Former Title “Toasty”
have you had a violent moodswing today? 
tired
the sounds of Echoes ~ Pink Floyd
Would anyone like any toast?
That is as good a starting point as any.
I have this dilemma. I dislike seeing people I care for suffer. Be it their own neurosis, low self confidence, or some external force that is beyond their control. Have I been there? To an extent, yes. Have I had the exact same problems as any of these people?
No.
I did, at one point in the very distant past have issues with self confidence. Then I realized that people in general suck.
Have I had some mental issues? I came extremely close to having a complete breakdown a few years ago. That was a most unpleasant experience, and I don't recommend it at all. It was mostly due to lack of time to sleep.
And stress. Lots of that.
Had some serious stress points in my life a few years ago, That is more or less a thing of the past now. Between the father making a near miraculous recovery, a new job, and my realization of the sucky state of humanity as a whole, I have managed to rid myself of most of my stress.
What does this have to do with toast?
Why nothing at all, but that doesn't mean that I can't make a reference to the opening sequence of this, that is sure to be a long drawn out rambling post about nothingness in general.
I just wish there was some way that I could help my friends who are suffering from whatever it is that ails them, but, sadly, there is nothing I can do. I can not magically wave my hand and say "Bamf! you have a job!" or "Bamf! your life is good and sleep-filled!"
My strategy for making life bearable was to just start doing random and interesting things. Because, frankly, people tend to be wary of the unpredictable and strange. Which is, more or less me.
The people shy away from me at the store when I am looking at "Where's Waldo?" books in the aisle at 2 in the morning. The employees give me a wide berth when I am having an imaginary jungle adventure that ranges all over the store at 4 in the morning. The Wal-Mart people do not like having tennis balls thrown at them, Nor do they like it when you start a band with the instruments that they have lying about on display in the electronics section for no other reason than you are bored out of your skull.
Also, being mean to people who are stupid is another good hobby. Well, not so much good as entertaining. If you do it right they don't realize what the hell you are even doing. I live for that.
Also jumping out from some random place and making some random noise for no other reason than to scare the living hell out of a person.
Why?
Because that's how I roll!
Let's see. What else? My beloved Jeep is broken.
Still.
I blew the seal on the rear differential, and all of the lubricant ran out all over the roads. That makes me sad. I get to drive the Van From Hell until the Jeep makes it's triumphant return from the land of the dead.
Why do clowns make people laugh?
Why do people love puppy dogs?
Why do little blue midgets hit me with fish?
We're all doin' it, chum. That's what we do. We do it. Do what? Therein lies the mystery!
When you get in bed with evil incarnate, it always takes the covers.
Step one; I need an archenemy. The most powerful, deadly, and brilliant criminal mastermind I can find. Someone who will burn his fetid midnight oil hatching up a thousand plots to annihilate me. Someone within easy commuting distance would be a plus.
Now I need some nice bit of strangeness to tie the next passage to the last one. I don't quite know how to do that yet, but here goes nothing...
I know we have machines to do our bidding. Machines to make our lives easier, thus allowing us to become lazy. What happens when we start having machines to do our thinking too?
Wait...We have those already,,,It's called Television.
What happens when we have machines to believe things so we don't have to? Something like a robot who was a monk who did all our believing for us? What would happen to said monk after he started to get old and fall apart? Something like the following passage:
"So after a hectic week of believing that war was peace, that good was bad, that the moon was made of blue cheese, and that God needed a lot of money sent to a certain box number, the Monk started to believe that thirty-five percent of all tables were hermaphrodites, and then broke down."
Interesting to think about anyway. Just don't turn on the television when you do. In case you haven't noticed, me and the television, not the best of friends.
Overhead the albatross
Hangs motionless upon the air
And deep beneath the rolling waves
In labyrinths of coral caves
An echo of a distant time
Comes willowing across the sand
And everything is green and submarine.
And no one called us to the land
And no one knows the where's or why's.
Something stirs and something tries
Starts to climb toward the light.
Strangers passing in the street
By chance two separate glances meet
And I am you and what I see is me.
And do I take you by the hand
And lead you through the land
And help me understand
The best I can.
And no one called us to the land
And no one crosses there alive.
No one speaks and no one tries
No one flies around the sun....
Almost everyday you fall
Upon my waking eyes,
Inviting and inciting me
To rise.
And through the window in the wall
Come streaming in on sunlight wings
A million bright ambassadors of morning.
And no one sings me lullabyes
And no one makes me close my eyes
So I throw the windows wide
And call to you across the sky....
Anyway, that seems long and rambling enough for this week. Come back next week for something even more bizarre and insane.
Smoke me a kipper, I'll be back for breakfast!
exhausted