The air will be full of soft enveloping salt and fat. Whole milk will work over hard flakes. Heat will emanate in rough rectangles out of the toaster. Invisible towers of condensation will obscure the window while I stand and wait. Out there, I will see bittersweet branches brought low by precarious piles of snow. Blue jays will bloat against the smoldering cold. Birds yesterday flew wildly against the choke of vines and berries. Birds today big and blue and still. Birds tomorrow torn apart by three black cats. Their transparent temperament tells the temperature. There is a frozen city for no man. Here is the heat of deceivers and the light of self-deception. I peanut butter toast.
Though the spirits have been good all around of late (owing to my new job, which makes me less of an asshole), the bodies have not.
We bought our biennial subscription to cable (hello Time Warner, fuck you I hate you) at the Cumberland County Fair. Who doesn't buy their cable at the fair? This year it was $39.95 for a year of digital cable. Not as good as the $29.99 I got for basic cable two years ago, but better nonetheless than the $57.95 that they normally charge for garbage television. It's a racket, we know it, paying anything for commercial television. But it's better than ritualistic suicide or violent hard drinking, both things that come to mind on dark, raw February nights. So, we indulge ourselves as winter comes.
It's been a while since I've posted. I'm not one that can just sit down and bang out a couple paragraphs of thoughts. I have a tendency to dither, edit, delete, rewrite and eventually abandon ship. It doesn't help that I work on a computer all day long (I don't want to talk about it), so cozying up in front of this is the last thing I want to do when I get home.
I was reminded of this by my great friend Jeff, who, similarly employed, said as
much while noting that my blog was languishing.
(Thanks for the reminder Jeff and fuck you your
blog isn't exactly teeming).
