Well, I will wake up with my lights on because this feeling is all I've got.
So, give me five more minutes and, I swear, I'll be - King of the World.
And, of all the shapes that I've taken on, I swear, I like this one the best.
Suicide in hand and I look back at all my names; I swear, I like this one the best.
"I know that you said you could never go home
Well I hope you know that that is not your fault.
"So, as you watch all you dreams roll by and the road you're on, folded up and gone.
Just know that I could be just like you, but still know there's a better way out.
"I know that you said you could never go home
Well I hope you know that that is not your fault.
It's okay...it's okay.
14 November 2009
Heroes
We may have gone wrong.
There - smoking thin cigarette, snorting fine powder, wearing tight-fit navy blue and thin tie, working a subordinated 80-hour week, living within 400 sq. ft. for 3X national-average rent, with vacuous pretty faces as hanger-ons - is our vapid hero. Grotesque and caricatured.
What to do know?
There - smoking thin cigarette, snorting fine powder, wearing tight-fit navy blue and thin tie, working a subordinated 80-hour week, living within 400 sq. ft. for 3X national-average rent, with vacuous pretty faces as hanger-ons - is our vapid hero. Grotesque and caricatured.
What to do know?
13 November 2009
wailing
He wailed again and again, at the top of his lungs. Nothing, he claimed, was going his way.
They pushed from the back. He was losing control, of his footing, of his sanity, of his soul, of...of everything. He wanted belligerence, screaming and panting and drooling and barking and a bottle and straight animal behavior to clear his raging head. "FUCK!" But, alas, he now led this group down the hill. Was he really leading? Ah, the pressure!
"Drive them away," he thought to himself after deep breath to maintain composure. "Just drive them away!" he thought, inside his head, he swore. Inside his head, screaming and wailing...and probably near audible at this point. And so near tears and red-faced murderous rage - but straight-faced man he remained...
...until knees buckled and once poised adult but now raging animal monster lay crippled under the weight of those he once led.
They pushed from the back. He was losing control, of his footing, of his sanity, of his soul, of...of everything. He wanted belligerence, screaming and panting and drooling and barking and a bottle and straight animal behavior to clear his raging head. "FUCK!" But, alas, he now led this group down the hill. Was he really leading? Ah, the pressure!
"Drive them away," he thought to himself after deep breath to maintain composure. "Just drive them away!" he thought, inside his head, he swore. Inside his head, screaming and wailing...and probably near audible at this point. And so near tears and red-faced murderous rage - but straight-faced man he remained...
...until knees buckled and once poised adult but now raging animal monster lay crippled under the weight of those he once led.
older
And, now that you're older, can't you look back at past accomplishments and also ahead at potential better days with equal satisfaction and promise? Haven't you always been a hero and also an optimist? Haven't you learned to appreciate what you have and still may achieve? Have you not looked in the mirror ever and stared? Smirking sideways at the man you have become? Have you never looked up at the sky, head back, arms outstretched, eyes closed, and screamed at the sun? Owning the world and holding your future, finally understood, in the palm of your hand?
No.
Oh. So, so, hold on tight to these coming 480 or so months you have left, then. They are going to have to be your best. And be sure to dog-ear those special days somehow...because, fuck, you deserve that memory. And yours will soon fade.
No.
Oh. So, so, hold on tight to these coming 480 or so months you have left, then. They are going to have to be your best. And be sure to dog-ear those special days somehow...because, fuck, you deserve that memory. And yours will soon fade.
Quote
"It was always the becoming he had dreamed of. Never the being." (F.Scott Fitzgerald, 'This Side of Paradise')
22 October 2009
Defeat
He was loved by genetics but is possessed by age.
The face has softened to something more of a vertical puddle of skin collected on the front of a skull. Obsessively he touches and plays with its new spongy consistency. Endless smiles and grinding of teeth to test cheek structure and once strong jawline that attained so much for him. In the right mirror he sees the face of a version dripping with years - chin, mealy and liquid; drawn cheeks and sunken eyes; lips red for lack of color and now within laugh parentheses.
And he can't stop touching it, just feeling and moving the skin across the skull. Is it really gone - the face he once had - gone? And, lord, he is vain. Loves the look of himself more than the air that keeps him alive.
The "himself" that he made hay of up to this point is quickly being erased, and what does he have? Abundant resources have weakened his resolve. And now? And now? And now, what asset to exploit?
