AnniversaryDear Friend,
This is your humble editor. Hullo. Have you no sense of time? Yes, that has always been your flaw - it wiggles off into so many damned directions instead of going straight from here clear over to there. It has been a full year since first embarking on this, and we here on terra firma seem to like to celebrate the completion of any set of 365 days and, well, you have now happily finished a full year of writing here. Are you nervous? Have you written a speech? Starched your shirt? Of course not! Perhaps, now that it has been a full year, you would like to address your readership directly, and maybe even offer some sort of introduction to yourself? A year is a long time to read a person's words without giving them a bit of your person and your personal life. I'd suggest subtracting a digit or two and allowing them to munch on the thin meet and twiggy bones, those bumpy knuckles hide some connective tissue that would become wonderfully stuck in between their gnashing teeths, you do know. People do grow tired of the songs and eventually end up wanting a bit of the singer instead, you do know. Do you know, then, that it is only obvious? It has been a year!
Signed, as ever,
Mr. Thaddeus G. Stillgood
PS: Have they even figured out the secret? Have they even noticed it yet? You, oh you, hidden in the side - hidden by the absense. They haven't even found you yet.
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Well, lah dee dah, it most certainly is. And it has fallen on a beautiful Saturday, no less. The cats' warbling purr seem to announce the fact. One year? One full year! Hello, useless celebration. It is a song, right? There is a song for this. The trilling and twinkling guitar, fingerpicked to perfection:
"...Clipping the wings of your morning flight
The night will end
In some form of excess
Pants around ankles
Too weak to fully undress
Its our anniversary
A celebration of
And heres to next year
Maybe you'll join me in my car
We'll drive together
But not too far
We are far from flowers
Cut and dried
So let us thrive let us thrive
Let us thrive let us thrive
Just like the weeds
We curse sometimes"
-smog/W. Callahan
