riotheclown: clowning (Conversation between a Squirrel and a Sm)
I am so out of it I sat for twenty minutes staring at the screen trying to decide whether I wanted to play the Sims or just go back to bed. That was after looking out the window for ten minutes trying to decide whether I should shovel now or wait for it to stop. I don't even want to mention my random thoughts about making dinner early to leave for G.D. (going to Lovely Rachel's birthday party) NOW, or having a bath, or just going back to bed, or eating cookies.

this is the worst post ever.
riotheclown: clowning (pissoff)
I have it all going on. it is hard to type with a make shift Band-Aid on my index finger...
riotheclown: clowning (trenchbanal)
The recent episode of W.D. young blonde skinny girl wants a drink of alcohol, her first. Now, let me just point out that if I were a young skinny blonde girl in the zombie apocalypse left on my own with the Alpha male, a smoking hot, and yes just my type of broken anti-hero, I would have long since found some hooch and shared it with him. No question.

I'm kidding. Actually, the episode was a profound one and I was pleased with the fact that the writers didn't take the easy road with it at all. I actually loved the cinematography and artful use of frame. Believe it or not, there is an incredibly beautiful shot of Daryl skinning a snake. But what really got me was how much the shot of Beth sitting at the bar in the golf resort reminded me of the composition of an old Dutch painting. I'm serious. It may seem that this is just another adrenalin pumping, red neck buffet, but this show has art students working on it. BE WARNED.
bethdrinks (800x565)

For me, the one quest that would inspire me to head out on my own, to certain bloody death, would be the search for a decent cup of coffee.


riotheclown: clowning (a dove)
Excerpt from a poem by Mary Oliver Click on her name to see the whole poem.

I wanted

the past to go away, I wanted

to leave it, like another country; I wanted

my life to close, and open

like a hinge, like a wing, like the part of the song

where it falls

down over the rocks: an explosion, a discovery;

I wanted

to hurry into the work of my life; I wanted to know,

whoever I was, I was



alive

for a little while.

(…)

You don’t want to hear the story


of my life, and anyway


I don’t want to tell it, I want to listen

to the enormous waterfalls of the sun.


mary oliver

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