Stand in the pathway of giants before your time and feel the aether pulse.

There's the view that the universe is unfeeling and uncaring. It comforts, sometimes, to know that any wrongness is the result of sheer statistics and nothing more - nothing personal in it and no grudge held against you in the warp and weft of reality, but humans know better somewhere in their bones. Inside their Chomskyan deep structures, the bits of experiential logic that interface between the coldness of reality and the warm bright icicles of the soul, we know that there is, in face, a weather to the world in which we live. We can feel it, if we can't see it; we know it, if we can't explain it.

It's not always dim or dark. Sometimes it's fucking glorious.

Have you ever, in a moment of otherworldly time, known that what you did met with the universe's approval?

You have, believe me. You may have known it by a different name, or a different picture in your mind, but it was there. It isn't a thought or a recognition.

Some people spend their lives in search of that moment, seek to stretch it, push it, taffy, out to cover the entirety of their experience and to wrap themselves in it like a blanket. Others will seek to meet the peaks in staccato shrines of absolute synchrony with spacetime, to be experienced in tiny slices too intense to prolong and then savored in the hours, months or years in between.

Bring the car from around the curve into an invisible line that rests only within your mind. The pavement is new, the road untried - the car itself, perhaps, untested. And yet you'll know, know, when you find the groove. There will be a snap and the hum of resonance as your self and steed slip down into the spatial stream that's waited there for you - who knows how long? You just know you're there.

Find the chord (finally) to punctuate the tune, just the right amount of feedback coming from the Carver as the axe sings out exhausted triumph into the dark of empty tables and melting ice in glasses left abandoned. Not the singer, not the song, not the seats nor space that vibrates (finally) in that note you've sought - but something's there.

On the fifth or fifteenth touch and go, something's different. Something that you couldn't name, but this time the grumbling shit-beat rental Cessna decides enough's enough and recognizes that you're not kidding, and this time the tires touch the tarmac with nary a single squeal of dismay as they begin to roll, the airplane stalling off the last of its flight just as the weight settles onto the wheels.

Or - God help you - you stutter past the lump inside your throat despite that the dinner's gone all wrong and you've spilt your coffee on your shirt, just wanting to escape the evening with your sanity, but in spite of all that can be expected - she smiles, and the planets turn.

These are the signs that once in a time the universe too can beat the odds, and once in a great fucking while, it will turn in your favor.

Maybe tomorrow.


Every once in awhile one experiences something so fucking strange and yet so pedestrian (in this case, literally) that it takes one's breath away.

I was walking home and stopped in on the new liquor store on my block to poke around. The prices were outrageous so I walked out. Stepped out the door, turned right, took two steps and felt something crunch under my right foot.

I had assumed it was a beer bottle or a discarded pint of the off-brand, standing as I was between a liquor store and an Irish Pub, so I was surprised when I looked down and discovered that I was standing in a puddle of honey and glass. Walking home, one foot sticking to the sidewalk in a way entirely different from the way it does with the more usual environmental hazards, gum or whatnot, I felt like I was experiencing something new for the first time in ages. It was warm, somehow. Now I just need to figure out how to make that random warmth happen at will.

For Anna

Sometimes we say things that we just don’t mean. The words just sort of tumble out of your brain and down through your mouth and the minute you said them the feeling of regret sets in. Maybe you had a shitty day at work, maybe your emotions got the better of you, maybe the bill collectors and other sorts of barbarians are beating down your door and the pressure mounts like the steam that builds up in a pressure cooker just looking for release. Then before you know it, BAM! The sting of your words echoes in somebody’s ears and it takes a helluva lot of work to take them back.

I forget exactly what it was that I said but I’ll never forget the incredulous look on her face. It was like a mixture of surprise, hurt and disappointment all rolled into one. It was as if someone punched you in the stomach. Then there was the running upstairs and the slamming of doors and the muffled sobs coming out of the room. After that, to make matters even worse, there was the stubborn silence that ensued when I asked you to come downstairs and we faced off against each other like two boxers circling each other in the ring, each of us waiting for the other to make move so we could somehow counter it.

I forgot what finally broke the silence, I know we talked it over and on the surface, things seemed fine again but there’s always an undercurrent of emotions that you keep to yourself. Let’s not let it boil over.

Most scars heal. Most memories fade away over time. Given the circumstances, we’ve had a pretty good run up to now. Let’s not blow it just yet, it’s way too soon.

So we're okay, we're fine
Baby I'm here to stop your crying
Chase all the ghosts from your head
I'm stronger than the monster beneath your bed
Smarter than the tricks played on your heart
We'll look at them together then we'll take them apart
Adding up the total of a love that's true
Multiply life by the power of two

Excerpt from the Indigo Girls fine tune called “Power of Two”

OK Wilson.....
I am angry again at same woman who inflicted snack-seeking on me.
Little Miss Baby: (comes in with sheet of paper) I need to leave this for John.
Gruner: Okay.
B: (picks up notepad, rips off MY note without asking, rips off blank sheet for herself) Can I have a pen?
G: (hand her pen)
B: (writes note and hands me pen, then hands me paper) There you go.
G: (promptly get up and walk ten feet to John’s office and deposit paper on his chair)
B: (following me) I could have done that myself but I didn’t know that was all you were going to do.
G: (grunt in reply and begin writing angry email)

WHY? WHY? Can she not write notes at her own desk? Can she not simply do things herself? What special and mysterious administrative ritual must she imagine I follow just to leave something for someone? Why must I be interrupted and disturbed for this kind of triviality? I tell you Wilson, this is NOT the first time, nor the fifty-first time, such an incident has occurred with her. Every single time, I do my best to model better behavior for her. She appears to take note, and yet I swear to you that before the week is out she will come into my 5’ x 6’ cubicle and block me from access to my computer while she uses my phone to check her voice mail (again). Should I kill her?

OK Gruner-
Yes. You should kill snack-treat woman. Clearly she thinks you are her personal secretary. She was clearly expecting you to type up the message for John and then deliver it or send it by email. Something. Why? Is that the common mode of message delivery at your office? She must be taught a lesson.
I have a Dilbert book that gives very good tips for pranks on office-mates. I particularly like the one where you start rumor of seeing rat/mouse in office. Then you put those little chocolate sprinkles on desk of person you hate, as they look just like mouse turds. (Make sure they are next to gnawed looking paper or something.) Then you place a fake, furry mouse under the receiver of the phone so that it is fairly well hidden. All that is left is to wait for victim to enter office/cubicle and call them on phone. Will be great fun. Think you should try it. Short of that, try to give out ice-queen/hostile vibes like I do. People will stop talking to you at all. It also helps to have a vicious terrier residing under your desk that barks and growls when anyone gets near. I now have my manager handing me messages and attempting conversations from the other room!
Over and Out

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