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No title, too bummed before/after I felt cool this week. Twice actually. Well, okay, three times, really. But I'm only talking about two instances. I think anyway. Damn, that sounds arrogant, but when you get to a certain point in life, you realize what are commodoties, what can and can't be had, what's important, and the cold cruel realities we all live by, and that really, the masses are fucking DYING to smash your brains in, for no real reason whatsoever as long as the normal moral rules we operate by are suspended by our surroundings. Which is to say I think that a lot of people's moral systems are defined by their surroundings, and perhaps the people around them. This is no revelation. Wars, riots, etc. But this falls outside the scope of what I'm talking about today. I'm talking feeling cool. Not James Dean or Madonna cool. Not Robert Roundtree cool. No. Just a sort of ordianry folks type of cool. A sort of "gee, the shit isn't clinging to me and dragging me down" cool. The first incident of cool was at the bookstore. I sauntered in with an idea for what I'd come, and an eye for the cute girls that seem to frequent the store, both behind the counters and flitting about the aisles, like goassamyr book nymphs, cavorting about their space, bewitching the souls of good Christian men with their knowing looks over the covers of open books, minds dancing with pretty words. Passion for the ages. But it was not to be. No cute girls anywhere. Bored housewives with empty nests, netting afternoon part time jobs. (fuck, my hockeyteam just lost, I've totally lost the zang to write.)
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