one
Sometimes, always surely unwarranted, one feels like the Christ, Christianity's self-sacrificing God on the Cross, from the way life is going in general and is being laid down in particular. As the wind blows, this post-hurricane season seems to sway in that direction at least as much as the other, such as to rob one's feelings and render one, what? cynical? one hopes not, but whatever.
Another asks, "Are you okay?" and one responds, "No, I'm not okay, I'm XX" or however old or other detraction one might feel or be at the wiles and whims of the entitled, not okay. Resentment? no, not in the least, just in place, breathing, still all of that out here somewhere in the post-apocalyptic void of Vincent's strange new world.
So, what's for lunch? Help me move a chair out here where I can wave at cars.
Another asks, "Are you okay?" and one responds, "No, I'm not okay, I'm XX" or however old or other detraction one might feel or be at the wiles and whims of the entitled, not okay. Resentment? no, not in the least, just in place, breathing, still all of that out here somewhere in the post-apocalyptic void of Vincent's strange new world.
So, what's for lunch? Help me move a chair out here where I can wave at cars.