Monday, July 21, 2008

Blues is King

Sadness and pistachios, at the worst of times. Need I, when knowing, turn off the smile, the stereo and brood, refusing (p)leisure, that is, the self, in aid of empathy? Should, moreover, a good person, a real good one, be physically incapable of merrymaking, in any guise, when there's woe afoot? Surely the thought would never even cross his (oo er) honest-to-goodness mind! Under this brand of reasoning, sound though it may be, the mere existence of temptation could well be enough to forsake you, oh my darling, regardless of give-ins or misgivings, resistance or succumbference. But, drat! Who, I ask you (other than a rival toy company), could remain poed and poffaced at Lands on my bed and sings her tune/to the light of the shining moon?

One's room, that organic collage of purchase and collection, can, in times of trouble (from without), be a positive whorehouse of temptation, damnation ground zero — the guilt of reaching for a Fantagraphics favourite! And let's not mention— Such things betray a light heart, too light, perhaps, to listen. But how can I abstain?— why should I abstain? It must be something altogether deeper, something weak and wheezing at the bottom of my soul, nearing death by distraction. And I don't hear it no more. I hear, rather, the backup singer, strolling up and down the melody, and cringing for future reference.

My eyes are suitably red, my posture slumped, my words appropriate, but that's sleep, habit and politeness, respectively. Not sick enough to forgo the gesture, but not right enough to mean it. And now I'm on the other end, all but pissing out problems, and the scarce words I've got felt as hollow as mine, tear or no. Relieved, I suppose, but unhelped — those words I knew not to seek anyhow. I await, instead, a flying fat thing with a spasmodic diaphragm and a penchant for song, rendered in her harmony. And a stronger man than I—

17 comments:

Kathryn said...

There's a hippopotamus on our roof eating cake. Same one, do you think?

Hugh said...

No, this one preferred fruit.

Kathryn said...

Apples?

Hugh said...

It rhymes with apples.

Kathryn said...

Dapples...chapels...grapples.
I'm stumped.

Hugh said...

Pineapples.

Kathryn said...

Cheeky devil. (Oh, the shame!)

pinkgothic said...

Dear god.
I just noticed how much I miss you.
(And please, do misread that as letter-format, for that won't be far from the truth)
- pinkgothic

Hugh said...

Silvia?

pinkgothic said...

Well, Nora, but you were only four letters off, and right in spirit. I'm surprised the cleaning crews haven't managed to find that memory of me and exterminated it, like you (or a concerned friend, at the very least) hopefully told them to. It's certainly only worth rubbish.

I sincerely hope you've been doing well, and, if not, that things may improve in that general direction.

I'm really not very sure why I dropped off the radar. I'm unreliable like that, I guess.

pinkgothic said...

Five letters. Five.

Because, you know, I can count.

Hugh said...

Doing fine, wish the same, and forbid such baseless deprecation. Radars don't bear addressing, this similarly culpable sod assures.

Howzat!

pinkgothic said...

Shifty, mainly. :P

Anyway, much as irony would have it, I can't really spend a lot of time talking to you until after August is well over. Thesisy goodness awaits. Eugh, real life has such a bitter taste sometimes.

Hugh said...

Real life has both.

This shifter wishes luck and well, if either come in handy. The cleaning crews will never find their way.

Kathryn said...

Mush?

Hugh said...

Sentimental perhaps, but I wouldn't go that far.

Kathryn said...

Harry, then.