Six months later...

I think it’s the record, record, record bit in me as life’s catgut twangs once more, once again, once over and slingshots the numbness off my fingers & away from the keyboard then imparts momentum to the Muse and turns that one elusive girl into a stainless steel pinball blazing bright across the arcade machine but it’s a sunny day anyway and I should be outdoors doing… nyaaah.
So here’s having resumed writing if only for remembrance’s sake. To say the very least, what the hell.

So that we’re all brought up to speed, this is like, six months after the last post and some stuff’s come to pass. And some hasn’t.
For instance: Fidel Castro comes to mind as something that’s come to pass. Did not pass away like the free-world wanted him to but having the guy stepping down was such a step up it figures as numero uno in our list. But you so knew I was gonna say that, right? And as for myself, well, I’ve kind of slept around a lot. Which is cool, because it´s pretty clear to me now that monogamy shouldn´t be a short-term worry for immature boy-refugees from the 20th century. And I’ve gone post-grad as well. And I´ve got a new job, too (starting next week, gee whiz, cross your fingers...).

Not one of those things has changed the world, though: We still watch TV on couches half a continent asunder.

I mean, would you even recognize me now, stumbling past you in your business suit with the strips and the stripes & stars and trimmings and whatnots, while my successes have been coming in all too little, too late, not really counting too much...? and yet look at you: Look at this image I’ve come to build of you. The sheer height of the pedestal I put you on.
I still think of you- even at the risk of veering towards the philosophically-omnipresent Holden Caulfied- I still think of so many people and once I start writing of you all I begin missing everyone. But I have been missing out myself at that, too.

But maybe that’s not too bad: Dissociation from the Self. Isn’t that like, the reason one becomes a Buddhist in the first place?

…But I would make for a lousy poonghie, you already know that.
There have been recent accusations of my leaning onto a more nihilistic outlook on life yet it’s pretty clear to me (to say the least) a common misconception: I’m the ultimate optimist. I really am: That’s the very root for that whole “Mr. Grouchy” routine, you know? I get usually get mad at stuff because I know, deep down, that things are ultimately going to turn out just fine. In the end, I mean. Hence my getting cranky at all the stuff in the middle. Because hey, it’s only temporary, you know?
Kind of like when I told my father I was borrowing the couch in his study for a couple of months, about a year ago, and pretty much stuck with it.

One more thing: Know what kills me like, every time? Know that Asia song, Heat of the Moment? Sure, corny as hell, extremely outdated... but there´s this line which cracks me up every time: it goes like, “And now you find yourself in ´82....
I´m probably the only person on Earth to laugh at it.

But hey there: at least I got it written down, right?

...Promise to keep on posting at least once a week...