Grappling hooks from various perspectives

5.29.04 Grappling Hooks.

That is, Fate, or a Sovereign Will. But we look from a different perspective. Argue your futile cause, futilisimist.

>Hello fine sirs. And mistresses. Although I myself don't have any mistresses personally, for if I did I would have the respective feet of Dendall and Trent in either of my ears. Except, instead of having their feet suspended in static equilibrium pressed against my ears, they would in fact be in the act of kicking my ears at substantial velocities from both directions. Glancing at the action in a still frame, it would appear that both feet are motionless, but that is not the case. I am in fact in great pain.

But hey, Beethoven was deaf, wasn't he? Well, maybe I could also play the deaf musician. Thus, such an event would have few consequences for my musical ambitions. But... tuning forks have never had a great hold on my life. Wait... I see the light at the end of the tunnel...

Whoosh-Bam-Squish.

A mosquito on the wall just received vengeance. But wait, wasn't I supposed to leave that one to the BigDaddy? "Vengeance is Mine..."? Take it away, Newo. But I shall undisguise your identity and call you Owen from now on. Because it is not grammatically incorrect to end a sentence with a preposition. Owen, as we all are shakingly very well aware, is indeed bigdaddy. Not the one true BigDaddy, but bigdaddy.

It's like the difference between a lord and the LORD. But we all knew that, didn't we. Just call me the master of the obvious.

I am indeed now a musician. I am working on the professional aspect of it. But this aspect is soon to be alleviated and levitated and spun around as shrieking noises fill your respective computer room. However, I haven't invited any spirits to dine with me. I see: I've many impressive musical opportunities availible to me. Well, let us brainstorm and see what I could strive to do:

1) I NEED PIANO LESSONS. You may think this as mere folly for a person of my musical stature, but nothing can replace the discipline and music theory that I need so chuggingly much.

2) Once I get my skills tweeked, I can start playing for money at various places - restaurants, clubs, concerts, weddings, and the list continues.

3) I could get involved with a band. Jazz seems the most challenging. Rock would be awesome. Praise music is a sure possibility but lacks the challenging quality.

4) Finally, Brethren, I could try and work for some kind of studio which involves itself with sound engineering. Good stuff.

Now education is staring my eye in the eye. I've gotta figure out what I want to do with the rest of my life, like become a porta-jon cleaner or a lamp installation dude for trailer parks. Whoosh-Bam-Squish... Hey! Just kidding, BigDaddy!

Or, if things go really well, I can become a Purpose Driven Musician, and along with my CD's I could sell devotionals, journals, small handheld books, pens, etc... Whoosh...

Duck... Heh heh! The Mosquito avoids the vengeance!!!

BAM-SQUISH...

Creeping shikes! Now that my body has been rendered two-dimensional, I feel that my time has come. I'm afraid I shall no longer grace you with my presence until pending glory. Wimper. Now my vision resembles a tunnel of light. Oh. My thought pattern drifts off into nothingness... but no... what a beautiful, beautiful place! Beaut... So...so...

So bang the bong, sing sad songs, travel faster than the speed of light. For then the infinite expanse separating you from time idiocity is nullified. However, such a transgression would surely place cataclysmic pension on our accounts. But I'm not talking about the destruction of the space-time continuum. I'm referring to the eternal damnation that results in being strapped down to a table and tickled for the rest of eternity. Indeed, a scapegoat never escapes and runs free in the open wild. On the contrary:

Brick and blade may crush and spay but swords will never spurt me.

If you ever buy insurance, first make sure it covers random objects falling from the sky. Like huge boulders. Or a bundle of llamas.

Just be sure to tie a red heron to the hinges of your doorpost, to avoid the nightly vapors that kill the firstborn.

and also to seek after the one true frog.

I am afraid I speak sacrilegiously. If indeed I spelled that word correctly.

Oh well. Pantheism is grabbing America by the horns and giving it a wild ride.

Shower me with flakes of dihydrogen monoxide and sodium tallowate. Only Newo, the one (true chemist), would know that one. Good kindredances.

Bite flee.

Grippling snake venomosity. And cat fur up the wazoo.

As well as the tiny scales of a frog plopped in a stew.

And, of course, tailored meat sculptures.

Tonight has finally found a fitting end.
Fair wag.

-Don the Mon

p.s. I intend to keep the time extension regularly forthwith, which heretofore hast not been accomplished.

p.p.s. Say hello to distant futilisimists for me.