Wednesday, October Second: The Reckoning

Dear HeySpace,

Well, its Wendesday, October Second, I recon, and my recent reconnaissance tentatively summates a critical state of affairs, contemporarily, for the people of my town and perhaps far, far beyond. Indeed, a great mystery is unfolding here right under their noses, and the only smell in the air at and around the plaza is that of the odious odor of grease, skin, and dust. Elsewhere, a fine crisp Autumn blossoms and leaves begin to wither in the damnest shades of ochre vigor. As it grows, finally, so long awaited, cool enough outside to sprint from place to place without breaking a sweat, the masses don a peculiar ensconcement within all manners of rather dull pajamas and polyesters, and a strange and foreboding greyness seems to loom overcast their heads as they trudge down the soon snow covered pathways. I imagine there is little respite for many of them in such a dreary contentment, and as I make my way through them to my obliged rendezvous with the condemned, I try my best to smile, a real smile, eyes and all, if upon my countenance they should chance to glance or glare. Often, I notice those who smile with me in passing already were by the time I've caught their eye. Its no undertaking for the faint of heart, be assured, to smile in the face of people who love company. There's a little gross man in everyone, some demented old hardware store commercial goes, or so I've heard, and I think its true, there's a little bully, a little gross man out smawking around for schaudenfreude most unwittingly to their questionable better wishes. And indeed perhaps we all get tired eventually, but I'd be rather discontented to content myself to such a trudgerous drudgerous exigence. If I were a paranoid, I'd say its in the water, or the air, and indeed, some people don't know shit about the air, they seem to say, or the water, they feel. And perhaps its more tastefully sophomoric of such retirements, however, as if we were on death's door! Oh, my, my, my, what consternation.

Anyway, so let me give it to you straight on Wednesday, October Second, I recon. Romance is in the air! Oh sweet! I sleep little, and feel its toll setting upon me, but really when I have more energy I get a bit antsy. But if I'm too tired I get sleepy, and that gives me some more energy. But I'll have to sleep some more before I really have some more energy to run around some more, cause right now I'm feeling rather conflicted, and find myself in place doing little much valued well of my time. In any case it could only be a personal preference, and all the drudgery a friend would say I should be resting from is really the drudgery itself I think. We all get tired eventually, but will we sleep well? And when we wake up will we go back to sleep, or start running around again all over, and then what will they want from us, all the inscrutably variegated myrmidons of expectation! Inanity! HAHAHA, I'd say "Bahumbug" but I really am trying to fend off Ebenezer Scrooge and the three ghosts of Christmas past, present and future. They'd all just get mixed up and the Christmas spirit would probably grow tired too, and get me a surge-protected power strip or some socks; but never would the motherfuckers really get you some coal if you really asked for it, nah, you'd have to buy that shit yourself and get your hands all sooty. They'd give you a picture frame, and leave the coal in the glass furnace, but you'd smell it, you know, to be honest. Of course you would, cause it doesn't feel the same, its in the water now, you know, they say. And the Christmas spirit has left the air! Its gone into so many different asscrack chimneys and back again and now its all pooped-out and has to go to bed! Amphipathic shit in and out the ass, my god. My god, I say, the Christmas Spirit lives! Raise the dead! Raise Christmas this morning and smile, please, on Wednesday, October Second, I recon. My reconnaissance fails to ascertain how they gave it up so easily, but perhaps they were too distracted, or pooped-out, to notice it was dropping out of their pants pockets onto the floor somewhere on the way to the bathroom mirror.

Best Regards