Hello, is it me you're looking for?

I don't feel much like writing, which is to say I did but now that I actually have to extend effort, however slight, my enthusiasm sloughs off my bones and I feel drowsy. How dim my bulb too often gets has been a concern. But I'll continue; who knows, maybe the fire in my belly will be stoked from its slumber. Somehow I doubt it, but we'll see.

Taking inventory. That's been the modus operandi. It's a taut thin wire I've been walking on, delving into the past and assessing how it informs the present. It's an easy thing to lose balance and fall into the abyss of regret and milky sentimentality, but I continue steadily on. Still, the venture has not been without some measure of pain and anguish. Despair waits in the wings, eager to take over. Don't let it, o' pure-hearted one! The clouds are already parting; stick with it.

Enough with being cryptic.It's my own bullshit and the only one who can sort it out is me. You've got your own, you can do without mine. In my last post, I assured those of you who relish quantity as much as quality that a longer post would be forthcoming. That is still the case, but it ain't happening tonight. So let's wrap things up like a champ.

My yoga practice has evolved this week. I've altered my routine and one of the results has been a body that feels like a singular functioning thing rather than a series of parts, some creaky, some robust. I'm feeling strong, son! Tell Billy anywhere, anytime. I'm ready for that mother fucker!

It's comical to me how grossed out people get when they hear about someone peeing in the shower. These same people don't clean their assholes when they shit; what they're doing is what we've been taught as Americans: smearing. That's right, they're smearing, not cleaning, which, if you think about it, is way grosser than peeing in the shower, where the pee is washed down the drain, no trace left behind. If you stepped in a pile of dog shit barefoot, how would you remove it? Would you take a dry paper towel to your foot and smear the shit on it? No, you'd wash that shit off you foot like a civilized human being. You'd use soap maybe. See what I'm getting at? You'd CLEAN the foot, not smear shit all over it like some half-witted imp. Anyway, you get the point. Note to self: explore why the topic of shit makes frequent appearances in this blog. 

I'm out of here. I'll watch some Boardwalk Empire and do other things; some sexy, some cerebral, and some secret. That's all I can say; my attorney forbids any more.

Good night, ye mewling pups of autumn.