The death of a moon cowboy

I am a somewhat-youth with ideas and thoughts and too many dreams that sometimes overflow as these little dribblings from my fingertips. I guess you can try to collect and capture them.


Thursday, November 03, 2005

A doused wick (or the real Dia De Los Muertos)

I just went out, and it's an amazing overcast, cloud-darkened but still visible and not-terribly-frozen day. I love it. This weather approaches perfect, to match my mood. Tolerable, knowing of better things, but dwelling on the less joyous. The breezes rubbed my ears, the trees shook my hand, and the pavement massaged my feet. It's rather nice.

I went to AM/PM and a jolly, Santa Clause-esque gangster of a cashier was quite friendly and welcoming. Come to think of it, I've met his kind before. The kind where on a worse day my mind may have unkind words or instant stereotypes to vomit, without parsing out the ramifications or considering the destruction of their nature. He was jovial and made me pause; why don't we all always hold the door for each other? Why don't we all always have a smile instead of a glare, or give the benefit of the situation instead of turning to road rage? Why don't we all always love the less-fortunate, donate charitably, compliment generously, give up our position in line, live for today but build for our grandchildren's futures? Why are we always so hurried? Why can't we see past our own noses? Why?

And I've come up with the answer! "Why should we?"

Audio: De-loused in the Comatorium|The Mars Volta
Video: does -wanting- to watch something count?
Text: my Communications textbook

My word of the day: civvy (pl.: civvies or civies)
[Why: It's used in a Decemberists song in a memorable way, and I was interested.]

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