“After nourishment, shelter and companionship, stories are the thing we need most in the world.”~ Philip Pullman
“Stories, like people and butterflies and songbirds’ eggs and human hearts and dreams, are also fragile things, made up of nothing stronger or more lasting than twenty-six letters and a handful of punctuation marks. Or they are words on the air, composed of sounds and ideas-abstract, invisible, gone once they’ve been spoken-and what could be more frail than that? But some stories, small, simple ones about setting out on adventures or people doing wonders, tales of miracles and monsters, have outlasted all the people who told them, and some of them have outlasted the lands in which they were created.” ~ Neil Gaiman
“People think that stories are shaped by people. In fact, it’s the other way around.” ~ Terry Pratchett
Almost on the edge of poetic perspective. I could be wrong, and what’s right is that it’s just the lingering effects of a little more gabapentin at bedtime than I am accustomed to. A sedative dose was really the right thing as well. Too wired up; hypomanic stuff. It worked, allowing/creating a sweet eight hour sleep. The lingering effects are mostly sluggishness of the brain, mind, whatever. That’s okay, and I thought about it before I added to the usual dose, then deciding that the after-effects were worth the inconvenience. Well, it could be an inconvenience if I had any compulsory things to do. But nada. Lucky me. Part of my being wired is from following the Trump tsunami. Recently I read that there is a legitimate new psychological malady that resembles OCD. It’s the blending of a 24/7 news cycle with the president’s vomitous proclamations to the world. Guy’s whacked. People with the new malady get almost obsessive about getting back online to see what that scoundrel DT is up to. He’s up to no good. That I can tell you. Anybody that hasn’t figured that out by now is probably also one of those people who publicly marvel at the geniuses in the Flat Earth Society. Fan girls and boys; deluded, clueless, and adamant as shit. But, hey, I’m edgy today, so I could be feeling a tad too clever, and likely to say wrong things, out of sheer, dark humor. But it’s all good, and no worries. The poetic urge I mentioned upfront is real enough; perhaps even realer than that; more real than real. Get it? It makes no sense at all, that phrase, yet it’s a valid feeling. I’ll be sticking with this feeling today. There is nothing I absolutely have to do today. I’m beginning to come around, to think of Sunday as a day of rest and reflection. And on we go.
Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.