No such thing as stupidity.
oh sweet insanity
or am I just ...mad?
stupidity
the better word
when there's no such exotic thing as insanity
- and the mad will surely disagree? -
integrity, you see
does not apply
when smiling in the face of sheer stupidity
out of whack, never mind
- I wish -
too dumb
but still too kind
White house white plain, Wednesday the 26th of November 2003.
Hollow.
and the silence leaves a hollow
where the notes used to ring
the silence leaves a hollow
that contains everything
echoes emerging like punches
a cathedral in my head
and when the song is over
the priests will find me dead
dead as in the grave
but not quiet for all time
with the echo of the music
the last word is mine
High on a Hill, Saturday the 8th of February 2003.
Insanity, Please.
As my friend MDG once put it, in fact. Not that I saw this coming in 1988, of course. ~Insanity? Hey, bring in John Cleese, Jack Nicholson. They do that well.
Who on earth needs Cleese or Nicholson now?
Insanity lurks under the surface of normality. The nearer the surface, the colder the madness. Now, I know the guy I see in the mirror, I'm just not sure what the hell he's doing at the moment. Anyone?
I'm running out of alibis, of course. The closer the collapse, the greater the kick. ...If I could guess what my subconscious was up to, that is. ..."What will it be?" said the waiter. "Insanity, please" I replied.
"Coming right up" said the waiter. Or was that just the mirror talking again?
High on a Hill, Wednesday the 11th of December 2002.
Premonition.
I looked up premonition in my dictionary at some point, and it turns out it not only refers to a glimpse into the future, but also possibly a glimpse of something worrying about to happen. Not a reassuring word, should anyone ever use it, but this doesn't take the fascination out of it, either.
From my Saturday morning viewpoint, I see premonitions appear like clouds on the horizons. Premonitions waiting to be fulfilled, premonitions I can avoid if I only keep a clear head at the wheel.
Do I ever keep a clear head at the wheel?
It's a sobering thought. And should it not be sobering enough, then I'm sure the potential very cold shower a week or two over Christmas will wake me up to the smell the fish.
The smell of fish in the morning ... ugh!
High on a Hill, Saturday the 30th of November 2002.
A week in the making.
I'll hate myself 6 hours from now. I might start hating myself a mere half hour from now, actually. ...17 minutes to midnight, and lurking on the other side of midnight is the coming week. Boo!
If I'm lucky, I'll have a couple of hours sleep behind me tomorrow morning. At best. ~Being the schmuck that I am, I'll be lucky to have slept at all by the time I'm supposed to face Monday, as in "Monday, first day of the working week".
"Oh no! Not again!" thought the bowl of petunias as they fell. Ditto my brain as I'll fight to stay awake on 2378 occasions tomorrow. How bizarre to think that I'd be better off with a noisy day at work, since the sweet sound of silence will no doubt put me to sleep ... I wish!
High on a Hill, Sunday the 24th of November 2002.
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