This is one of those restlessly boring nights.

I've beaten all my video games to the point where there is no replay value, and no point in buying new ones because I will beat them and have the same problem.

Movies and TV suck. When was the last time anyone thought a plot through? Name a movie, any movie. I'm willing to bet you that the storyline falls apart under any kind of scrutiny in about three and a half seconds.

Books are great, except that I've read all of the ones I own. I need more books, but have so much junk already that it would probably cause my floor to collapse.

Lisa and the cats are sleeping and I don't want to wake any of them up, so I'm being quiet.

There is just nothing to do, and it's pretty lame. I don't even really feel like blogging.

Maybe I will paint a mural or something on one of my walls, so that when I sit here with nothing to do but smoke and stare into space, I'll have something to look at.


But I have no paint, and don't know where to get some at this hour.


So, something else.


Hey, you know what I think it really is?

It's the honesty of it more than anything else. It's not some forced grace or a supernatural aire that just overwhelms the senses. It's simple and humble and "true-to-yourself" type stuff, and that's what makes it beautiful. It is not so much the effortlessness of it, though I have seen "effortless" and the same applies. I suppose it's fairly hard to explain this concept in writing, so perhaps I will just say that "words fail", and leave the elucidation up to the exceptionally savvy readers, who are likely imaginary in this specific case.

But, maybe you know what I'm talking about.

Maybe there are better words somewhere.

The most beautiful poetry is usually not the most eloquent or the best written - It's the most raw, from the heart sentiments that make a verse have any kind of true impact. I think that, at least in my mind, the principal is the same. Though I don't think it really belongs there at the moment anyway.


So, something else.


I've been thinking about writing the Alanna blog. It should probably happen eventually, but frankly the whole thing makes me feel dirty and I can't really think of any way to write it that makes it at least a little funny and not just strange and horrifying.

I think it's the kind of story that would be awesome or at least interesting to hear if you did not know anyone involved.


So, something else.


Ol' Black Lung here does know smoking is bad for him.

I can feel it killing me.

You want to make most people quit smoking? Tell ya what.

Take some Kleenex or toilet paper. Get a cigarette. Light it. Very important step, that last one. Pull some smoke into your mouth, but don't actually inhale it. Press the tissue firmly to your mouth, and blow out.

That's what goes into your lungs. Yum.

Untill recently, I'd get to inhale that about forty times a day. I have cut back from the two pack minimum now that I have my own house and prefer to smoke outside. It's bad for Lisa and the cats.

I know why I smoke, and I've made peace with it. Adult choices and all.


So, something else.


Netflix has exposed me to more horrible ways of wasting time than anything else I have ever encountered. It's not that I spend a lot of time watching it, it's that everything I watch seems to be immensely stupid.

I got U.S. Netflix in the hopes that they would have some different programming.

I was not disappointed. Now everything is immensely stupid and pirated. What a change.


So, something else.


Like pomegranates. I'd punch a nun for a nice, fresh pomegranate right now. They are refreshing as all fuck and stupidly tasty, and they take a long time to eat properly, time which I find enjoyable because I get to eat this fucking awesome thing that is healthy too and have something to focus on while doing so.

Even the word is awesome. Pom-a-gran-it, spelt like it doesn't sound.

They are even esthetically pleasing.

One of the best parts of being an adult is that I can almost always, always have a fucking pomegranate.

I also like cabbage, because it's crunchy like chips but better for you.

Most fruits and vegetables are pretty good. It would be nice to live somewhere where you could just go pick them out of your back yard.

And much more realistic than living somewhere else with tasty, convenient snacks, like an 7-11.


So, something else.


Blogs are strange. They are like diaries written in the hopes that someone will find them. Or like messages in bottles. Or, as stated previously, sounding boards.


There should probably be nothing else. I ramble.