'Ff'lo (fflo) wrote,



rob breszny says something about i should break in a new sword but, you know, hack up the one(s) deserving of it, not the innocent bystanders. i don't know where to begin processing that nugget. thus it was with some relief that i reminded myself that's his advice for 1/12 of all of us, and i even know of a few other cancers who may or may not benefit from that idea but whose existence and potential relationship to the counsel are doing a nice job of watering down its credibility for me.

an arrangement for ice cream i was working on the other day didn't work out, cuz i decided it wasn't likely to work out, under the evolving circumstances. feels significant. don't know whether it is. doesn't seem important whether it is, but it's in the rotation, if not the high rotation, in my mind.

was thinking today about my mother calling my father's mother to tell the woman her son was dead. i don't think i'd ever seen someone in so much pain as she was, having to do that. which she then said was the hardest thing she ever did in her life. certainly i'd never seen her so obviously in such agony.

was also thinking about my brother, when she was dying.

it's cold in here. i thought i turned the heat up to 65. wtf. i'm gonna turn it up more this year. i don't care. and i'm going to buy that headlight, and ---what else was i thinking of buying? something. something extravagant & impractical. pointless, even, but for the wtf why not.

there should be law against telling people about studies about chimpanzee babies deprived of affection.

watched the curse of the jade scorpion again. i'd forgotten everything except liking looking at the interiors.

didn't post the pointless post i typed out last night. decided to go ahead and post this one when i realized that, just now. i guess i care enough not to want to get into some pattern of typing and then not posting.

and, hey, i don't like things too pointed. right? or pointy, lots of times. like our mother's shoulder, in the backseat of the car, vs. our grandmother's. they sure did like to tell the tale of that preference, didn't they.

then there are pointy sticks. reminds me of a poem by gnorman prentiss, which i believe went like this:

two sharpened pencils:
one for each eye

but i'm supposed to be after a sword, not a sharpened stick. how innocent a bystander could i be said to be?

i'm completely sober, i feel compelled to state. just cold, and tired, and pointless.

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