jacktellslies: (crow)
Whenever I manage to do my eye some small injury (this time it was thrust upon the corner of an open cardboard box in my industrial freezer at work) I mean to take it like Odin, stating, "I sacrifice myself to myself!" Unfortunately, to date, it always comes out something more like, "SHIT MOTHERFUCK DAMN IT."
jacktellslies: (crow)
My gods are silent and distant, and at times I hate them for it.

At yoga today my instructor, who is Jewish but non-practising ("I only practice yoga," she likes to quip) commented before shavasana on the idea of Sabbath, on rest as a form of worship. In a small yet appropriately divine voice Nick whispered, "Hey. Didn't I tell you to do this yesterday?"

Carla, poised as always, not looking up from her pose, countered him: "Shut up, altar."

I long for a world that speaks. There are moments, sure, but it's not something I've ever been able to maintain. But I like the idea of a ritual from which not even its intended centre could sway you. And I love people who live to tell the gods to fuck off.

My neighbourhood exists in states of decay: either abandoned, torn down, or ill used. So today I went scavenging, collecting bricks, the bones of buildings burnt. Now I have a fire pit in my cement back yard. I started some seeds, too: chamomile and morning glory.
jacktellslies: (this machine)
Benjamin Franklin was, at the very least, the bastard child of a god. I pray to worse entities.

To success in business! To success with women! To a biography fraught with inventions and lies! To inventing the iPod in 1806!

Happy birthday, Benjamin. I adore you.


jacktellslies: (Default)

August 2009

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