hungry.

Am currently residing astride a wobbly see-saw wherein one moment I am certain I can fight my way, smiling with teeth a-grit, just by ignoring it, through the solid gray mass of fog that is this life, and in the next very closely-trailing moment I am certain I am among the most miserable of humans ever to try to identify with that one Greek god-dude who had his liver eaten daily by the eagle, merely to watch in horror as it daily renewed itself so as to be munched again by said eagle on the morrow.

Morrow.  Marrow.  Liver.

Mmmm.  Is lunch soon? 

stupid, sexy liver.

And this thing, this life, the one where I compose epics my marrow is sole audience for, captive, waiting to be licked clean and hopeful that it will please when the licking is accomplished, but knowing, knowing, that the marrow will not divvy up the complexities.  Knowing the licker will not have the nuanced palette to divulge its secrets, in that wisp of a moment when tongue meets bony center.

Bummer.

Comments

[Kathi D]

You CAN fight your way.

Yes you can.

So there.

[Neil]

Crazed birds pecking on human livers -- not sure this was the upbeat post I was hoping for, but thanks for getting those words out again!

[Gwen]

Prometheus. Didn't his life have some happy ending (besides the human centric one in which he defied the gods to give us fire)? Let's pretend it did, okay?

Now I'm not hungry.

And Neil should be overjoyed as he was just begging for you to write today on Twitter. Neil?