Hickory Dickory Dock

Time's gotten away from me once more. There is never enough, no matter how much one has; the more you have, the more you need. As a young child, a year is an eon. As an adult, once you have nearly three decades under your belt, a year is just the changing of seasons. You try to make more time for yourself but the more time you invest the more time you wind up needing. Paradoxical clocks. Tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock. Tits cock tits cock tits cock tits cock.

My brother's been texting me Kierkegaard quotes all day...I don't remember where I was going with that. Often, when I open my computer with the intention to write, it seems like the sheer possession of an intention undermines the whole endeavor. Some strange mutiny takes place as the tiny worker responsible for turning the creative cogs in my brain gets rumor of an impending shift. The little bastard throws a wrench in the wheel and promptly goes on strike. He runs out of my imagination factory, hops in his ramshackle, red, 1986 convertible, and speeds over to the Dickory Dock's factory where he starts churning away on the wheels of time. I hate that sonofabitch.

Oh yea! I meant to write something about the lovesickness I cause in the hearts of beautiful, young, exotic women. I don't know what it's called in English, but the grandmother of an afflicted maiden described it to me as vertigo de la corazón. There are few, if any, women in this world capable of resisting my magnetic charm. This fact has brought great ruin to the hearts of many a dame. My flame burns too bright, I've been told. It is pure canned lightning. I possess all the allure of a flickering flame perched atop the wick of a gently burning lavender and hibiscus candle of Chinese antiquity. As my flitting feet make soft all the hardness of the wax they touch, so too does my lovely masculine aroma disarm and make docile the minds of fine females. In a past life I was a pheromone; the first, most primal pheromone which gave rise to all others. My psychic told me so. Out of great consideration, caution, and concern, I conceal my true self from all damsels, shielding them from my true identity for their own protection.

Ok, I'm tiring of that.

And I'm tiring of this day, of this computer screen, of consciousness. I want to slip into a world of infinite play and possibility; of raw, unfettered creativity and homoerotic intrigue. I'm like a gay narcoleptic seamen named Martin Luther King Jr., in search of a cute little dreamboat to tug me off to sleep.

I leave you with a quote from our friend Kierkegaard:

“If I were to wish for anything, I should not wish for wealth and power, but for the passionate sense of the potential, for the eye which, ever young and ardent, sees the possible. Pleasure disappoints, possibility never. And what wine is so sparkling, what so fragrant, what so intoxicating, as possibility!”