i just noticed something from last night's entry. I mentioned 'disoriented-grammer' and then made a cutesy little arrow pointing to an example of said grammer, only it looks like I'm referring to a particular weblog, WHICH IS NOT WHAT I MEANT! Damn! I hate when I do things like that. The disoriented grammer I was referring to is the phrase '..which is pretty cool itself', specifically the superfluous use of the word 'itself'.
Much to my consternation, I saw some stunning weblog sites this morning, which led to stunning-er homepages, which led to the discouragement of the jealous infant in my head who runs things most of the time. I don't remember the URLs. I've blocked them out. But it all started at Jay's weblog, which is pretty cool itself. <== That's what I mean by 'disoriented grammer'.
Jay's weblog IS cool, itself, and has NO disoriented grammer in it anyplace. I hate being unclear. Sorry.
things are not good. The word crestfallen is appropriate. I have been looking at my life too much for my own good. I've been staring at the man in the mirror and I'll be damned if the illusion is not wearing real thin, and there ain't no makeup, or Grecian Formula that's gonna change anything. Not even a talented hustler would do me any good today.
I want to toss it all. I want to have a tantrum. I want to be young. I want it to be winter: no sweat-glistened, shirtless young men; no successful young men in leather loafers; no cookouts at young men's homes with all their dear friends; no young men strolling, hand in hand through star-speckled summer beach nights; and no gorgeous sunshiney blue-sky sparkling weather to mock my lonliness. Give me a good dark overcast grey February Nor'Easter with not much air 'tween the flakes, and nothing too bright, everything muted-low contrast.
And therein give me a warmly lit kitchen containing a chubby grandmother wearing oven mits, with her glasses on a chain 'round her neck, and a plethora of fresh baked chocolate-chip cookies covering every flat surface but the floor. And let me be a boy again, let me look out that old window at the gentle quiet graying world, and let me start this over from there. No higher than the big old woman's waist is where I want to start again, and build another man, different than the one I am.
On June 20, 2000 at 9:48 P.M. EDT (June 21, 01:48 UT), the Sun entered the sign of Cancer; summer begins. [*]
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