It is all too easy for a person with my certain disposition (being that I am a man inclined to melancholy and the vapors) to view the world through a darkened, hazy prizm. Black Gray Biv instead of Roy G. Biv. But when the world produces such songs as "Sullivan Street" by Counting Crows, then certainly not all is so bleak. Hope abounds, you just have to know where to find it. The goal in life is to be like the spelunker exploring the caves and caverns of his own soul, his headlamp like the beacon of a lighthouse, swiveling in the high tower and signaling danger to the passing ships of his fancy, warning them of the craggy rocks of hard-won experience, the travails of a ship's captain attempting to transport his cargo which is not unlike the burdens of a modern man in the crazy world, full of mixed metaphors and endlessly long, nonsensical, comma-filled sentences.
I had a good idea for a short story the other day, but I've forgotten. Now, literally nobody is going to be denied the story I wouldn't have ever finished in the first place.
A friend the other night accused me of having "carpenter envy" and I think that's funny. It's funny to me because it implies that my carpenter is small - an untrue claim.
I've not wanted to write lately, and that's why I haven't contributed much to this blog. Also, I've been working much harder at work. Though, if I were a carpenter, I would not have the ability to check the internet at all. Here's a poem:
If I were a carpenter
Tall buildings and cabinet doors
Sand the edges and hoist the beams
You are my sawhorse