What a horrible day today was. Small wonder I'm writing a novel fueled by hate. I've got plenty of it, hate, and it's practically rocket fuel. In fact, I feel it now, hate, and I'm just itching to light the candle. That's right, keep bringing the hate, and we'll see where we end up.
One bright spot, or I should say two. No one's ever written of it, I think. Faulkner touches on it when Darl contemplates the sound it makes on the roof. Mine has to do with smell and memory. First the memory part.
A tiger has gotten married, that's what a sunshower signifies. Bright, dazzling, and miraculous, those are the words which apply. If you've ever been lucky enough to experience it (I'm sure most of you have), remember those words, or think of your own. Don't plagiarize, 'cause I'll know. See how easily we revert to life's shit. In fact shit makes up 90 % of life. No wonder misery is our common lot. Don't deny it. Don't put up a brave face 'cause that's the decent thing to do. You'll end up fooling yourself and then where will you be? Might as well be miserable and get it over with.
The dust in the air dampens and settles to the ground. This only happens on overcast days when something triggers a gentle rain. Could it be: Souls alike sharing a glance, lamenting their mutually exclusive fates? Or am I romantic ass? No, the reason why it rains is because...(your cue Andy Parker)...he's not cooperating. As I was saying, there's a certain smell in the air when it rains like this, the smell of earth and loam. Melancholy. My fate.
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