The sad sad sad, very sad, truth about me, myself and eyes

I am ok. My life is super-duper fantastic.

I have no right whatsoever to complain about anything. I have been blessed in life more than anyone who ever lived -- so it really behooves me to drink a big cup of shut the fuck up whenever I am tempted to whine.

I'm not kidding.

Seriously. In the history of the world, no one has ever been given more than me. It's THAT extreme. I am that kind of lucky.

I should just remember that every minute of the day. I should enjoy all these good times which I do not deserve but have anyway due only to the grace of God and the random chance of monkeys at a typewriter.

I should.

But of course, I won't. I'm human. Human's are remarkably unappreciative of everything from opposable thumbs to the beauty of a properly heaved curveball.

It seems to me that we all live blind. Seeing only what we want or expect to see. The world is an amazing place - in fact, the most amazing place for billions of miles (that's 1.6 x billions of miles to translate that into kilometers), and yet most of us just see day to day normal nothing.

I realize artists will, from time to time, notice a passing butterfly, or a well placed pair of scissors, sometimes even an electric can opener or a squid, but they miss the smell of onions more often than naught. They pass on the elegant beauty of dust motes and maggots. They skip right over the sublime perfection of boogers.

They see what they want how they want when they want - and I would have it no other way. Yet. Still.

The eyes lie.

The ears are deaf.

The tongue only tastes what it tastes: the bitter, the sour, the acrid, the sweet and the sublime.

But there is always more. There are always the things that I miss. There is always gray... brown.... and of course phlegm green.

There is always the taste of exasperation. The color of turtle's breath. The smell of singing frisbees.

It seems sad to me, when I think about it, that I miss all that because I'm so wrapped up in the problems of the most boring man who ever lived. Why would anyone, especially me who knows me so well, waste even a nanosecond on the contemplation of me.

Oh to enjoy a well shaped spleen, puerile little pancreas or well made tuna salad on rye -- that is where it's at, my friends. That is where it's at.

Oh, and by the way ... Eric Gagne - good.