The face has softened to something more of a vertical puddle of skin collected on the front of a skull. Obsessively he touches and plays with its new spongy consistency. Endless smiles and grinding of teeth to test cheek structure and once strong jawline that attained so much for him. In the right mirror he sees the face of a version dripping with years - chin, mealy and liquid; drawn cheeks and sunken eyes; lips red for lack of color and now within laugh parentheses.
And he can't stop touching it, just feeling and moving the skin across the skull. Is it really gone - the face he once had - gone? And, lord, he is vain. Loves the look of himself more than the air that keeps him alive.
The "himself" that he made hay of up to this point is quickly being erased, and what does he have? Abundant resources have weakened his resolve. And now? And now? And now, what asset to exploit?
15 October 2009
Old Man
He says to his true friend, the only one that remains,
"I won't ask for much, just to regain some color into my ashen face."
"Of whom?"
"God"
"I won't ask for much, just to regain some color into my ashen face."
"Of whom?"
"God"
Nietzsche and The Financial Crash
Nietzshe's theory of the 'will to power' - that the driving force and overarching motivation in human is power.
That is: ambition to higher social standing, more income (or more than your neighbor, because $80K in a neighborhood of $60K's is a lot better than $200K in a neighborhood of $1M's), power struggling with spouse over trivialities, absolute control over life and decisions, avoiding the phrase 'I don't know', and gaining power over that which we don't understand via explanation (even of that that is beyond grasp) because we'll be damned if something can fool us, etc.
For example, our blatant non-acceptance of that which may be chaotic and indifferent for what it is - chaotic and indifferent. We "control" the unexplainables via an application of order or a possible explanation, regardless of validity. The story has always held up better than the facts for us - for example, religion to explain the creation of man.
Applying to the financial industry provides many immediate examples; social standing and highest possible income being the easiest to apply...but also two more subtle; 1. news wires explaining movement in the market (e.g., the DJIA was up today on...[insert some piece of information with no proven causation to market movement]) and 2. the models used to explain future price movements, to value derivative securities, or to provide a measure of risk inherent in a portfolio...
Many such models exist and they are used, by many, without hesitation or thought of limitation in explaining an ever-increasingly convoluted reality via discrete formulae. It's a riot, really. Innumerable value-to-asset relationships are held up by trust in the efficacy of that which is known to be severely limited.
So, so, the human mind, again, encounters something that cannot be considered and solved in an efficient manner or perhaps at all and then when offered explanation - however weak or limited - effectively replaces itself with a close but still fictitious representation of the, still, unexplained reality and trusts it to the bitter end...literally.
"The success of the theory of options valuation, the best model economics can offer, is the story of a Platonically simple theory, taken more seriously than it deserves and then used extravagantly, with hubris, as a crutch to human thinking" (Emanuel Derman)
That is: ambition to higher social standing, more income (or more than your neighbor, because $80K in a neighborhood of $60K's is a lot better than $200K in a neighborhood of $1M's), power struggling with spouse over trivialities, absolute control over life and decisions, avoiding the phrase 'I don't know', and gaining power over that which we don't understand via explanation (even of that that is beyond grasp) because we'll be damned if something can fool us, etc.
For example, our blatant non-acceptance of that which may be chaotic and indifferent for what it is - chaotic and indifferent. We "control" the unexplainables via an application of order or a possible explanation, regardless of validity. The story has always held up better than the facts for us - for example, religion to explain the creation of man.
Applying to the financial industry provides many immediate examples; social standing and highest possible income being the easiest to apply...but also two more subtle; 1. news wires explaining movement in the market (e.g., the DJIA was up today on...[insert some piece of information with no proven causation to market movement]) and 2. the models used to explain future price movements, to value derivative securities, or to provide a measure of risk inherent in a portfolio...
Many such models exist and they are used, by many, without hesitation or thought of limitation in explaining an ever-increasingly convoluted reality via discrete formulae. It's a riot, really. Innumerable value-to-asset relationships are held up by trust in the efficacy of that which is known to be severely limited.
So, so, the human mind, again, encounters something that cannot be considered and solved in an efficient manner or perhaps at all and then when offered explanation - however weak or limited - effectively replaces itself with a close but still fictitious representation of the, still, unexplained reality and trusts it to the bitter end...literally.
