Nay! Nay! Nay! (Overdramatic title's are so tre` chic, don't you think?)

"She's well acquainted with the touch of a velvet hand like a lizard on a window pane..."

I tell you what, I never ventured myself a fan of The Beatles, but there it goes, grabbing me by the ears and dragging me down to 1967. Well happiness is a warm gun, eh? Fuck, that's great. I love it.

Aside...

Friday. Some Friday in September. I don't want to go out tonight. I am getting tired of the same old rap. A couple drinks, constant shouting, a bazillion cigarettes that will take their toll on me in the morning. Gah, just not that kind of night for me. I think I'll just go to sleep and wake up early and drink some fresh coffee, smoke a few cigarettes at ease, read a little science magazine I subscribe to, or maybe the Cosmos, or perhaps The Dangerous Book For Boys. That's a damn good book, right there. Something to keep around for little fellas to come. Ah, don't want to think about that kind of thing right now.

You know, I think I'm really missing those little bits that flash every now and then. You know the ones; the little flashes of momentary brilliance that light up your otherwise sleeping brain with a little shred of truth or something real. I feel that whatever mechanism I had to prolong, expose, freeze, photograph, anticipate, and so on those things has been shut down. Like this entry. I start it thinking, "Just maybe something will come out tonight...", but alas, it's nay. Nay! Nay! Nay!

There are the meaningful portrayals of the mess you are and there are the plain-jane messes. There are the abstract traces of the faces of you and there is just the one staring back in a foggy mirror or car door or what-have-you. Simply put they are one and the same and however you want to see yourself is by your fancies, facts or dreams.