The start of real blogging?

"A loaf who attempts to twist his own fate is not a loaf, but in fact a pretzel" - No Need For Bushido


Being employed is a wonderful thing.  Even more wonderful when payment is made.  As an attempt to reverse my lack of energy to extracurricular activities I have decided to go once again into these depths to write at least weekly on this blog that nobody reads. - Bent Ray


The saddest part of my life is not that I have been unemployed for the last year, but that depression due to not working has stifled my creative spirit and made me hate my doodles and crazy thoughts.  What are they worth if they do not create currency?  The depressed capitalist in me says nothing.  YET.  I have worked for a week and now these doodles give me the joy they once had.  or still do....  hmmm, bad philosophy.

Depression is an evil thing.  A heavy burden that is oft mistaken for a lingering bad mood, depression is more than that.  It is not a mood that can come and go, it is fed like a beast and must be tamed.  If not kept constantly tamed it tears from its cage and rips through soul and mind.  Darkening thoughts and feelings, wanting to escape through pain in oneself and others.  Drugs can sometimes alleviate this self-torment, bringing short bliss.  They do not really help, they artificially keep it at bay.  And the fact it is artificial makes the step back to the harsh reality that much worse.  Depression must be worked on like a breaking auto; going from A to B is okay but trying to win a race is out of the question.  You must clean every nook and cranny, finding all that is wrong in the mind and soul then dealing with it.  Often one must work hard and go over every part of the machine more than once.  And like how the old auto will constantly find a new part to break, depression is always ready around the corner with a surprise.

This is a dark post.  I apologize my imaginary readers.... so here is a dark joke: wasn't the Ku Klux Klan the first black ops?   (if you are intelligent you will notice a pun there.  hehehe)


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The last word:

My first memory is waiting for my father as he payed the motel bill.  I was standing next to our family's Volvo station wagon, in one hand was my stuffed dog Victoria and in the other a comic book.  We were heading to the final day of the Grateful Dead set in San Francisco, CA.  I don't think I really understood at the time what was going on, but I do remember one thing: the smile on my father's face.  It is a look of happiness that I will cherish my entire life.  It's the smile he only gave his family.  That is real magic.    Sleep well imaginary readers. - Bent Ray