So, Happy Cinco de Mayo everyone! Although, I argue that America has no right to even remotely celebrate a holiday that exists completely outside of our country's history. Yet instead, American college kids (at least in California) seize the day as yet another worthless opportunity to drink our worries away, excused once more to rebel and indulge and party, party par-tay!
Yeah. But I really don't mind so much. In fact, I fully advocate any efforts to familiarize the American people with the cultural celebrations of others, such as the Mexicans.
Cinco de Mayo is not Mexican Independence Day (that takes place in September). It is instead the celebration of when the French invaders were driven from Mexican shores some several-hundred years ago. Funny thing, those same French returned a year later to reinstigate their advance on the Mexican world, only to be beaten AGAIN, later.
Those darn Frenchies.
So,
How is everybody?!
Heather, your posting makes me happy and pissed. And happily pissing myself I piss happily in my piss over your pissy piss piss piss. Is piss even a swear word? Yeah, I guess so.
Anyway, Happy = because your adventures are so captivating to us masses.
And, Pissed = because I would have nothing more than to be standing in a bookstore with you in some backwater Virginian countrytown.
In the meantime, I have my beautiful Santa Cruz weather to keep me placid, calm and redundant. I'm soothed by my many beautiful girlie flirtees and copious amounts of tourist eye candy to oogle at and enjoy during my slow-drifting recent days of coast.
I'm not killing time here though; I'm creating time. Time is a semisoft purple mass of clay; each morning I am handed one fistful lump of dough, and with sleep wiped from my eyes I begin to mould. Every evening, I have completed a new little sculpture, glazed fired and gleaming, or wet and shapeless, or mid-perfect and cracking dry. And every day I place this new little creation of Time up on my Shelf of Days, a real place where my life is infallibly stored, a museum untouchable by human hands, and only I can look back down my line of Times, a beautiful circular hallway filled with fantastic imagery, artwork making up the corners and decorating my eyes with wonder. I have this life, these Times, and even if nobody ever sees them again they're still there, here, and one can never take away a Time from up on the shelf.
Since I told her I would, I'm supposed to mention a girl in my journal entry tonight. And since this seems to be my only journal entry, and it's already 3:41am right now, I might as well mention her here.
She's a knock-out height. Nothing beats a girl that's 5'1".
The nice thing about things is that
no matter in what rut you're stuck,
there's still stuff just beyond our eyes,
that our hands can find,
our bodies discover
our glass can fill up with
the love of another.
Just because you don't see it, doesn't mean it isn't there forever.
5 comments:
she's got a boyfriend Mikie. You douche.
nice description of time, the use of time, and memory...beautiful way with words (except for the piss paragraph)...
loved the cat picture!
Speaking of piss Mikie, those pictures made me laugh so hard that that's what I did. Well, I came to tears really, but for some reason they were very hilarious--especially the George Bush one. No way I say.
matt, i agree, that george bush picture has me laughing like a madperson in a tiny cafe in butte montana.
mikie, i like that the weather is keeping you placid. have you ever read anything by nabokov? i really think you'd like lolita. we'll talk later.
Post a Comment