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Valkeryies, Pregnancies, and Meat before/after
Listening to the Flight of The Valkeryies really brings the picture into full frame.
I used to be bored with the Myth of the Valkeryies, uncaring of their flying off to the battlefield to collect the souls of those slain in battle. I looked at it as a menial chore, much akin to picking cabbage.
But listening to the music it became clear. It became apparent: they are going to battle, also.
They scramble to their wing'ed horses, the alarms spring off, and they fly.You can really hear them fighting off evil spirits, and demons and God Only Knows what else that are trying to spirit off these Souls Who Do Not Belong To Them, holding them at bay with one arm, mortal soul slung through the other, effortlessly and willfully fighting and dying in their cause.
They struggle and are surrounded, some perish, but in the end, the indominatible spirit of the Valkeryie overcomes the oppostiton, to bring them to the table in Valhalla, wherein Odin's getting roasted off his omniscient one-eyed ass.
I like that better than picking cabbage.
The seventeen year old intern is not here. Probably skipping. Delinquent.
At lunch, I frequently go to the supermarket and buy things for lunch at work. Sometimes I will buy various meat products for supper later that day.
Every time I buy meat, I make a point of showing her. On one hand, I don't think she gets it, on the other, I think she's flustered by it.
I'm showing a seventeen year old girl my meat. I hope she likes it.
me:"Hey, look. Pork chops. Some Eye of Round. "
And years from now, while she's struggling under the overwieght smelly bulk of her third husband and fourth trailer park, she'll think of me, as the chew spit dribbles into her hair, WCW wails out of the T.V., obese sweat and moldy balls all over her, she'll get it, and wonder what might've been, had she shown the proper appreciation for my meat.
She'll seek me out. Most likely I'll be fabulously well-to-do, through no fault of my own.
She'll be at the door, rain soaked, dirty, with the smell of double-wide all over her.
me:"You should've appreciated my meat when you had the chance, little girl."
she:"I know..."
She'll shuffle her feet, and turn to walk away.
And I'll take her in, regardless, for a spell. I'm not a heartless bastard.
I will smoke a little pot and go work out. Its the best way. I keep the best form, zone right into the workout, and end up sore as hell the next day.
I love being sore. Doesn't happen too often.
I really like it when a hottie rubs my sore muscles. Turns me on.
Oh well. 2 out of 3 ain't bad.
I LOVE THE GREEN!
Sunday, when I was at the auto-parts store for oil and an oil filter, I ran into an obviously pregnant women. I asked her if she was changing her own oil, and she replied, that was for tomorrow. Today was cleaning the house and the car, and de-greasing the engine.
Fumes? Hello?
I am torn. On the one hand its sad that whatever happended that she has no help sucks. Its sad. She should just be sitting on her fat pregnant ass at this point. On the other, maybe she should've not gotten pregnant, or chosen another path. And another tack puts it as..."Hey, if she can do all this by herself, there's really not much for which she needs help..."
Some of these days, its just like spring, riding with the roof open and the windows down, free, a spirit wild and unkown. I wander to my delight until the sun sets in mine eyes. I day dream of places I've seen, people I have loved. I want to dance, I want to run naked in the daisies and dandelions. Some of these days seem to make sense. And some days, I just do not care if it makes sense at all.
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