A very quick assist to SSM, currently in mourning over the departure from "potential penis support system" to the ranks of "currently entertaining another, and far more wealthy (but less deserving) DNA-delivery system"...of Sandra Bullock..


The one and only Mila Jovovich...

The sky was crowded with desperate, schizophrentic rain clouds this morning. Aching to yield some moisture, they seemed determined to hold on to their unborn precipitation. This was all rent from the sky by the dawn, the sun tearing neat little holes in the backdrop where photons of previously existing people streamed into our atmosphere, setting the oxygen and nitrogen ablaze.

Actually, the sunlight was merely defracting through the horrible pre-dawn dust/haze/smog...yuck.

Blogging it seems has supplanted masturbation, social drinking, cable TV and illegitmate sex.

Where is Jag when I need a good, socially-depraved rant on everything that is both right and wrong with everything right and wrong?

There is a small rabbit in my garden. Only I have seen him. He has only seen me. He sits quietly and without effort beneath the southern edge of my apple tree. He does not move, yet there he is. He does not eat, yet he is alive. He does not smile, yet he makes me smile. He seems calm, and not rushed. He is the source of the shibumi in the garden. He is the Zen Bunny...

The garden seems to be sad, or at least tired. The heat is oppressive, and most of the flowers are cringing away from the harsh, uncaring light. No matter the amount of water, or love we pore on them, they continue to die. What courage to stand still, face the inevitable, tolerate near drowing on a daily basis and still stand unweeping.

The grass is ignorant and uncaring, like a old man for whom time has cruely ignored his pleas of death, it can only sit and wait until winters harsh cold can kill it enough to die for just a while.

In a small corner, a large brown spider quietly kills the smaller insects in the garden. Death is everywhere, and yet so is color. Splashes of red, yellow, orange and blue all mix in to celebrate this annual triumph over permenant existance. To hell with forever these little bits of chlorophyll seem to say, for I shall be wonderful for just a moment and that should be enough for anyone.

The rocks are the least bothered by it all. They are the oldest in the garden, even older that the dirt. The rocks were here first, and they constantly show off to the others by not only not moving, but not even not caring that they are not moving. The rocks have found shibumi...