Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Tomorrow is another full moon. And you know how I get around a full moon. Well maybe you don't know how I get around a full moon, but trust me it isn't pretty. Or at least my blogging isn't pretty. I tend to get morbid and irritable. And there is a good chance that some squid beaks are on the horizon (see Ambergris by any other name is still whale puke).
I know many people pooh pooh the power of the moon, but I can't ignore it. And it does bring out the nutcases in Seattle...well more than usual. Yesterday a man was walking down the street in downtown Seattle, dowsed three people with lighter fluid and set two of them on fire (the third beat him off with an aluminum cane).
I don't venture uptown downtown much anymore. I stay in the fringe here in the International District where the crackheads are more predictable. Oh I have to deal with the kilt-wearing geeks that work at Amazon.com, but you tune them out like the camoflage wearing drug dealer who hangs around Tullys coffee shop in a beret eating raw onions.
Life truly is odder than fiction. Which is why I don't understand why people need to make up shit when they blog. All you need to do is write about what is going on around you and you are immersed in about as much fantasy as any one can deal with. Open up your eyes and look around you and you'll never say your life is mundane again. All life is drama.
But I digress.
The moon. It does something to my dreams. I don't get to have those nice bizarre dreams they have in the television commercial with the groundhog and Abe Lincoln playing chess. That would be kind of cool. My dreams during the full moon are filled with Lord of the Ring like quests through amusement parks and swamps. And no, I don't believe in analyzing dreams. Mine have nothing to do with not being breast fed or being frightened by a Zamboni at a hockey game when I was a toddler (don't ask). Mine are just odd and intricate and I'm sure woven by the full moon.
But nevermind. I need to go get a cup of coffee. I hope the camoflage-wearing drug dealer with the beret isn't there. I hate the smell of raw onions in the morning.