Funny Name For A Lather

Like a lot of people, I resist wisdom. If a bit of advice is not to my convenience, I will ignore it. And pay the consequences later, as I do now, with a stubborn case of insertional peroneal brevis tendinitis. There are 19 muscles in the human foot. If you strain them too much they fray. They become inflamed. You can’t run. You’ve got to rest. Hope the damn thing heals.

So. I bought a pair of Brooks’ Ghost. DNA Loft foam (a combination of closed cell ethylene-vinyl acetate copolymer foam, rubber, and air) is a premium cushioning material that is a soft, lightweight and durable compound that absorbs and reduces shock as the foot contacts the ground. So far so good. I did two miles on Westlake. Minimal pain.

Flaming candles on a stone wall. Witches gathering moss. The Cranberries. Dreams. Official Music Video. Tiny woman in a white dress, long eyelashes, dreamy look. Dancing with a microphone. And oh, my dreams. It's never quite as it seems. Never quite as it seems.

You can’t live without distractions. Not in this world.

Barbasol. Funny name for a shaving lather. Sounds like the name of a pirate. Or a famous philosopher who never existed. Barbossa Barbasol. Bertrand Barbasol. Beverly Barbasol. Her theory on the criticality of naming things concretizes the human condition with a white blob of ambiguity.

Why would anyone want to put their ideas in order? Thoughts are messy. Thoughts are amorphous riots. Ideas roll out of the madhouse in flames. Ideas are gloves, painkillers, derivatives, regenerative agriculture. The kneecap is genius. Phonemes are phenomenal. Needles and pins. Jack Nitzsche and Sonny Bono. A giant mutinous thread. Flowing freely like water.

You get to a point where it colors your entire life. Every mood. Every thought. You can’t escape it anymore. This profound evil. This season of atrocities. And that’s it. It’s in you like a virus. There must be palliatives. No one anticipates a cure. Not this far in.

The Talisman of Charlemagne has a large glass cabochon on the front, a large blue-gray sapphire on the back, and an assortment of garnets, pearls, and emeralds. But does it work? That’s what I want to know. Will it keep evil at bay? Can I sleep with it? How do I spread its energy around?

You can feel done with this world, but it won’t let you go. It’s like when you get ready to leave a party and no one wants you to go and conversations keep happening, even though, deep down, you know there’s deep undercurrent of fear and panic. Enough to wade in. And everyone’s feet are wet. Wet like Jean Valjean escaping the barricades of the June Rebellion in the sewers of Paris. And not like that at all. If the room suddenly turns quiet and people are staring at you, congratulations. You’ve said something honest.