I got my Star Wars tickets.
I know, I know.
I'm going Friday, during the day, so no spoilers in the comments section, OK?
It's a nice day today, and I just got back from my buddies place in Brewster, where I went last night and did a little outdoor barbequing.
Jesus, it's nice to get out of the city for a little while and just hang out in somebody's yard.
I stopped by the lab today and checked in with the were-nerds.
They're all hopped up cause the full moon is coming up, and that girl werewolf has started to freak me out. She's all talking about how she's going to kill all of them, and get out of the cage, and I noticed that Alyssa had unloaded a whole bunch of her lethal weapons, which is odd- normally she's all about rocksalt in the shotguns and tranqulizer darts.
It was Williamson that was the lunatic.
Of course, I killed the shit out of that guy.
I can still see that motherfucker's head bouncing across the floor like a soccer ball.
It's funny, I don't even really feel too bad about it. I mean, I guess that sometimes it crosses my mind that I've you know- killed people, but in the cases of Williamson and that mind control guy, I don't really have remorse. They came into my environment and fucked with me.
I do feel bad about the bus accident, though.
I still wonder what happened to that kid.
I hope he's OK.
It's interesting that I'm thinking about all this stuff as I get ready to see the Star Wars movie, which is going to be all about a man's slide into evil, and using his great power to kill and destroy, and I dunno- it just gives me the willies is all, especially when I think about that girl werewolf.
I've been reading Emerson recently too. Actually, just the essay "Nature" which is pretty phenomenal. I've tried to tackle it in the past, but it just was too dense, or I'd get into it, appreciate it, and then immediately forget it.
But this time I've been getting into it.
It takes me about an hour to read even 20 pages of it, cause there are so many ideas combined with so much poetry, but damn- while it's nice to read that a few commentors on the last post think that I write well, but fuck that-
That guy writes WELL.
I mean, no fucking around, he basically sits down, asks what the meaning of life is, comes up with the idea that if we are to determine the meaning of life, we have to define the parts that make it up. He comes up with only three things in the entire universe: Nature, Art and the Soul.
All three pretty big topics.
Then, he just says well- let's look at nature. What do we get from nature? What is the meaning of nature? What does nature bring to us as human beings and what do we bring to it?
And then he fucking answers the question.
Like hashes out EVERYTHING, in a solid outline, and just starts breaking down human existence and how it relates to, and is a part of, nature.
Me, I mean, fuck- I'm writing a foulmouthed blog about werewolves, hockey and video stores.
Still though, that is art.
And as Emerson would say, the role of the artist is to concentrate the beauty of of the world on a single point, illuminating it. Then, the soul- which has a natural inclination towards beauty, is satisfied and contented for a moment, leading him to conclude that one reason the world exists is to satisfy the soul's need for beauty.
And you know, if you have the kind of that soul finds a foulmouthed blog about werewolves and hockey satisfying, well then, that's how this thing fits into the overall meaning of life.
You know, without accounting for taste.
Certainly we're talking about big picture/little picture stuff, but sometimes taking a step back and appreciating the big picture makes the details of the little picture all the more vibrant.
Speaking of vibrant, I'm gonna get baked to the gills and see Star Wars in a digital theater on Friday.
It's gonna be fucking sweet.