I don't subscribe to meditation, much to mother's chagrin. I never could sit still that long without a controller in my hands. But I believe in the principle, and feel we can find it in our daily lives not through consciously not doing, but through consciously doing that which we do every day. The morning coffee and lolcats, followed forty-five minutes later by a productive bathroom break. Nine hours afterwards the smell of sauteing garlic, a beer from the very back of the fridge. Rinsing, drying, stacking dishes, stars on the porch with the day's single cigarette, walking the dog before bed. The small, simple, routine tasks and treats that take us through the hours between Bioshock and Call of Duty can be blessings if we let them. If we own them. They are the small keys that lead to the map, the compass, and the larger key, which open on our demons and our treasures, and we discover them over, and over, and over, and over.
ZELDA.
scared to enter the next room
needz mah red potion!
bullying chickens
yields feathered retribution
strength flies in numbers
link works so damn hard
yet the game's named after her?
the sex aint that good
great, now I'm a wolf
must howl in perfect pitch
girl ain't worth this shit
why can't the bitch learn?
you see a pigface you run.
it's just that simple.
tingle we should talk
you can't keep coming around
it scares the children
magic talking boat
please have mercy upon me
let me drown myself
magic talking hat
i think you would love my friend
magic talking boat
slashing at grasses
seeking rupees in the dirt
did you check the couch?
i wield tiny sword
and pointy little green hat
oh so fucking what
Thanks to Doomeru, his flower girl, Kn0thing, and Mr. Mooch for all your contributions, and everybody (anybody?) out there reading.
You're what keeps me banging my head against the wall.
