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Sunday.
I'm in a tulip garden trying out smoking again. Cigarettes make me feel sick and make me feel like fucking so it's Sunday without the sermon. And it's only sometimes that life makes my blood burn like poison and that's the best and worst thing about god.
I'd like to have a god, or maybe gods. Someone warm and rich as earth with a less embarrassing name than Gaia. I'd like a divinity without prescription or plans. Maybe I'll choose a god from stories instead of making up stories about god. The Endless seem like a good option but not much of an option at all. Maybe I'll try Elua and Naamah who would have me fucking amongst the tulips and cherry blossoms. There'd probably be cigarettes in that pantheon, something with cloves and nutmeg and more consonants that sound like vowels.
I wonder why there aren't more gardens and know it's probably because there's not much there to sell and you can't control the weather.
Sorry for that stream of conscious gamble in the wabbe that's trying to sound like mildly tortured poetry. My life is awesome nearly all the time. I'm right on the cusp of a sustainable career, in the midst of a thousand sustainable relationships, young, smart, and not more discontent than is good for me. I'm trying to learn to drink more water and speak more languages and to decide if love's something worth pursuing or just a memetic hoax more persistent than religion. I'm trying to be better than I was the day before and not succeeding most of them time because gardens seem still and peaceful and I think I'm part of the generation that thinks life culminates at video games and being born means deserving to live forever in the oasis and the oasis was ever anything more than a place to stop and rest.
I did it again.
This week I have papers to write and schedules to plan. I work at a hospital, raise house plants, cook for a week at a time, and fuck a married couple. I tell stories but never secrets, particularly my own in both regards.
I'm in a tulip garden trying out smoking again. Cigarettes make me feel sick and make me feel like fucking so it's Sunday without the sermon. And it's only sometimes that life makes my blood burn like poison and that's the best and worst thing about god.
I'd like to have a god, or maybe gods. Someone warm and rich as earth with a less embarrassing name than Gaia. I'd like a divinity without prescription or plans. Maybe I'll choose a god from stories instead of making up stories about god. The Endless seem like a good option but not much of an option at all. Maybe I'll try Elua and Naamah who would have me fucking amongst the tulips and cherry blossoms. There'd probably be cigarettes in that pantheon, something with cloves and nutmeg and more consonants that sound like vowels.
I wonder why there aren't more gardens and know it's probably because there's not much there to sell and you can't control the weather.
Sorry for that stream of conscious gamble in the wabbe that's trying to sound like mildly tortured poetry. My life is awesome nearly all the time. I'm right on the cusp of a sustainable career, in the midst of a thousand sustainable relationships, young, smart, and not more discontent than is good for me. I'm trying to learn to drink more water and speak more languages and to decide if love's something worth pursuing or just a memetic hoax more persistent than religion. I'm trying to be better than I was the day before and not succeeding most of them time because gardens seem still and peaceful and I think I'm part of the generation that thinks life culminates at video games and being born means deserving to live forever in the oasis and the oasis was ever anything more than a place to stop and rest.
I did it again.
This week I have papers to write and schedules to plan. I work at a hospital, raise house plants, cook for a week at a time, and fuck a married couple. I tell stories but never secrets, particularly my own in both regards.
