A 'musing' Thought #16

Humor is a bullet made of cruelty and observation, shot towards an ever moving target along an unknowable timing pattern.

Tyrion, my Tyrion!

Mises To Pieces

Sadly, we've let the cat out, and the rats in. We're in bed with government, cuddle buddies now, instead of lording over it as master to servant, like it should be. Seat belts and gun locks should be marketable offers of excellent ideas, useful tools, not compulsory stock. Furthermore, the laws defining material requirements only hide the floor with clutter, blocking their real nature, the control by force of ideas and mind. 

A 'musing' Thought #15

Fifty is the new forty, true, and Facebook's the new junior high. The universe abides and balances its books accordingly.

Stolen Words...

'...He remembered once when the grass was damp and she came to him on hurried feet, her thin slippers drenched with dew. She stood upon his shoes nestling close and held up her face, showing it as a book open at a page. 

 "Think how you love me," she whispered. "I don't ask you to love me always like this, but I ask you to remember. Somewhere inside me there'll always be the person I am tonight." 

  But Dick had come away for his soul's sake, and he began thinking about that. He had lost himself- he could not tell the hour when, or the day or the week, the month or the year. Once he had cut through things, solving the most complicated equations as the simplest problems of his simplest patients. Between the time he found Nicole floundering under a stone...'

excerpt from Fitzgerald, deep into Book 2 of TENDER IS THE NIGHT. I don't think they'll be missed. Too many more like these to notice. 

A 'musing' Thought #14

To dubious characters I am drawn; from dubious character, repelled.

COME AND GO BLUES

Today marks the anniversaries of Kurt Cobain's birth and Hunter S. Thompson's death. Two visionaries, both gifted with the ability to entertain and push buttons and boundaries simultaneously. As much as we enjoyed their work, we equally look for more, as if their exits weren't explicit enough. That's all folks. The fire which forged word and song, reduced to hissing ash with nothing left to stoke. For our eyes and ears, their output should be understood as good choices throughout; missed, understood.