Vitriolic embers and definitely maybe

In the same way that Snowman's old addictions "burst into full and luxuriant bloom," my prejudices lie under the desert sands (Atwood. Oryx and Crake, 333). When and what will ignite my embers varies, but a good rant often burns them out. A rant can't be a sanitized tract on bullshit (people say "bullshit" when they're mad or hurt), but must get to the point like a Difranco tune. Call it as it is. Be a race car driver. Leave your suburban sloppiness. Learn to corner, gear down, and accelerate smoothly:



Frustration is "why don't you value what I do?" or "why don't you hear me?". Don't you know how much more efficient and safer the traffic flow would be if you took driving seriously? It's not something you do while talking on the phone, eating a burger, reading a paper, etc ... . Well, I feel better. But I've been there, kids screaming, phone ringing, and late; mistakes happen. Oh ... yeah: the song changes from Untouchable Face to You Had Time. A chill flows through my veins taming the conflagration. Dissonance changes to resonance, the imperative to the subjunctive. Now, the hunks of peat sizzle softly, warming my bones. Beauty's got me.