At The End Of All Things
At the end of all things sits a lie.
It was there from the beginning.
It mocks everything that we tried.
And we'd lost even when we were winning.
--a really grumpy guy
(And I mean really, really grumpy. Like, so grumpy that not even kittens can cheer him up. And I'm talkin' even if they're playing with yarn and pouncing at feathers and purring and stuff.)
posted by Latigo Flint @ 12:18 AM
12 comments
12 Comments:
I read this the other day. In the right frame of mind it puts a different cast on things, which is alway worth trying, if only to rule out that particular cast as crap. At the very least, it makes you want to go to the beach, which is nice this time of year.
"The variety of shapes, colours and textures under her feet was, she believed, literally infinite. It must be. Each shell, each pebble, each stone had been made what it was by aeons of submarine or subglacial massage. The indiscriminate, eternal devotion of nature to its numberless particles had an importance for Isserley; it put the unfairness of human life into perspective."
I once knew a grumpy man who had a cat, a bottle of whisky, a pair of scissors and a vague idea that a cat's whiskers were important in some way for a cat but he couldn't remember how, so he cut one side's whiskers off in an experiment (with control whiskers on the other side exhibiting impressive scientific rigour given his wobbly mind at the time) to see what it was he couldn't remember about the cat's whiskers.
I don't know how the tale ended - he didn't publish his results in any scientific journal I read, but the moral of the piece is clear: grumpy men and cats: never the twain should meet. For the love of God, let the kittens be!
Hope you're OK, Latigo. Gloom's a bugger.
Is it wrong that I feel like commenting on the comment?
A truly grumpy poem Latigo and some lovely words Sam, I agree that it is necessary to turn, at times, to the meloncholy side of this funny thing called life.
Of course it's more fun to poke the meloncholy when it sleeps then run away down the road laughing...
But each to their own,
- Toby
I misquoted. That should read "... had an emotional importance for Isserly".
Right up my alley today. Folded some hands of Texas Hold'em with decent cards only to learn the other guy was bluffing.
Is it true about the lie at the end of all things, or is that a lie too?
Then there were two lies there at the beginning,
And when we were winning we were winning
Yep. He's jaded all right. Somebody should give him a can of peaches.
Peaches, yes, lbb, but hold the cinnamon.
Oh, Latigo. Pop in your favorite Western movie, lately I've been having a hankering for "Tombstone". Open a bottle of your favorite whiskey. Have some beer chasers on hand to keep things from going sideways too quickly. Watch the movie. Drink the booze. Repeat as necessary.
Grumpy is a dismal place that can turn into a much more productive surly with the proper application of alcohol and media.
Yes but what a marvellous lie! - In fact it is so brilliant I find it hard to believe.
Latigo?
I hope you're ok, and that the last few days have gotten the grump out. Or channelled it into some productive quick-draw practice. Or something. (And if worst comes to worst, you know, at the end of most things may be a lie, but at the end of a tequila bottle is a worm.)
Tell that grumpy guy to lay off the Morrissey and try Katrina and the Waves' "Walking on Sunshine" instead.
I wasn't okay Sam, you problem child bride you, I was dead--not okay at all, being dead you know.
But I came back, so all's well that ends well I suppose.
By the way, writing better than I do on my comments isn't allowed. Unless you're sleeping with me--then it's allowed. Ball's in your court darling.
Life is funny and savage and cruel Toby. But more of the latter two.
No, commenting on comments that make me look like a poor writer by comparison isn't allowed... unless you're sleeping with me--then it's allowed. Ball's in your court darling.
Did you tell that filthy bluffer that you hope he gets cancer Ghost Dog? I woulda. Or is Kid Relish who woulda? Oh hell, who can tell the difference anymore.
I don't think it works that way, sweet Helga. Anyway, I don't lie--it's out of character for me.
And sometimes I sing Meatloaf songs out loud and the neighborhood children weep it's so beautiful.
Yes please Talulah, all of the above. Complementary meat trays prove God cares. And Bruce W. singing to the camera in pool halls proves God loves us.
And hugs... Unicorns invented hugs, with consultation from God, and gave them us so that perhaps everything wouldn't be quite so wretched, and then they were not.
Is that a terribly obscure Dances With Wolves reference LBB? Or, more perfectly, do I just seem like I could use a can of peaches? (I hope it's the latter.)
I adore you Amandarama. Advice taken.
You're marvelous Hen. What do you think of that?
Thank you for your concern sweet Ellinor. I was dead. But now I'm not anymore. So hooray!
I tried that Ari, he just snarled and told me to let him whisper his last goodbyes... then he tried to stab me in the eye with a fork. That was a grumpy guy.
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