The blog that didnt make it.

I deleted the previous entry here. It seems that i may have been a bit honest with the internal workings of my brain. In reading it again after a good night's sleep, i could see where men in all white would be at my front door on monday, waiting to fit me for a jacket that fastened up the back locked together with the sleeves.

Whoops.

It also helps that my wife has this uncanny ability to put things into persepctive. A skill she's honed in her marraige to me. I read her a short passage i thought was especially clever, and she gave me "the Look."

"Um, my mom is going to read this."

"Oh yeah, huh."

I'm prone to being a bit odd. But with this ability to now sit and stew in it for a bit before it finds it's way into a written form of communication, it's festered into a giant boil of misunderstanding and chaos. It's OK to be critical of the mundane and nonchalant about the unthinkable, but once it's in print someone is bound to use it against you in a court of law, or to get you commited.

Here's the only portion tame enough to survive for public consumption. Fill in the rest however you wish. I assure you it wont even come close to what followed. Enjoy.

The full moon keeps pace with the car. Lunatics. Eddie is with his wife, late on a Saturday and wonders who or what is going to come out of a random dimensional rift opening on the overpass ahead of them. Maybe it'll be pre-Charmed Rose McGowan. He thinks of his mom and her tales of superstition. "Don't look at a full moon through a closed window." He accepts this with no question, and still doesn't have an explanation as the expected underlying analogy escapes him. He thinks about a woman on a gurney at the turn of the century with a doctor applying a vibrator between her legs. It cures hysteria. His mind is all over the place. Something is going to happen. The moon is still in tow, like a balloon tied to his wrist.