Sometimes when I see my shit in writing it blows me away.
In incomprehensibility (from your point of view).
That whole merry fucking Christmas thing made perfect sense in my mind and at the time. Still does.
John Lennon, Sarge, Jonathan, Carol, Keith, Craig, the insulting phoniness of Christmas - fucking death, suffering, loss and disappointment - it came upon me in a flood of emotion. All the dots were connected.
When I finally got around to writing about it I struggled with it a bit. That's what happens when you wait a week to translate emotion into words.
Still, I thought I got it down.
When I read it now from your point of view I see you scratching your head.
I don't really care.
I would like to cogently transmit my thoughts, emotions and opinions to you every time. But, ultimately I don't really care whether you get it or not.
I am one of a kind.
I cannot expect people to understand me in general.
In short - I feel absolutely nothing about Christmas this year. Nothing.
We don't even have our tree up yet and I don't give a shit. (Author's note - Our tree is about 2 feet tall, sits on a table, and takes 8 seconds to put in place. Catch my drift?)
Of course we will put the thing up. It is a law. The Christmas police will be peeking in our picture window soon.
OK. That's enough for now.
Ciao, baby.
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