Thursday, March 30, 2006

It’s another dry No-Love-Thursday:

Thought for the Day:
The overman...Who has organized the chaos of his passions, given style to his character, and become creative. Aware of life's terrors, he affirms life without resentment.
Friedrich Nietzsche

jane
(It’s once again; make your own caption day.)

NLT:
When a was weak of sprit Tuesday night, I was heartened to hear that in the back room of my favorite bar, they have a calendar and are marking off the days until my return. It seems that the attendance of the venerable drinking club and mutual aid society known as No-Love-Thursday has dropped off to the point of being ineffectual ie: very few people are being offended.

M. Chamberlain told me that my caustic wit has been what held this merry group of the disingenuous and disenfranchised together. Take heart dear reader, soon like a Phoenix from the ashes both I and this historic club will rise again and take its rightful place at the bar.

Last Night:
I had a great time hanging out with my union brothers and sisters last night. It was a honor to be the key note speaker and just damn fun. I love Bolsheviks. I got home and developed a fever (which is something common for me when the seasons change). I took the last of my meds the VA gave me, which means I will have to spend a whole afternoon at that beacon of health care in order to get a refill.

Today:
My flower is once again promoting her current boy-band sensation with a live performance at one of northeast Indiana’s Nat’ Guard Amory’s. So, I am flying solo, sadly without the crutch of demon rum to fall back on, so it is doubtful that I will get myself into any trouble, well, no more than is my custom. I didn’t shave and wore jeans to work today, already three people have said something about it, perhaps I should of worn a shirt, but I need the freedom, man...

Today’s Bill:
"All the infections that the sun sucks up
From bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall, and make him
By inch-meal a disease!"
From The Tempest (II, ii, 1-3)

Quote of the Day:
The peril of every fine faculty is the delight of playing with it for pride. Talent is commonly developed at the expense of character, and the greater it grows, the more is the mischief. Talent is mistaken for genius, a dogma or system for truth, ambition for greatest, ingenuity for poetry, sensuality for art.
Ralph Waldo Emerson

I remain, exhibiting the feverous sensuality of a rabid squirrel:

JQP esq.