what am I listening to..?
Songs: Ohia - "Blue Factory Flame"

i have a headache...

I've been sitting at the computer for the past two hours working in Photoshop and Illustrator, trying to create some hand-outs for the Cafe so The Bloodhound can pass them out at an extreme wrestling match next weekend... Creative, I'm not. There is a definite disconnect my imagination and my ability to translate it into something tangible... Oh, well, they don't look too bad...
very frustrating, though, I must admit.
I've always thought that, in some other place or time, I would be an excellent Professional Thinker. I suppose I was born a few hundred years too early for that job, huh? At some point our civilization is going to split into factions of Those Who Think and Those Who Don't Think... probably as a result of natural selection; there will be those who have evolved (de-evolved?) into mindless, consuming video-drones and there will be those who have forsaken having their emotions and desires force fed to them and will be of free thought. I should like to think I would be one of the latter. There may yet be a place in time for people who are just good thinkers; those who can reason, those who can imagine, those who can see things from many sides... I shudder to think what will become of our ilk in another hundred years or so. Well, that's my doomsday thought of the evening. Feel free to argue.
I'm also quite in awe of (and most jealous of) those who can write lyrics and poetry. Sitting here listening to Jason Molina's Songs:Ohia only serves to drive that home. It's quite an art to be able to cram so many pictures, so many emotions and so much to say in so few words. I can't imagine what it's like to be able to communicate so much with so little. Poets (real poets, not hacks like me) just blow my mind. How do they distill the essence of something into a few words that can stir your feelings to such depths? What must it be like to see the world with the eye of a poet or a song writer? I've long been of the opinion that all artists truly have a different physical perspective on the world, that, while most of us pass through the life around us like ghosts walking through the mist, they see all and feel all. Perhaps that's why many of the talented folks have lived such tortured lives and met such bitter ends... maybe there's just too much to take in... or maybe there's just too much inside to get it all out. Maybe that's why some have sought such tragic ends to their lives, the frustration of not being able to take in, process, translate and share all that they see and hear and feel is too much for them...
wow, do you think I've had enough coffee tonight? I don't... I'll be right back.
*insert five minutes of dead air here*
That's better, one last cup for the night. Mmmmm.... that's good. My parents were caffeine addicts. It didn't matter what time of day or night, or what might be the weather, there was always a pot of coffee on the brew. It must have been odd when guests came over; I'm sure that, when visiting other people, they were offered a drink, maybe a beer, maybe a cocktail, but in our house, it was coffee. Black. No sugar. Hot. And a cigarette. It must be a hereditary thing... I prefer a cup of hot and black, with a fag on the side, over most anything, excepting a nice bottle of wine, of course. I wonder if I can make a coffee wine? Chateau Espresso, 2004...Yeah, go ahead and laugh... while you're sleeping all comfy cozy tonight, all tangled up in the eiderdown, I'll be sitting here, cruising the web, looking for a coffee wine recipe!
Well, have I bored you enough tonight? I think so. It's a beautiful night, clear and almost warm. The moon is brilliant... ahh, the beautiful Lunica! I think I shall go out and bask in her glory for a while.
Thanks, as always, for stopping by and reading this mess. You are all too wonderful.
I bid thee all good 'eve.


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