Post christmas

Somehow, you never get what you really want.

In the past, I'd go into an anti-materialist rant, but I'd feel hypocritical if I did it today. Not because I found happiness in what I got, but because I took what I got with the normal, content smile. Maybe I was happy for a minute there.

Then again, I'm glad I got something. Glad I don't have nothing. Lucky kid, I am.

Lucky for no good reason.

That buzz you hear is a million little fires

Fortune 500 conglomorates.
Building caverns in the ground for expanses combustable liquides.
Monotone, but everyone's quiet.
'cuz they got the money that we all want.

A nice donation here.
A kind word there.
Pictures for their brochures.
Public relation cloud #9.

Just go along.
Wear you're nicest shirt and khakis.
Pretend you belong.
Before you come to your senses.

Try not to worry about it too much.
There's no way that they're happy.
They can build caverns for oil.
But not happiness.

hi-atus

Once upon a time, I thought I was past this. I was done, never to return. A symbol of my teenage past. Heirlooms, like all the bullshit in my room back home from high school, on a shelf gathering dust. Revisit when I'm 40 and in the midst of a nasty mid life crisis.

I'm back again for some reason.

Typing stuff that's nonsensical.

Annoyed at the priorities at hand. Running from the truth. That sort of thing. Again.

Whatever.