"The success of the theory of options valuation, the best model economics can offer, is the story of a Platonically simple theory, taken more seriously than it deserves and then used extravagantly, with hubris, as a crutch to human thinking" (Emanuel Derman)
02 October 2009
Etc.
I got friends, man, I swear.
All of us children - each one more so than the next. And we all like the sad songs more. Because we're depressed but too proud to ever admit. And the sad ones then allow us to be the real us, if only for four or five minutes at a time.
And sometimes I run out of adjectives (for fear of dilution) so let us say that these are fine gentlemen and loyal and thank god for them.
All of us children - each one more so than the next. And we all like the sad songs more. Because we're depressed but too proud to ever admit. And the sad ones then allow us to be the real us, if only for four or five minutes at a time.
And sometimes I run out of adjectives (for fear of dilution) so let us say that these are fine gentlemen and loyal and thank god for them.
Old Man
On front porch, dilapidated and worn (porch and man) he stands, slowly, from his rocking chair with hand on knee in aid. He says, only, "Holy shit, God". Shaking fist back and forth in the air. The wind blows his thin, wisp hair.
26 September 2009
P
...mostly I am here, inside the walls of my skull orienteering the sponge.
The inside of the head is a grotesque chaos, teeming with childish irresponsibility, insolence, instinct, and indifference. Always ending up with what it wants, one way or another, via actual attainment or bubbling neoroses. Torrid in its putrid love affair with immediate gratification, bending over backwards and every which way to get itself every wish and desire in such uncare - the ingrate!
Our reason, while having been developed masterfully via evolution and now separating us from ape, often no match for such power. And our external, our face to the world? ...oh god...
And what have we? An ironic 'will to power'. A will to power of our spouses, and coworkers, and others; to control our surroundings and all insignificant pieces of our lives; to explain everything, including the universe and its creation; and so on. All while we cannot control ourselves in the slightest. Ha, perhaps the universe IS the more trivial solution.
Still unstable at best, us prizes of evolution.
The inside of the head is a grotesque chaos, teeming with childish irresponsibility, insolence, instinct, and indifference. Always ending up with what it wants, one way or another, via actual attainment or bubbling neoroses. Torrid in its putrid love affair with immediate gratification, bending over backwards and every which way to get itself every wish and desire in such uncare - the ingrate!
Our reason, while having been developed masterfully via evolution and now separating us from ape, often no match for such power. And our external, our face to the world? ...oh god...
And what have we? An ironic 'will to power'. A will to power of our spouses, and coworkers, and others; to control our surroundings and all insignificant pieces of our lives; to explain everything, including the universe and its creation; and so on. All while we cannot control ourselves in the slightest. Ha, perhaps the universe IS the more trivial solution.
Still unstable at best, us prizes of evolution.
Knowledge and Probability
So there was the hill. The one we had climbed as children and as teenagers and then as adults. The one that housed our debates and birthed our philosophies and fostered our thought processes, or mine at least. I thought I could get closer to the clouds and moon - no?
And I stood. At the top of the hill. And speaking to only those interested, I said...only that nothing can be known for certain but only with varying degrees of probability. And that all knowledge, then, is unstable to some extent. And rue the day induction was presented to us and then relied upon so heavily.
The sun may rise today...but just today and not tomorrow with any certainty. Adaptability, comfort, and content ended a civilization one day - or it will, I swear.
And I stood. At the top of the hill. And speaking to only those interested, I said...only that nothing can be known for certain but only with varying degrees of probability. And that all knowledge, then, is unstable to some extent. And rue the day induction was presented to us and then relied upon so heavily.
The sun may rise today...but just today and not tomorrow with any certainty. Adaptability, comfort, and content ended a civilization one day - or it will, I swear.
The Moon and Chaos
I've always loved an oversized summer moon poking through red/orange finger-painted clouds in the late afternoon, while there is still light in the sky. Hanging there seemingly motionless with its imperfections, craters and red tint, so much larger than the setting sun. Full (or near) and beautiful and controlling tides and axis tilt and completely indifferent to its role in keeping us around.
It always made this feel like a planet and me feel a meaningless part of the immenseness of the universe - keeping the ego in check and the thoughts a bit absurd. I stare, picturing the planet from the outside looking in and laughing; deafening fucking laughter.
But mostly, it allowed an appreciation of chaos and how it has paused for us - even just for a bit.
