The Unswung Bat

Thursday, January 29, 2004
Pay it no mind

Words. random words. shaped words. Words giving rise to a shape. Words without the proper shape. Grammar that offends, missed capitalization. Insuffereble spellings. Words here for no reason but their shape. Testing the limits of a blan spave. A blank space. A keyvoard. The typing doesn't matter.

Everybody gotta get help. Everybody need help. No? I don't know what to make of that no. I'm pretty much only happy when either I'm making someone else feel good or when life is just ridiculously, stupidly, grandly and obscenely wonderful on its own. Either of those. And now it's winter when I feel like a big part of myself is sleeping all the time, deep in a great big cave on a mountain, which obviously puts it pretty far away. And just because of the nature of that part that's in hibernation, this tends to preclude the second path to happiness.

For a long time nothing happened.

Then it all got laid out, like the order was something that got careful attention, like it was that way just for me, though of course it was that way for everyone, just for everyone. Why do we make stuff about us? I have no compelling reason to think the cross-sectional perimeter of my chest and back is 40.16", and in fact I think it probably isn't. But so what, I wear t-shirts. It's only personal information if it tells other people something about me. Here's a tidbit: they're size S t-shirts to display both my self-diminishing tendencies and the tightness with which I wear my personality, not to mention the self-aggrandizing tendencies showcased by my appearing only in clothes that fit me perfectly and set me apart as one who knows himself and doesn't worry about fashion.

Funny how you realize it's been said and that the empty white space that flattens the rest of the page is filled up in all of our minds. My way of believing is that it's filled up the same in all of us. My way of seeing tells me different, but I need glasses anyway so hey.

Sometimes you are and sometimes you ain't, and when you aren't in the middle of things the wind is blowing but there isn't any sky, and when you are you know where the weather comes from, at least roughly.

Some to my left, some to my right, some way up ahead who are afraid I'm gone, and some lots behind. And in the middle of that is where I can can, in other words where can is an option, where timshel, if John Steinbeck will allow.

original site + text contents ©2004 twenty oh four by me called it

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