I want to be a mail man, or a buddhist monk.
I am at my very best driving and listening to the radio, or walking around doing shit like going to the bank (when I'm making a deposit). Sweeping the floor. Taking the dogs out. I worry very little in these moments. The sea of troubles is kind of off somewhere in the distance during those times.
Sitting down sucks. Computers suck. Can I at least use a typewriter? Fuck this! Couldn't I have been born an ancient Chinese scholar who only writes with a brush, if I have to write? House husband or early-retired person would also work.
Right now, though, I'm planted in front of this hot piece of plastic agonizing over the right words for shit that bores me. I'm going to try to adopt the same mindset. Mindfulness. Any moment is as good as any other. Feeling my fingers on the smooth keys. Ignoring the tendinitis. Casting off the sickly glare of this little fucking screen. Shit. It's not working. Neither am I.
Minutia
-
I've not moved. I kind of want to, but every time I think of some super
clever and unique name for a new blog, I check and find out it's not unique
at all....
Posts
2 comments:
When I was in Mazatlan Mexico a guy kept screaming "YOUR NAME ON A GRAIN OF RICE"
When I wandered over to him and asked why I would want my name on a grain of rice he produced a tiny beaded necklace with a shellacked grain of rice in the middle. He handed me a magnifing glass and I could see written on it in tiny letters was the name SHANNON.
Because I was drunk for most of the day, I bought it over his shouts of protest that he would in fact write MY name on a grain of rice.
Drunk people shouldn't go to the beach.
Did my longwinded story make you angry enough to blaze through your work with the white hot intensity of a thousand suns??
If you know me you'll know the following response is a huge complement: ?
Post a Comment