I had, what turned out to be, a fantastic—albeit very draining—weekend. It was great to spend time with old friends, and to go to a show,
(Bruce Dickenson), and be out feeling human. We had a good dinner at the oil pot, with some good conversation, prior to the show. All in all a great night.
Saturday we, once again, caught up with old friends. Lots of food and good conversation. Again, it almost felt like normality. If that was ever really a thing.
On Sunday family visited. Like back in the day, when friends and family spent time together. It was nice. All the food is not sitting well in my guts, and I am feeling nauseas, but in the end, I believe that it was worth it. Just for that small moment that you get to forget, just for a second, how wickedly weird the world still is, and seemingly will henceforth be.
What follows is:
An Ode to Vanity
I think I'll miss me when I'm gone,
When the jig is up,
And the pieces fall
Where the pieces fall
And the end is done;
And it's all wrapped up
When the story's complete,
And we've drained the cup
I think I'll miss me when I'm gone.
I think I'll miss me when I'm gone,
For the cleverness
Or the lack thereof,
Always on display.
And the wit was fast
And the lines were quick,
When the words go silent;
Disappearing trick
I think I'll miss me when I'm gone.
I think I'll miss me when I'm gone
When the time has come,
And the clock ticks down.
In the dark mid-night,
When the sun explodes,
In a deep space cold.
A frozen planetary mess
Enters the fold.
I think I'll miss me when I'm gone.
I think I'll miss me when I'm gone,
When the sun has set
On that long dark road,
On the edge of town.
And the sky is dark,
And the stars are out.
When the universal heat death,
Has removed all doubt.
I think I'll miss me when I'm gone.
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