I'm sitting here afrump in a pile of ruffled collars lamenting the broken down state of the washing machine, or more accurately the distance to the next openly accessible machine, wearing pants that are flummoxed with the residue of a dozen days' debris, my underwear serving only a nominal purpose as the waistband is intact but were one (whether mysterious stranger, guileless empiricist or just some lucky duck) to look deeper into the state of things they may be shocked to discover (depending upon his/her moral prerogatives, etc) that more is concealed by my socks, my last pair of socks, which are normally reserved for snowy mountain treks. I think to myself that the past few years have gone quickly, even as quickly as these posts may indicate. Regret tends to cast a long shadow on my experiences.
All of which is an aside, really. I, being a lucky duck myself, am starting to pluck myself up, by which I mean I'm looking more for answers internally than external directions (if that kind of hullabaloo jibes with you). Perhaps it sounds as if I'm always doing this, but perhaps I only write these when I am. Regardless, I'm beginning to suspect that I may be able to find those answers if I look in the right way. I can wander aimlessly for only so long before asking myself where I might be.
By the way, next time you see a duck in a pond, haplessly floating along, remember their webbed and (sometimes) brilliantly orange feet kicking about under the calm surface of the water, especially if you're throwing breadcrumbs at them.
Lately my dreams have been coming in barrages: some spurious, some fantastic, some mundane, some heartrending, and one so demoniacally akin to a Lovecraftian vision I could almost hear the call of Cthulhu (unfortunately hazy now, something to do with astonishing disappearances at the Huygens' household). Also, a few zombie dreams to boot. Many of them were the kinds of dreams a psychoanalyst could have a field day with, the kinds of dreams I didn't think I'd ever have (but not the zombie ones; I've been having those as long as I can remember).
I wish I could tell you more, but nothing is very clear to me right now, wrapped up in myself as I am. I will try to write here more often though, it seems to help.
All of which is an aside, really. I, being a lucky duck myself, am starting to pluck myself up, by which I mean I'm looking more for answers internally than external directions (if that kind of hullabaloo jibes with you). Perhaps it sounds as if I'm always doing this, but perhaps I only write these when I am. Regardless, I'm beginning to suspect that I may be able to find those answers if I look in the right way. I can wander aimlessly for only so long before asking myself where I might be.
By the way, next time you see a duck in a pond, haplessly floating along, remember their webbed and (sometimes) brilliantly orange feet kicking about under the calm surface of the water, especially if you're throwing breadcrumbs at them.
Lately my dreams have been coming in barrages: some spurious, some fantastic, some mundane, some heartrending, and one so demoniacally akin to a Lovecraftian vision I could almost hear the call of Cthulhu (unfortunately hazy now, something to do with astonishing disappearances at the Huygens' household). Also, a few zombie dreams to boot. Many of them were the kinds of dreams a psychoanalyst could have a field day with, the kinds of dreams I didn't think I'd ever have (but not the zombie ones; I've been having those as long as I can remember).
I wish I could tell you more, but nothing is very clear to me right now, wrapped up in myself as I am. I will try to write here more often though, it seems to help.