weatherman delusions
They say, when it rains, it pours.
They say a lot of things, most of them trite and clichéd, like the above soporificism.
But there’s some truth in what They say.
Fuck They or Them or any other wise-ass who has the perfect thing to say at any given moment. (this from the master of treppenwitz)
So how am I handling the downpour?
Not too well, I’m afraid. I’m waiting for something obscure to fall out of the sky, like a kamikaze lemming and land on me while i sleep. Let God make the decisions for me. Let the epiphanies strike down upon me, boom. boom. boom. Just like that, in a steady staccato. yes. yes. no. no. are you crazy. yep. no. don’t even consider. He doesn’t work that way though, does he? We gotta schlep through this stuff, make our own decisions, Free Will (couldn’t he just stay in his damn cage?) and all that. But You do know I’m sucking at this O Omnipotent One?
Much of it, is of course, my own doing. I, the playwright, the architect, the narrator of this wanton tale of excess, conquest and ego overriding self.
give me a Hell Bleh.
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