It always made this feel like a planet and me feel a meaningless part of the immenseness of the universe - keeping the ego in check and the thoughts a bit absurd. I stare, picturing the planet from the outside looking in and laughing; deafening fucking laughter.
But mostly, it allowed an appreciation of chaos and how it has paused for us - even just for a bit.
02 September 2009
#1
You may think me a waste of time...for I don't know what you consider efficient.
Oh dear. At least I'll always clean up after myself.
I was a whore for your attention, even when I was dancing with you.
Oh dear. What's a man like me supposed to do?
Then I became a little fly on the wall...and you, a pane of glass.
Oh dear. For I saw through you and never looked back.
Ye spineless and grey.
Oh dear. At least I'll always clean up after myself.
I was a whore for your attention, even when I was dancing with you.
Oh dear. What's a man like me supposed to do?
Then I became a little fly on the wall...and you, a pane of glass.
Oh dear. For I saw through you and never looked back.
Ye spineless and grey.
01 September 2009
Solitary
It's last week and I am here - in solitary. Have been here a month or longer, or shorter. Have lost comprehension of time, which depends on a changing from dark to light and rhythms of circadia or something...but there is not a single photon in this tomb. And, yet somehow I have convinced myself that my eyes have adjusted and can now see shadows and movement. And even if that is not possible, does it much matter when alone like this? You either actually see them or create them in your head, all the same. Plato?
And there is someone reading Ecclesiastes to me, or at me.
I realize my peripheral vision is better on my right than left and that my hearing is opposite, better on the left. And I can still remember the words to ‘Soup’ - "...you gotta do your best to decorate this dying day..." - and how Shannon Hoon laughs in between God Damn's at the end of 'The Pusher'. And how Mozart leaves that fucking single note hanging above everything and my favorite reaction to a good song, from my boy, "Thank God for this guy". And how 'Gagging Order' left my brother and I like salivating dogs the first time we heard it and, and, and...
I am able to count while listening to the verse while carrying another, separate thought on some unrelated historic detail while holding onto the overarching thought that my mind is doing three (four?) things at once. And I can remember the smell of my wife. Her signature scent.
I am most myself at this instant; have always been when all alone - too weak for otherwise - I think we all are. I always thought time alone healthy for the mind - to think without distraction; distractions created by oneself, to be sure. But this much time alone and inside the head has taken toll. The past and future are running amok in the walls of my skull, as they always have, probably should have an ulcer. I have never actually thought about right now…ever. During zero right nows have I been considering them. And a deep breath down here lasts a day anyway.
...a chasing after the wind.
And there is someone reading Ecclesiastes to me, or at me.
I realize my peripheral vision is better on my right than left and that my hearing is opposite, better on the left. And I can still remember the words to ‘Soup’ - "...you gotta do your best to decorate this dying day..." - and how Shannon Hoon laughs in between God Damn's at the end of 'The Pusher'. And how Mozart leaves that fucking single note hanging above everything and my favorite reaction to a good song, from my boy, "Thank God for this guy". And how 'Gagging Order' left my brother and I like salivating dogs the first time we heard it and, and, and...
I am able to count while listening to the verse while carrying another, separate thought on some unrelated historic detail while holding onto the overarching thought that my mind is doing three (four?) things at once. And I can remember the smell of my wife. Her signature scent.
I am most myself at this instant; have always been when all alone - too weak for otherwise - I think we all are. I always thought time alone healthy for the mind - to think without distraction; distractions created by oneself, to be sure. But this much time alone and inside the head has taken toll. The past and future are running amok in the walls of my skull, as they always have, probably should have an ulcer. I have never actually thought about right now…ever. During zero right nows have I been considering them. And a deep breath down here lasts a day anyway.
...a chasing after the wind.
18 August 2009
He was a good man; or so he told himself.
He was more of a cipher, really. Defensive and insecure - addicted to bleach and voiding smells and revisions and frenzied, incessant effort towards perfection. Loving minutiae - in all its beauty. And occassional belligerence - clenching jaws to toothdust and clinging on to what feels normal by chewed-bleeding fingernails. Neuroses! But still, surprisingly, always thinking of stretch goals for life and other unattainables to, sadly, knowingly, keep his mind off crushing thoughts of meaning. Reading and doing and technicianing and not thinking, never thinking...
