To whom it may concern. I can’t run on fumes. If you like what I write or even if you just read it, sent a few halleluias my way. Even G-d has legions upon legions of angels who sing His praises each day. I’m just saying, me, pitiful little weak speck of dust blemished and shaded and bent and crooked that I am, can use a good word now and then.
Anyway that’s how I feel. In the dumps and lacking much internal fortitude, waiting to march behind funeral processions for lack of my own rudder and self-captain and such, per that opening page of Melville’s famous work. Blah. Bleech. Fwump. To use sound effects to describe the same feeling.
How does G-d do it? I mean even with all those Halleluias from the legions of angels, it still must get tough at times.
Okay I’ll accept bad words too. Lemons and lemonades. Blade fights stone to become sharper. Water fights rock and the rock becomes more-well rounded and all that.
My wife says that is ALL I run on!
But Obama can just lay on his back and kick at Gingrich, like a tsunami wave only a foot deep can destroy much of a town. Obama will pour out words and words, each phrase sounding good, but no sentence making much sense and no paragraph making any sense at all.
With great descriptive skills as these shown here, you SHOULD get some Atta-boys tossed your way.
Perk up; tomorrow's a new day!