 2) If I hear "How are you?" one more time — you know the phrase, the polite deflection — then I just don't know; I won't be held responsible. 3) I feel like I should try to write in magazine, or for paperback publishers, or join the circus. 4) It's the simple things — ice, comfortable shoes, fresh food, personal conversations — that make the rest colorful/flavorful/almost worth opening one's eyes in the morning. 5) My brother is back in August. If he thought the Marines was hell, then he's been away from the country for too long. Pictures will be available in the events to come.
My tomato plants are thriving! I'm getting some pretty tasty looking fruits! Is it sad that growing those goddamn plants is the second most worthwhile thing right now (second to doing all that stuff I do at The Missourian)? Wait ... don't answer. Any answer might loose the nebulous grasp of reality I have at the moment.
Now, to close my eyes for a few moments before it all starts back up again. Just a few is all I ever ask for.
[Though, my ideas of the world are merely impressions generated through a series of sensations, passions, feelings and memories. And because I'm merely a bundle of these sensations there's no way of being certain that these sensations are really there; you can't reason a matter of fact such as the impression of shaking a man's hand on the roof of my apartment complex. Oh No! No more free will, reality isn't real, hamburgers eat people, lottery winners are temporal nexes to the gateway to Eastgate, then Eastside, then Southside, then — Southpark Avenue, shots with a pretty view, have another beer or two, chillin with the weirdo few, face catching morning dew — and back to reality. If he were alive, I'd punch David Hume in the balls and ask him to tell me if it's real or not. God I'm weird. What else is new. Thanks for a reason to open up my 5-year-old philosophy book Ms. Morrow. "I reject your reality and substitute my own."]
The past few days were good days. They were unique; perhaps my wits have been dull in the past few months and I haven't appreciated how unique all that fucking stuff was. Who knows.
*take a drink*
Here's a few things: 1) The number of single girls has narrowed to narrow, and the number of attached girls is ... large and unfair. 2) If I hear "How are you?" one more time — you know the phrase, the polite deflection — then I just don't know; I won't be held responsible. 3) I feel like I should try to write in magazine, or for paperback publishers, or join the circus. 4) It's the simple things — ice, comfortable shoes, fresh food, personal conversations — that make the rest colorful/flavorful/almost worth opening one's eyes in the morning. 5) My brother is back in August. If he thought the Marines was hell, then he's been away from the country for too long. Pictures will be available in the events to come.
My tomato plants are thriving! I'm getting some pretty tasty looking fruits! Is it sad that growing those goddamn plants is the second most worthwhile thing right now (second to doing all that stuff I do at The Missourian)? Wait ... don't answer. Any answer might loose the nebulous grasp of reality I have at the moment.
Now, to close my eyes for a few moments before it all starts back up again. Just a few is all I ever ask for.
Labels: Sentimental Sunday
posted at
2:23 AM
