handbag

I wonder where exactly the phrase “going to Hell in a handbag” came from. And doesn’t it seem a little cramped. I don’t really carry a handbag, can I use a brief case? Too short. Still, I am more partial to “going to Hell in a grocery cart” or “going to Hell in a wheel barrel”. It seem like you would have more room to take along, personal items. And “Hell!”, Hell even knows we all have baggage. I wonder if Charon makes you check your bags when travelling over the Styx? A Danakea for your thoughts. You think they upgraded their travel arrangements? Can I take a jet there instead of some good intentioned road and ferry? This long travel seems way too tedious, I just want to get there and start all of eternity. You know, get on with it. But there is all those details. Yet this driving, stopping for doing what is right, then downward spiraling thing is getting old. I mean, I have reservations. Can’t I just take the express? I guess I could hang myself from the highest tree. I always seem to carry enough rope for that. But my reservations were supposed to be first class. I want the hot towels, damn it all to Hell.

Ah, forget it. I probably just get hit by a bus… A Coach.

LEAP

February is the longest month. Not in days of course, even with Leap Year making it’s appearance. But just in premise. I believe that it has something to do with the slant of the sun. It becomes bright and blue sky, the sun is out longer and longer every night, yet it is still bitter cold. The wind blows the winter into your face, when all one wants is the slightest hint of spring. Crushing one’s hopes, one’s desires, with blatant matter of fact reality. Winter stalks the land and all tremble in it’s presence. We even look to fat lazy marmots to forecast our future. Your shadow(?), six more weeks…..noooooo. But what is this, above freezing weather? Thank the powers that be for Global Warming (shut up, I didn’t just type that, I will rot in hell).Yet still the winds have that biting arctic hatred to them. You can feel the animosity, the vicious malevolence breathing at the back of your neck. Wanting, desiring, lusting for your demise and the return to barren lifeless lands of ice and snow. And there in the midnight blue sky, my lover the moon, burning in a warm glow like an antique kerosene lamp. Inviting, voluptuous and yearning for my touch. Yet, so unattainable. This morning she cried out for me. As the dreaded February clouds webbed her in like giant spiders. Making her become faint and out of focus, until she was only a hint of cobwebbed light. Yet I could feel her breath beating in my chest. I was up at “0 dark thirty”, for my daily pilgrimage to mother. Hacking and coughing out the venomous cold air, like a 7o year old chain smoker. A sickness I cannot shake. Non-scripts, vitamins, fluids, and the big guns of juice and Chicken soup, yet to no avail. I feel broken, decrepit, and unwanted. Once again asking myself why am I still alive. And this year I was hoping to change that mantra. Fatigued by Winter, waylaid by a common cold, bemoaning existentialism and yearning for rebirth. Ah February, you arrived in all your glory. This too will pass. Where did I leave that time machine?

Time Travel Agenda

Blank screen. Staring aimlessly at me, curser blinking in it’s syncopated rhythm. I pretend it’s winking at me, and smile in self amusement. I guess that I should type, something. It is past the end of January, and I find myself in an Alpha/Omega mood. The month that has been designated to begin it all has ended. Unlike my friend the Phoenix, it left in a whimper. So here I sit and review my itinerary from the start, as if this was the original plan. Thirty one days have passed from sight. Each one had lasted a lifetime and disappeared in an instant. Gotta love time travel. I remember the ending of last year, surviving those holidays with fierce determination to stay true to non-commercial intentions. Then defiantly stepping into the new year, 2012. Oh, man. It’s all over my shoes. From there I shuttled back and forth between weeks and days. Slowly landing on the 1^st with grand visions of hope and charity, but already deifying the chastity bit before the buss left the spa. Then there was the 26^th, with its grey sky and ice cold winds that blew freezing hatred thru soulless streets and around eyeless buildings. Back to the 4th with all it’s crushing depression and angst like that of a teen emo on a forced Bjork diet. Finally ending on a spring note, teasing and tempting with warmth and sun, and visitation from friends forgotten. Ten emotions in eight days. This is Friday, then this must be complacency or is that Brussels? Next time, I think I will take the train.