written by owen

There comes a point every so often when I end up at a point of "culture shock". Where the patterns stop occuring as I expected. The noodles in my chow mein don't taste quiet as well. The same parties, the quietly increasing cost of the sunday gleaner, the rain, babies coming out of vaginas, secret weddings. I am not easily surprised but every now and then a new pattern begins to form, a simple enigma. Some are clear while others exist only to confuse me - change my cheque point. On such a rare occasion I will ask a question and get a weird look. Hell is other people.

I solve problems. Troubles. Tribulations. Nothing is ever quite what it seems unless you are apart of it. I have this analogy which I often use to explain a certain theory of relativity. I don't remember where I got it from(I seem to be quoting alot of literature lately - My Coy Mistress). The truth is like the sun, its benefit is totally dependant on how close you are to it. Too close and you'll get burn up in the bueaty of its firey desire. Too far and you won't feel the warmth of its glow and go mad. Not only won't you feel its effect but you'll spin off into the depths of outer space.

At the points where new patterns arise I often end up with a muse. Someone who connects with me on a level that nobody else can. Together we will create bueatiful things. A cookie in the Jar. God's child. A little monkey. Eventually we will loose communictions with our muses, life is bitch depending on how you dress her. And life doesn’t let us forget the best muses we’ve had. And our better muses tend to keep annoying us until we die.

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