A Many Splintered Thing

I got to perform an exorcism last week. It's cliche to say that I wanted "closure" regarding something, but I did. I got it in the most unlikely way. Over whiskey and pool, with a side order of me sharing overmuch. The words came out jumbled. And while I'm not sure I got my point across at least I heard what I needed to hear.

What am I going to do when I have counted the ways countless times and it still doesn't count for anything?

I will change the way I do the math.



I advised everyone against that already anyway.

Stupid of me not to take my own advice.

But that ghost is gone. I'm a little less haunted. One down, two to go. But what do I know? That's just more math, and that's never been my strongest subject.

Let's turn to living things again.



It's finally fall and that means more shades of brown, leather jackets and cute sweaters. It's practically winter, and that means another revolution around this rock for me. Another year to take stock of who I am vs. who I want to be.

It should be easier this time around. It gets easier every time.

A cool chick with dreads sitting next to me in a restaurant singing a Bon Jovi song along with the muzak made it clear to me the other day. I Don't Give a Fuck is a really great mantra. She was all alone and had on one of the most stunning outfits I've ever seen.

Fucks should be given only when a thing matters. Puppies and kids and little old ladies. Old school Chevelles. Paintings of people that you love. Chariots. Unnecessarily broken windows. Poorly aimed punches. Rabbits wearing eye makeup. Those sorts of things.

Or give it all up except for vengeance. Like an Iron Man. Single-minded. Purely purposed. Focused only on righting the wrongs.



When some dumbass re-imagining of Ozzy Osbourne comes on the telly and I'm gagged with a spoon, I like to watch this video. I'd totally bang *this* version of Ozzy. To me he'll always be this way.

Not a single fuck given.