I am tired, but i'm not going to let that stop me.
If you see an occaisional misspelling or capitalization error, reference the title. Silly rabbit, no one reads this blog!
I woke up last night at 2:30am or so, and didn't go back to sleep until I made myself do so at 6. I then had to get up at 7:15 to barely make it to work on time, which I did, to my surprise. :) Had a fairly uneventful day. Like a typical nerdly, I had to play with new toys in entirely inappropriate situations, which lead me to use the new invitation Evernote 3 beta Windows client to take all the notes for an important software meeting. Speaking of which, now I have to log in and check on it, because I am somewhat of a jittery person.
Now I have to go open Scrybe, because it made me think of it.
And now I'm back. Evernote online is kinda like Scrybe without the calendar, which actually may make it a little less valuable. Although, Evernote has what seems to be superior tagging and search capabilities, especially image search stuff. But I think it was Scrybe that first introduced us to the concept of web clipping.
The world feels like it's happening to someone else. Everything is slower-moving than normal. Sounds don't seem to have any definition; everything sounds like a new CD, mastered into a dynamic flatline.
I read the news today, oh boy
About a lucky man who made the grade
And though the news was rather sad
Well, I just had to laugh
I saw the photograph
Things have been coming down from the rafters. The world roars, the buildings groan as they lean into the wind. Rain flings itself with abandon at the windows. Ten inches of rain is unheard of in these parts..
He blew his mind out in a car
Somewhere, there's a boy, and he's crying. He sobs as his eyes run down the grooved channel on the side of a dull black pistol. He knows there are ten bullets in the clip, and that not a one will look the same after it has been used as before. Bullets are beautiful at first; the machined grooves shine with a warm, brassy glow. The casings look like gold.
He didn't notice that the lights had changed
I am a police officer. Whatever else I want to be, first, I am a cop. My job is to stop evil people from doing unfortunate things to the innocent. I was at a woman's house earlier, I almost lost it. Her husband was both drunk and coked out of his gourd, and he had been whipping her with an extension cord. Her nose was purple, one of her eyes was bleeding from the bottom lid when we got there. We pushed him into the car, behind the bars, and he wouldn't look at us, or at her. She fought us as we did, and spit on us when he was safely inside. It took everything in me, much more control than I thought I ever had, not to physically knock her out with a single punch for her stupidity..
A group of people stood and stared
Something was there, that couldn't be contested. Some people thought it was some animal, crawled down into the sewers and lived forgotten for years before struggling back up to the surface. Some people said it wasn't real, some kind of ghost or something, even as others poked its obviously solid body with a stick. Some even said it had been a child once, or an alien, or both. But the fact was that the guy, the college-looking kid with the beard, had actually watched it pull itself desperately out of a storm drain and crawl pitifully to the curb before it stopped moving with a high-pitched sigh..
Nobody could really tell if he was from the House of Lords
The Cloth of Sacrament goes up, over the head, drapes on the back of the chair. The robe unbuttons behind the neck, and goes on the wooden hanger to hang in the tiny cedar closet. The skullcap just pulls off, and hangs on the back of the chair. The necklace goes into a small drawer in the closet, the talisman to be stored away for the next service. It depicts a goat's head with a knowing smile, tiny ruby eyes set in pewter sockets. The ritual complete, it's time to eat a Ding Dong or two and drink a tall glass of cold, whole milk..
I'd love to turn you on
I kneel in a closet. No one knows I do this. Well, I say that, but He knows. He and I alone share this secret. I don't let my left hand know what my right is doing. My knees hurt, but that's hardly a poor trade. I know what I'm doing is right. I know what I'm doing is beautiful to Someone, and I do it alone, in a secret place. And, here's the kicker; half of what I pray for can only benefit other people.
I am tired. Good night. We'll see you later.