this is not a manifesto...

i am going to start this post by saying, i am however many whiskey sodas and smirnoff ices down the tubes.

so this is going to be a literary (or written verbal, not sure which is really appropriate) dump site. no one knows whence my thoughts will wander (and yes, i did say "whence" and i would gladly kick your ass if you take issue with that!)

i had a shitty day.

now, o my beloved droogs n only friends, this; this is nothing new. fuck, considering some of the classes i am having lately, and the course loads, it is a regular fucking deal. we know, right?

who'm i kidding? here i sit, alone, really. only a small group of you still stop by this dung heap on the information superhighway: but here's the thing, even the guy cleaning the port-a-pots is happy with his lot, right?

back to my shitty day, or more appropriately, how unshitty it really becomes in comparison to those that do and deal and fucking take it on a daily basis, right?

cause no one, and i do mean no one, can really understand to what depths we all fall, in and of ourselves. but. the big fat "but" that always rears its ugly head: those depths are still our depths. and the big game we play on this blue marble that has been dropped in a coal bin that fires up the train that rollicks across the universe beyond our ken is ultimately viewed within only our very own eyes.

cause that is how it is.

and those of us who are real friends, and who are self-aware, we approximate, and we do our part to make it pass easier. we see you in your moment of weakness, and we pass you the towel, or the change of clothes, or the cool glass of water, and we don't say anything. ever. never again.

cause somehow we know.

i have friends who have seen their friends blown to bits. i have friends whose friends' blood has been spattered across them. have i ever done this: whoah, i seriously take a drunken lucid moment to pause, and no, i have never held someone in my hands while they breathed their last breath.

some have.

some have been through the dank pits of hell, and only hint at it in moments of weakness. not that i am afraid of the dank pits of hell, and hey! if some of you are gonna be there, i prefer them to shiny happy times, honestly. but still. i have never actually what i would call, "been there."

and that is cause, ultimately, without a shadow of a doubt, i am one lucky motherfucker. but i am one rapt listening son of a bitch when someone who has is sharing these moments with me. i am appreciative. and i try to be the first bastard to say, "you know what? there but for the grace of god go i. and ty. thanks. thank you, cause you are stronger than i will ever be."

put your hand in mine, o my droogs and only friends, my long-suffering non-existent readers, those who return day after day or week after week or even month after month (fuck, i will even take the year-after-year's, cause really, have i been any better? no. no, i have not.) put your hand in mine and together we will traverse this monopoly game-board of life like some red-rover wall, impenetrable as long as we all uniformly and unanimously stay one to the cause.

i warned ya at the beginning of the post, didn't i?

darth sardonic

if only, o my beloveds, i could sometimes convey in a more detailed manner the tangle that occurs in my head, but i discovered something, with the help of lady macleod and a few other close friends that only one thing matters, ultimately: i have got your back. n if you could, for me (which i know is not my usual style to some of you newcomers, but i will tell you, hang around this sorry little excuse for a blog long enough and you will see happens more often than not--), find that one person in your lives who really needs that hug, and give it, without judgement, with total abandon. you may make the difference between life or death. and that is one fucking thing i won't joke about.