...but more filling his head with trickery as convincing thoughts of providing and protecting, a balanced life, fulfilling work, and other such delusions of norm. Ignoring - racing mind, natural introversion, and inclination to hibernate - to painfully and slowly smack lips through full sentences and paragraphs of speech.
So he told himself.
He was more of a cipher, really. Defensive and insecure - addicted to bleach and voiding smells and revisions and frenzied, incessant effort towards perfection. Loving minutiae - in all its beauty. And occassional belligerence - clenching jaws to toothdust and clinging on to what feels normal by chewed-bleeding fingernails. Neuroses! But still, surprisingly, always thinking of stretch goals for life and other unattainables to, sadly, knowingly, keep his mind off crushing thoughts of meaning. Reading and doing and technicianing and not thinking, never thinking...
...but more filling his head with trickery as convincing thoughts of providing and protecting, a balanced life, fulfilling work, and other such delusions of norm. Ignoring - racing mind, natural introversion, and inclination to hibernate - to painfully and slowly smack lips through full sentences and paragraphs of speech.
So he told himself.
05 August 2009
03 August 2009
P
Shadows! Ominous fucking shadows, wooden and looming and diminishing sightlines and everywhere.
The silo had crumbled down, to the ground. All the way down. My life, spilling all over the farm grounds for all to see. Pouring liquid. Vultures - picking and judging and condescending. I had never looked harder for it, this time, never harder. Something I just could not find, not this time. Protection, pristine and invaluable. Now, completely open. It happened fast and I can still see it as if on the outside; my mind - trash, my body - atrophied, my soul - a shell. I guess I would call it depression if I could find a concrete definition. No matter, indifference abound.
The silo had crumbled down, to the ground. All the way down. My life, spilling all over the farm grounds for all to see. Pouring liquid. Vultures - picking and judging and condescending. I had never looked harder for it, this time, never harder. Something I just could not find, not this time. Protection, pristine and invaluable. Now, completely open. It happened fast and I can still see it as if on the outside; my mind - trash, my body - atrophied, my soul - a shell. I guess I would call it depression if I could find a concrete definition. No matter, indifference abound.
27 July 2009
F
Shirtless with the flames tickling the flesh. The face taut and dry, the mind ripe and crisp and slowing time, the eyes ridiculous and wide and blurred with tear. A teddy bear waiting at the horizon of hell just beyond the accepting arms of the soulless, asking them for forgiveness.
We are no longer heroes. We are no longer boys. No longer will there be a shade to hide yourself; yourself, larger and more awkward than any shape of shelter.
Everybody wants to be broken sometimes, right?
Then hunched in flames with concave chest and raised shoulder blades. Time to decide!
We are no longer heroes. We are no longer boys. No longer will there be a shade to hide yourself; yourself, larger and more awkward than any shape of shelter.
Everybody wants to be broken sometimes, right?
Then hunched in flames with concave chest and raised shoulder blades. Time to decide!
25 July 2009
L
And then 18 and the eyes meet my future bride’s for the first time. Lock for a moment, that is all. What beauty. 'Que bonita!' 'Who is that?' But an internal question and we don’t speak then; cowardice is far too easy.
And now 21 and it's St. Patrick’s Day and there is a party in my apartment. Everyone green and half-friends. She is there, across the room.
And we play a board game after the beers and she and I are a team. Her doing, though I will not know that for years. I have seen her around, there and across the room and there, but never this comfortable - our knees are close and touching. What to do? Surely you should say something clever and lasting; or at least move your knee. - but my phone rings and it is my then girlfriend and she has moved to another state which grants new lives and apparently hers dislikes her old which includes me and we are over and it ruins my night because...
...the game has ended and it will be years until I have another opportunity like that with her and even then I make it impossible for myself…at least that is how I remember it.
And now 21 and it's St. Patrick’s Day and there is a party in my apartment. Everyone green and half-friends. She is there, across the room.
And we play a board game after the beers and she and I are a team. Her doing, though I will not know that for years. I have seen her around, there and across the room and there, but never this comfortable - our knees are close and touching. What to do? Surely you should say something clever and lasting; or at least move your knee. - but my phone rings and it is my then girlfriend and she has moved to another state which grants new lives and apparently hers dislikes her old which includes me and we are over and it ruins my night because...
...the game has ended and it will be years until I have another opportunity like that with her and even then I make it impossible for myself…at least that is how I remember it.
