Brad Simkulet's Blog, page 105
March 2, 2012
apiphile:
nikkotine:
"I would love to believe that when I die...
"I would love to believe that when I die I will live again, that some thinking, feeling, remembering part of me will continue. But much as I want to believe that, and despite the ancient and worldwide cultural traditions that assert an afterlife, I know of nothing to suggest that it is more than wishful thinking.
The world is so exquisite with so much love and moral depth, that there is no reason to deceive ourselves with pretty stories for which there's little good evidence. Far better it seems to me, in our vulnerability, is to look death in the eye and to be grateful every day for the brief but magnificent opportunity that life provides."
— Carl Sagan
"to look death in the eye and to be grateful every day for the brief but magnificent opportunity that life provides"
yeah, this.
Yes indeed.
February 28, 2012
"I worked out an anarchistic theory that all government is evil, that the punishment always does more..."
- George Orwell (via americandissident)
February 23, 2012
February 17, 2012
drink
i'm stressed and tired, so i fill an icy tumbler with gin over ice. tall and cool. my son raises an eyebrow. i toast him and drink.
the long march draws to a dusty, blistery close. my armor creaks as i sit on a rock while they erect my tent. my boy brings me a potent red. i toast him and drink.
she falls asleep again on the old futon couch. she wraps herself up, cuddles in away from me, closes her eyes, and leaves me. it's deliberate. i grab a beer and look at myself in the dark window over the sink. i toast me and drink.
i am late for my test and run into a friend. he opens a flask and offers me courage before we attempt the breach. i accept. we toast and drink.
and all of this drinking is in my sleep. is it any wonder i wake up thirsty?
February 9, 2012
a break
Sorry about the break in before / after for those of you who've been following along. New instalments will be coming next week. I just needed some time off.
February 7, 2012
February 4, 2012
February 3, 2012
awake XXXVI
He starts, completely missing the fact that the cop has already begun.
He says, "It was me."
"You?"
"Wait. Sorry. What did you say?"
"Your car's in the parking lot. What was you?"
"I did it."
"Your car?"
"Killing her. It was me. I did it."
February 2, 2012
awake XXXV
He doesn't want to cry. Not here. Not in front of this cop. The bastard wouldn't understand his grief anyway. He supresses his pain and starts talking.
February 1, 2012
awake XXXIV
But he's steered away from that end. He finds himself in the cubicle in which he started. The place he made his initial report.
His gym bag sits beside the desk. He doesn't wonder how it got there. He knows they've found his car. He doesn't wonder what's going to happen to him. He expects the worst. He doesn't wonder what the cop is thinking and he doesn't care. He doesn't wonder why he's here and not in a cell or interrogation room. He just wonders how he'll confess.
