All I really want out of life is a pair of flapjacks and some Denver scramble in my face.
If you’ve never taken a walk while intoxicated, I highly recommend it.
You have to trust the neighborhood, but only halfway. To make up for your impaired thinking, you have to heighten your senses and be aware of what’s around you. In your hyper-vigilance for dangers in the shadows, you see new things, make observations, find gems and jewels that you would not have noticed had you been on autopilot.
Life is what happens between the intersections, and if you’re not paying attention, you miss those signs of life. Pieces of yard art, homes remodeled, streets decorated, trees planted; footprints of humanity in the sand.
On this, the last day of Pride Month, I find it marginally hypocritical for me to shout “Love Is Love!”, yet I won’t allow myself to have love of any kind.
It’s like stealing a menu from a restaurant and then showing everyone the pictures, saying that all food is good food, while letting myself go hungry so I don’t risk losing a few dollars in case I order the wrong thing.
Throughout his life, a man accumulates a large collection of hobbies. He consumes them, just as they consume him. He gains supreme expertise in every hobby, but never spends time enough on any of them to gain supreme mastery.
He feels like a fraud, loses interest, and finds a new hobby.
That next hobby will finally elevate him. He just knows it.