P
And I always thought I would be 25 and fine...And I'm not, my head is a mess from all these conversations with myself. My mind has gone astray; looking every which way for some protection.
Racing from thought to thought and on nothing specific. Never anything specific. I would not think it a problem if it hadn't been the case for months. I haven't held a legitimate thought longer than a sentence in an eternity and it is killing me. And - get this - I can't even write 2's or 3's or S's or other curve-first characters without a hand stutter. Maddening, and there is nothing in my power to reverse it. So many questions that I needed answered, like, why I am more myself when all alone? Why are there so few things that truly make me glad? And...and, why am I losing my head?
It was coming all along, a slow genetic train, fueled by the choices I had made, halting to a stop in an empty, stagnant station. For - I will lose my mind someday after I had sinned a thousand times, because I knew nothing but selfishness, and my mind will no longer be an asset as descent from melody to cacophony takes hold. Though it had been dormant for so long, it will happen quicker than can be imagined. I will vegetate. And it will not have been my choice.
Not to worry though - I'll get used to the lack of original thought, melodic dreams, incessant questions, and spontaneous inspiration. I will become idle, soft, and a champion regurgitator of others' ideas. I will do a fantastic job of hiding in self-preservation and will ultimately convince myself that the new state is the norm and the old the anomaly. Adaptability, the nefarious human condition.
Racing from thought to thought and on nothing specific. Never anything specific. I would not think it a problem if it hadn't been the case for months. I haven't held a legitimate thought longer than a sentence in an eternity and it is killing me. And - get this - I can't even write 2's or 3's or S's or other curve-first characters without a hand stutter. Maddening, and there is nothing in my power to reverse it. So many questions that I needed answered, like, why I am more myself when all alone? Why are there so few things that truly make me glad? And...and, why am I losing my head?
It was coming all along, a slow genetic train, fueled by the choices I had made, halting to a stop in an empty, stagnant station. For - I will lose my mind someday after I had sinned a thousand times, because I knew nothing but selfishness, and my mind will no longer be an asset as descent from melody to cacophony takes hold. Though it had been dormant for so long, it will happen quicker than can be imagined. I will vegetate. And it will not have been my choice.
Not to worry though - I'll get used to the lack of original thought, melodic dreams, incessant questions, and spontaneous inspiration. I will become idle, soft, and a champion regurgitator of others' ideas. I will do a fantastic job of hiding in self-preservation and will ultimately convince myself that the new state is the norm and the old the anomaly. Adaptability, the nefarious human condition.
P
Lost. Walking a dirt road. Dust lungs, coughing and hating. He was given a truth to either digest or reject; blissful ignorance was gone.
A glaring weakness in one supposedly stronger. Not without remorse, one hopes, but full of pity and so grotesque.
No one now telling him how to act. He relies on indifference, his valued friend and protector.
Vomiting and praying and hating.
Just tired.
A glaring weakness in one supposedly stronger. Not without remorse, one hopes, but full of pity and so grotesque.
No one now telling him how to act. He relies on indifference, his valued friend and protector.
Vomiting and praying and hating.
Just tired.
21 July 2009
L
And now 27 and then alone and together and doing nothing and he asks;
"Do you think anyone else is doing exactly this just now?"
And she makes a noise - "weet wong."
And, "what was that?"
She - "I just want to make sure that no one is doing exactly what we are right now."
And he laughs and there is no better feeling than that.
"Do you think anyone else is doing exactly this just now?"
And she makes a noise - "weet wong."
And, "what was that?"
She - "I just want to make sure that no one is doing exactly what we are right now."
And he laughs and there is no better feeling than that.
M
Largely the feeling is irreplaceable - though maybe via drug. It turns you to a child and crushes your heart. It's wonder and awe and bewilderment and hard truth.
And also full of mischief. Just a little. Like knowing a secret: an early-morning gossip for your housewife mind. A secret to keep to yourself, briefly, but to also share - if only to ensure your boys know that you found it first.
And does it not also fill you with power? For just that moment you could take on the world and the balance of your existence instead of thrashing about, kicking and screaming...as now.
And also full of mischief. Just a little. Like knowing a secret: an early-morning gossip for your housewife mind. A secret to keep to yourself, briefly, but to also share - if only to ensure your boys know that you found it first.
And does it not also fill you with power? For just that moment you could take on the world and the balance of your existence instead of thrashing about, kicking and screaming...as now.
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