that's what public service is all about:

small, incremental change every day. teddy roosevelt once said, "far and away the best prize that life has to offer is a chance to work hard at work worth doing"...

now, go find your team and get to work

you never feel completely sad

or completely happy. you just feel kind of satisfied with your products and then you die

victory is mine

bring me the finest muffins and bagels in all the land

but do you know what I've always wanted to do?

I would pick it up, throw its back legs over my shoulder and drag it through the snow to this little cabin. and there, I'd hang it up between a couple of trees, cut it open, drain it, dress it. and then I'd take my big hunting knife and I'd cut this loin, right out of the side.

and I'd go into the cabin and there'd be this woman, waiting for me. standing by one of those old stoves with a big black pipe. and I'd hand it to her, and she'd put it in a cast-iron skillet and then I'd sit at the table. and she'd bring it to me. and I'd wipe my knife on my knee.

and then I would eat it, while she watches.

likely a white male

in his late twenties or thirties. he likely is not a college graduate but nonetheless feels superior to those with advanced education, and he is likely employed in a bureaucratic entity, possibly civil service or quasi-civil service from which he feels alienated.

he has a problem with authority and a deep-seated resentment of those who he feels have impeded his progress professionally... he has trouble with lasting relationships and is possibly a high-functioning alcoholic.

here's step thirteen

everything disappears. love, trees, rocks, steel, plastic, human beings... none of us get out alive. now, you can huddle in a group and face it one day at a time, or you can be grateful that when your body rubs against somebody else's it explodes with enough pleasure to make you forget even for a minute that you're a walking pile of ashes.

now that is the truth. if you're strong enough, it'll make you free.

writing about yourself

in eighty thousand words or thereabouts is like cleaning the garage. you're writing about your life and you go in and you think, god, look at the mess of it, and you start going through it and you realise there's so much junk you don't need anymore. and every now and again you find something that breaks your heart and makes you remember things, and then you find stuff that you wish you never bought ... and there are spiders.

no man can wear

one face to himself and another to the multitude without finally getting bewildered as to which may be true.

you can't conceive, my child

nor can I or anyone, the appalling strangeness of the mercy of god.

forget the past

there's nothing there, not even memories, just a road you never travelled, unwinding backwards to a place you never came from where fruit grows on trees you never climbed, in an orchard where you lost your virginity to a boy called timothy who died of horlicks poisoning before you were born. no answers there.

so what now?

I guess we just keep dancing...

our relationship is like an addiction

... like vindaloo curry. really really hot indian curry they make with red chilli peppers. you're abrasive and annoying and come on way too strong, like... vindaloo curry. and when you're crazy about curry, that's fine - but no matter how much you love curry, if you have too much of it, it takes the roof of your mouth off. and then you never want to see curry for a really really long time but you wake up one day and you think...

god I really miss curry.

be a man

put down your chocolate soda and fight for her.

днес видях м. тя беше уплашена и говореше за счупени неща, които могат да се поправят. пихме много хубав чай. аз й казах, че нямам какво повече да й кажа и си тръгнах. беше мелодраматично, но изобщо не съжалявах. на спирката видях старата си учителка по немски - с луничките и червената й коса - и цялата ми погнуса изчезна в спомени.

the countdown (nobody loves no-one)

всички вие лъжете.

I wanna be

a white knight.