ApostropheNow in... "Return to Cold Harbor"
"YOU'RE OLD... !"
Uncle Donkey Kong lives in a bubble. Inside it, the painfully obvious is routinely exposed and subsequently hyped to tabloid proportions - lest the sun set on the righteous. He's breaking balls, specifically mine, for my refusal to improve myself. Improvement entails driving a new car, buying a new house, getting married and making babies (because that's what people are supposed to do).
I'm informed that my time is limited. I want to scoff at this.
I'm used to this diatribe, it's a perennial event, and I'm used to Uncle Donkey Kong parking himself in the middle of my home like a Human Winnebago to preach it to me. It's part of a cycle, not unlike the ebb and flow of something all-natural and kinda smelly. Out of Chaos, a pattern. The world is always singing, the tune is everliving, but it is decidedly downbeat.
There is a philosophical school of thought, much too convoluted to fit on a restroom wall, which asserts that the individuals you encounter daily, on either good terms or bad, are the souls you will perpetually meet over and over in your journey of birth, death and rebirth - " the Wheel of Becoming" otherwise known as Samsara. Your friend could be your big sister in the next lifetime. Your cat may become your worst enemy may become your dearest mentor... or your Uncle Donkey Kong.
It's never too late and at once it's later than you think.
"YOU'RE OLD... !"
Uncle Donkey Kong lives in a bubble. Inside it, the painfully obvious is routinely exposed and subsequently hyped to tabloid proportions - lest the sun set on the righteous. He's breaking balls, specifically mine, for my refusal to improve myself. Improvement entails driving a new car, buying a new house, getting married and making babies (because that's what people are supposed to do).
I'm informed that my time is limited. I want to scoff at this.
I'm used to this diatribe, it's a perennial event, and I'm used to Uncle Donkey Kong parking himself in the middle of my home like a Human Winnebago to preach it to me. It's part of a cycle, not unlike the ebb and flow of something all-natural and kinda smelly. Out of Chaos, a pattern. The world is always singing, the tune is everliving, but it is decidedly downbeat.
There is a philosophical school of thought, much too convoluted to fit on a restroom wall, which asserts that the individuals you encounter daily, on either good terms or bad, are the souls you will perpetually meet over and over in your journey of birth, death and rebirth - " the Wheel of Becoming" otherwise known as Samsara. Your friend could be your big sister in the next lifetime. Your cat may become your worst enemy may become your dearest mentor... or your Uncle Donkey Kong.
It's never too late and at once it's later than you think.