Serenity & Spice

I like rain. It’s always a sign that good things are about to happen. Mother Nature is giving her stamp of approval. It’s the sudden downpour in the middle of a drought that I like most of all; something reassuring in a barren world. There is something miraculous about rain. The sound of thunder clapping and the wet wind beating against the window. Throw caution to the wind and take a chance. Something magical is about to happen. Maybe not to me, but for someone else who needs it more than I do. It’s hard to believe that I used to be afraid of it.

Remember when Christian Bale was announced to play Batman in the reboot? Some of you are saying that you knew all along he would be great at it. We as humans want to believe we are right about everything. I have heard those same protestations come from my friends who I accurately remember having a conversation with some eight years ago about how he would be terrible at it. Obviously at the time we forgot about him as Patrick Bateman in American Psycho. Up until that point the best actor to portray Batman was Michael Keaton. The main comment was that Bale wouldn’t compare to Keaton or that Heath Ledger’s Joker wouldn’t be as awesome as Jack Nicholson’s. We tend to also forget that before Keaton donned the mask there was an outcry about how he was the wrong choice for the Caped Crusader. Previously, he had only done schitcky comedies like Gung Ho and Mr. Mom. We, as the audience, were pleasantly surprised back in 1989 like we were later by Bale and Ledger. Why is this any diff

It calls to me. That sweet sugary goodness in all of its confectionery glory lays waiting for the time I can come to rescue it from its cold isolation.   Its flaky crust... its smooth cocoanut filling…sweet cream piled high on top.   It waits for the moment I can come to claim it.   It’s not mine.   The pie doesn’t belong to me.   I have become Eve in the Garden of Food tempted by the forbidden baked good from the Refrigerator of Knowledge.    I wrestle with my temptation every day.   Whether it’s a juicy cheeseburger with thick cut bacon or a box of assorted doughnuts, I gorge myself until there is nothing left of the cool and controlled person I was only moments before.   Only one bite, but that’s never enough.   Maybe one piece…exquisite.   Soon I jump into a diabetic’s dream; fluffy whipped icing, wonderful hard candy that gets stuck to your teeth, rains of sprinkles and chocolate chips pore over me as I dive headfirst into a vat of pudding.   I indulge with al

I have realized that the last post I did was the most depressing shit and will try to work on it.   I haven’t posted anything because I was unsure what to write about.   The harrowing call of the muse would pass me by and I would be left alone and uninspired.     “I have to get up early”, I would tell them. “I’m too tired,” I would say. It won’t be good enough I would think. Well, maybe it isn’t good enough, but who cares.   I have seen worst writing from world famous authors.   Whatever happened to the art of words?