Archive for the ‘His Own Drummer.’ Category

In the midst of ecstasy (or is it some kind of happy banality?), I have time to reflect and consider: Yes, indeed, I haven’t had this much fun since Miss Natura 1986… or was it Bindoon Rock 1987? … Shit! I don’t remember. It’s hard to quantify happiness.

I try to tell my companion something about each event. Sadly, the awesomeness is lost of her.

“Shit! You’re so old you probably remember when airlines were generous and gave out socks for the passengers to wear. Huh, when the cost of a ticket bought you a crappy meal.”

Yes, that’s true, I do remember. It was Miss Natura 1986! And I still wear a pair of those synthetic socks around the house.

“Sad.” 

No, sad is you finger-fucking your phone for hours on end.

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His Own Drummer.

Posted: 2015-06-19 in His Own Drummer.

She noted that he repeated his statements quite frequently. He would barely have finished a sentence before he would repeat the words, as if a compulsion.

If life was poetry, perhaps it would be okay. But, here and now, in the prosaic world we live in, it is slightly annoying.

She automatically assumed that the automatic repetition came from a lifetime of people not understanding what he was saying, one way or another, so he was accustomed to having to make his point twice. Sigh. Hoping it would make a difference.