A Random Image

Archive for September, 2008

 
|| September 5, 2008 || 6:44 pm || Comments (14) ||

in me I recognize you, and in you I recognize me.


:: ‘gladiator’ by nadine nemec ::

“The real secret of magic is that the world is made of words and that if you know the words that the world is made of, you can make of it whatever you wish.”

// Terence Kemp McKenna

Now you. Put a quote that you’ve strongly connected with recently in yon comments. I’m eager to hear them.

 
|| September 4, 2008 || 5:53 pm || Comments (7) ||

alright

I am borne up on a peculiar flavor of hope; it is fueled by the smallest of things, things I am well aware that other people patently do not, cannot, or will not recognize for whatever reason(s). The same awareness that at times causes me acute pain is a perfectly-balanced double edged sword, the other side causing the sort of comfort that can only be defined as completely spiritual….and even that word is not big enough for the emotion I seek to describe. Suffice it to say, both sides slice efficiently, and for every moment of incredible emotional pain there is one that swings me back to center.

Today, for instance. Today’s hope-buoying happening took about a half a second and occurred at a drive-through window. I have been tired, so damnably tired, lately and I have been taking shortcuts through life. This comes at the price of a particular brand of self-loathing that I’ll talk more about later, but the fatigue drove me to Taco Bell*; they have as of late redeemed themselves with the sexy ‘fresco’ menu. Even were it not slightly healthier than their usual fare, I would love it just because those smart marketing bastards in their Smart Marketing Bastards Department crammed the word fresco in front of otherwise crap, mexican-in-name-only food like the ‘bean burrito’ and ‘crunchy taco’. Say it with me: “Bean Burrito”. Now counter that with “Fresco Bean Burrito” (which is even hotter should you hazard to trill your arrrrrrrrs). See? SEE? Hotness, you folk.

The drive-through laydeh bent at the waist when I pulled forward to the window and locked eyes with me. Perhaps you know that it’s rare for a drive-through laydeh to do such? But she met my gaze and I found her remarkably attractive in that centered sort of way that some people just have. They might look a tad weathered –as she did– but there is an air about them that says, “I got this, man.” So her slightly faded looks really didn’t detract from her at all; as a matter of fact, I would wager that they did her a favor, pushing the strong-shouldered vibe more to the forefront where it bygod should be.

I bet she was a killer twenty years ago, though. I bet she laid out a swath of men in her wake and didn’t even take note of them.

So she locked eyes with me, and they were a brilliant blue full of a promise. I guess if I’d had long enough to look at her, to look at those eyes, I could have figured out the promise and its intent. As it was, though, she read something upon looking into my own blues and it registered with her somehow. I doubted what I felt for about a beat, but then I came to know that my initial supposition was right.

I know something in me snagged her insides because when she gave me my change back, she did it by placing all the fingers of one hand below my own outstretched one, firmly supporting it –almost holding it, if you can fathom that– as she poured change into my palm with her other hand.

We live in a world where nobody touches one another anymore, not purposely. There was as much purpose in her fingers as I’ve ever felt in any full body press I’ve ever been given.

And my God, I was thankful. It was like a sweet Cosmic promise.

*well, not really: I drove myself, and the fatigue sort of herded me there.

 
|| September 2, 2008 || 9:26 pm || Comments (1) ||

on selling drugs, badly.


That is the best embellishment of the fuck-word ever and I can’t believe I didn’t think of it first. It’s courtesy of the Post-It Note Reading Series, this story in particular.

Oh man I love art, don’t you?