hmmmmHmmmmHMMMMMMMDUNHDUNHbumbumbumbumbum (aghast, there's the sun rising over a celestial figure . . .)
Every once in a while I awaken to the scene from 2001: a Space Odyssey, in which the Monolith mesmerises the primates as if they were a film audience - which one comes to find, is actually one of the accepted interpretations - and they wind up beating another to death with something that appears to be a femurlike bone of a sort of bullish creature (no doubt before leaving a few ancestors to roam around the island of Crete). Is it strange how reflective this scene is when taken out of context? But like any good work, it's open to infinite interpretation . . . thus it could very well be either the evolution of man, or the destruction of man, by the advent of the moving picture, or perhaps even one of the other multitudes of theories and explanations offered elsewhere on the intarwebs (and in books, gasp). More than likely it is a reference to the Fibonacci sequence, though I do tend to theorise that everything is a reference to the Golden Mean.

I loathe the phrase, "but I digress," but I digress and thus since caught with speaking upon the topic art and the subtlety of reflecting reality: here is one of the funniest bits of a webcomic I've read in a long while: from A Lesson is Learned. . . .

"But my mother was supposed to wake me!"
"Your mother is dating the devil."
(enter: man with red skin & horns)
"Whoa, morning sleepy head."
"This is all your fault, The Devil!"
"Deb, your lazy son is trying to blame me for his mistakes."

Recently I've acquired A Passage to India by E.M. Forster, Moby-Dick, or the Whale by Herman Melville, and a handmade messenger bag with a chalked V-2 rocket painted on it. However, my current wishlist includes The Ingenious Hidalgo Don Quixote of La Mancha by Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, Some Victor Hugo stuff . . . (primarily Les Contemplations & Les Miserables), Against the Day by Thomas Pynchon, Collected Brian O'Nolan (Flann O'Brien) - being the Third Policeman, among others.

Despite having three jobs, there appear to be an overwhelming amount of days off. But I guess that two days off in two weeks isn't really all that overwhelming . . . it is to me, damn it! (stompstompstompatantrum)

There is less than two months now before I leave [for Europe].

Just saying, you know, a'cause you will probably miss me when I'm gone: unless of course you're one of those overwritten types like myself, who really can't focus on what they want or what they'll miss, or even where to go and tend to stick only to places we've been or have been guided with others, never truly knowing (troof!) something new (knew) and free (nothing here) and alone. Because self-discovery is one of those paths better traversed with friends (can you feel the singe of sarcasm here?) . . . and then what? let's keep doing the same things until we die.

Farewell.