Change or die.

Take it as literally or as figuratively as you like; either way, the above will apply rather neatly.

My favorite fictional character other than Batman is Morpheus, the King of Dreams, the Lord of Stories. The Sandman. He’s the rather emo-looking fellow to the left.

To all onlookers, he is very grim and stoic (very much like Batman, no?). His will is unbending, and his decisions revolving around the machinations of his realm are rarely merciful. Yet underneath it all hides a spirit longing for true companionship. He takes Life too seriously, but the tides change drastically for him and he must decide to adapt or perish. Neil Gaiman, the storyteller, puts Morpheus through trials that would break a god, but my anti-hero’s stubbornness is such that it could almost be applauded if it was not so ludicrous.

Meh, I’m not sure where I am going with this. Pardon me.


I need a job. My mother is a bitch. She would be almost all right if she didn’t constantly make promises she couldn’t keep.

The woman has failed at life. I need to stop hoping for a miraculous personality transformation. Hope keeps biting me in the ass, and these days the stakes are even higher.

Epic failure, there. Thanks, mother.


On a brighter note, I saw “Ironman” last night with David. It was as I expected, and I enjoyed it quite a bit, although the ending left a bit of a sour taste in my mouth. After a couple of weeks I’ll explain why. I’ll give people a chance to see it first. I feel as if I’ve been waiting for that film for so long, but it has only been 10 months since I first saw the sneak peek at Comic-Con.

Now the countdown for “The Dark Knight” can begin in earnest. Damn that Saunders. He will not be around for the most important night of 2008. It’s all right though; I have another tall Irish friend who will be my Batman chaperone. I am fairly certain I’ll need someone to escort me out of the theater because my legs will fail me. However, the fortune cookie did tell me that a short stranger will make me life a lot more interesting soon. I’ll just remain on the look-out.


My brain used to be a sponge. Now I would call it more of a rotten apple.


The Boat by Patrick O’Leary

I am in a boat.
No. We are in a boat.
And it’s not a boat
but you know what I mean

And the boat is going somewhere
Or maybe nowhere.
But it is floating for now.
Unless it’s sinking.

It is so comforting to be in a boat.
To have a vessel. A destination.
We don’t know the destination.
But at least we’re floating.

But then there is the ocean
Or this small part of its depth
That surrounds us, buoys us
As if it wanted us to be here.

We do not think about the depths
Below us. The cold dark water
Unbreathable undrinkable.
Who would want to drink an ocean even if they could?

So this boat. this water.
You and I
between here and there.
Is somebody rowing?

In this whole world
There is only you and I and this boat.
On this ocean. And what happens
depends on us or the ocean.

I say we have to be very careful.
We are only so strong.
A boat is a delicate thing.
And I have never seen an ocean broken.

I say we love each other,
But that is so easy to say.
That means knowing
who we’re rowing with.

We did not choose the ocean.
We did not choose the boat.
We did not choose each other.
But we must choose.


Gah, I don’t want to choose. I feign brilliance.

He represents everything I wish to be.

I miss ze random e-mails.

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