I have a temperature. A fever. For real, not the Peggy Lee song. NyQuil in the daytime. Laying and lying in a field of down pillows... I'm tipping and tapping. Mind mind is not here but there, thinking of here.
Everyday is a new chance to discover the Lesbian-Made Strawberry-Thai-Chicken of Life. Everyday is a chance to to lick the Cool-Peppermint-Ice-Cream of the Unforeseen. Ritual deceives us into thinking days blur into an unchanging circle of predictability. It's a lie.
I know...I know...I love ritual too. Being a renounced, but still-heavily-stained Catholic...I know the pleasure of ritual. It smiles at the chaos...showing it's shiny teeth. It bites both ways though. Keeping chaos at bay, it also keeps our discovery at bay. The bottom of my trousers are scuffed, frayed, and yellowed by the anointment of street-laden-burrito-blues. My shoots (part shoe, part boot) are happily worn and drunkenly free stepping into the shampoo-y bubbles of chance. *pop*