Spooky

The scariest part of the evening for me was feeling that I’d missed out on the opportunity to costume, so I was really glad when Zach enabled me to dress up as a peckerhead.

After that, riding straight up the hill was no problem, even though the electric bike offered no assistance.

Three bananas did not split from beginning to middle, but did, for the most part, inspire smiles from the start to the finish.

The thing about mushrooms is that languid feeling. I’m already asleep, but still mostly awake.

Kindness is not always received as such; with some regularity, what’s irregular is regular.

And then we got to where else could we?

Wanna talk scary?  Yep.

I very much appreciate how ideas are overcome by experience.

And, get this: a pouch makes possible whatever it makes possible.

More importantly, here we are, in the middle of the middle, and everyone is everyone at the same time.

What is a ghost other than the lived experience of someone who’s no longer with us?  What’s weird is that they’re there whether you imagine they are or not.

I wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else in the world, from almost the start.  Remember how windy it was?

Sometime, the less you care about things, the more likely they are to turn out okay.  For example, here’s an idea, while, at the same time, everything you could want is already there.  (Except Halloween costumes, given that, apparently, from the standpoint of Capitalsm, it’s already Christmaas.)

And even more: you are surprised by the surprising.  You are compelled by the compelling. You carry on out of love and/or habit or both.

Most, if it not all of us, will notice that this is not all of that.  And, in doing so, will.

Words are just one more instance of the instantaneous experience of the instantaneous.  Notice how you’re still riding a bike all the time you’re still riding a bike. 

Smoke

 

It's here, all right, you just can't see it through the haze.

Pointless

Of course life is pointless.  Everyone knows that.

We live in an accidental Universe, devoid of purpose, without rhyme, reason, or design.

The human condition is absurd.  Condemned to be free, we flail about, fruitlessly trying to make our lives meaningful in what is an essentially meaningless existence.  

Every instant, like Sisyphus, we roll the rock upwards, only to have it roll back down again, our feeble aspirations squashed like a bug, our lives rendered empty by the emptiness of it all.

We’re born, we live, we die, alone at the beginning and at the end, our so-called “accomplishments” as futile as the whole human experience, ultimately nothing more than a random collection of atoms randomly arranging themselves amidst the vastness of time and space.

Party on.

What else are you going to do, really?

May as well ingest mind-altering chocolates and tell shaggy dog story jokes that are so unfunny that you cackle with laughter at the delightful stupidity of it all.

May as well climb hills on your bike you don’t need to and marvel at the vista while drinking whiskey from a paper bag.

May as well go up to go down and down to go up and circle around underneath to arrive on top of the scary bridge that isn’t so scary at all when you’re in a pack of cyclists cycling behind balloons whose reason for being only emerges in context of the moment.

May as well visit a closed zoo and realize, naturally, that the strangest animals of all are on the outside looking in.

May as well take over a bar and cram yourself into one tiny table and then another, interior or exterior, what’s the difference?

May as well order another pitcher of beer and another and one more after that.  And oh, may as well finish that mind-altering chocolate.

May as well make plans for more but decide to head home since nothing matters anyway.

May as well.

Cowboys

A pair of boots that don’t match seems an apt metaphor.

And in the taste test of Japanese beers, Kirin is Rainier; Sapporo is Bud.

The moon was swell, too.

That is all.