The Tender Roar of Chaos

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“I made mistakes in drama. I thought drama was when actors cried. But drama is when the audience cries.”  ~ Frank Capra

“The artist cannot hold back; it is impossible, because writing, or any other discipline of art, involves participation in suffering, in the ills and the occasional stabbing joys that come from being part of the human drama.” ~ Madeleine L’Engle

“Every culture that has lost myth has lost, by the same token, its natural healthy creativity. Only a horizon ringed about with myths can unify a culture. The forces of imagination and the Apollonian dream are saved only by myth from indiscriminate rambling. The images of myth must be the daemonic guardians, ubiquitous but unnoticed, presiding over the growth of the child’s mind and interpreting to the mature man his life and struggles.”  ~ Fredrick Nietzsche

A tender roar, soft yet persuasive, arises from chaos as the wind violates its curfew. This stuff was supposed to be over at 3 AM. Somebody messed up. You can’t tell Mother Nature what to do. Nature is where drama resides, and I try to remember that Nature is not outside of us. I mean, really? Just who do you think you are? I’m not a detractor of drama, like “How can I get shit done when I am surrounded by drama?”. Ummmm . . . I’m sensing a disconnect here, almost a case of dissociation. Soooo . . . let’s move on. It’s not about me. The cat is lounging on the bed, loose and graceful, poised for the inevitable arrival of feeding time. They sleep with one eye open. It’s the strangest thing, I tell you. Anyway, I already talked about the wind. Chaotic stuff, the stuff of myth. Beyond chaos lies peace, or entropy, and I suppose you can have both concurrently . . . but let’s not philosophize, k? It’s a workday after two days off. It’s been a long two days, and I got extra sleep in the duration, but I did not get enough. It’s that rascal hypomania. I did a little (and I do mean a little; I looked at one website) research and found that one characteristic symptom of hypomania is, for me, not applicable. That symptom is decreased need for sleep. Au contraire, mon ami! This stuff knocks the stuffing out of me, through my efforts at management. No praise, no blame. Last night was pretty good, maybe seven hours. I did a little habitual pattern tweaking and swiveled my sleep position around to where my head now points north instead of south. I don’t know if it is a New Agey thing, but I heard that head pointing north aligns, in a positive way, with the planet’s geomagnetic field. I do feel less anxious this morning. Hopefully this is not a placebo effect. That would suck. I’m tired from effort. Period. And also out of writing time for the morning. One thing of note before I go: I rarely remember my dreams, even snippets. This morning I awoke from a dream, and the last remaining image from that dream was of a folded umbrella pointing at me. On the tip of the umbrella was a glowing green, ember-like light, which I somehow knew to be a polonium injector. Oh, great, now what? I’ve got friggin Russians in my dreams. Hack thisscoundrels! You can hack your way into DNC servers but you got no business dude hacking into my dreams. I am not as Liberal as you may think dude. Boy howdy I am more so, k? Keep y’all’s focus on our carbuncle of a president. Leave me in peace. Wait, what? Carbuncle? Isn’t that a bit extreme . . .  and mean? Not really; have you looked at his staph (sic) lately. Just sayin’. I’d best get to my day before the snark monster takes hold. One thing I like about my day job is that I get to be sweet, charming, and focused, for eight hours . . . and get paid for it. Tis a good exercise for me. Indeed, captain.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.





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