I tend to brood a lot.� Not really mope, but heavy brooding.

And walking out the door for work, the cat ran up to me with his head cocked at a quesitoning 45 degree angle, trilling, looking at me with green eyes and dark lustrous black fur.� The sun was shining outside for the first time it seemed, in months.

I mused on it, as I walked into the bracing cold and got into my car.� I thought of the family of deer I saw the other day as I looked at a sunset while I drove to class.� Playing music for people.� Going to class and making all the guys laugh.� The taste of good food going out to dinner at a nice restaraunt.� The smell of a wet pussy.� The taste of a wet pussy.� All these things.

I'm surrounded by them, no matter how bad my circumstance gets.� All this richness and sumptuousness of experience, or sensation.� It is constantly around, no matter how dark my thoughts run.� Its all so vivid to me its almost painful in a way, unless, strangely, I numb myself to it.� Pretend I don't notice.

But I do.� I do, I do, I do.� In ever girls giggle, I hear it.� In ever sigh of my lover, or hearing my voice reading poems to an expectant crowd.�� Its all bright and loud.

And I realized I'm not sad, but that I'm just not paying enough attention to the pagentry of existence around me.

Even at its most bleak, desolate times of life, we are bombarded with the epiphany of the beautiful.� The banal weights us, the trite consumes us.� But in the end, it is still there.� Its always there, and never left.

But so many keep their noses to the grindstone they don't know that a great sunset happened two nights ago.� Or that their coworker has a great laugh.�

And our pointless, made up schedules wear us down.

I'm not sad anymore.� Not really.

Not until I tune it all out again, and get caught up in the bullshit vagaries of the day.�

Lord I hope that doesn't happen for awhile.