#Monday Morning Commute
Monday. Morning. Commute. Welcome to its Insides. The Place where we share what we’re up to during the current work week. It’s rife with strife, gloom, and malaise. JUST KIDDING. Let’s party! Fuck the Frowns, Embrace the Clowns?! Do I mean this?! I don’t know! Am I pumped up on Diet Dew and a False Sense of Excitement?! You fucking bet!
This is what I’m up to this week. Happily.
And on the 22 of September 2014, I am writing this column. Monday Morning Commute. High on cough syrup, low on existence, I’m coming to you live from the Space-Ship Omega. Per par for the perpetual course, these are the niceties that are capturing my attention, imagination, and speculation during this week. Serving as a ship to hopefully sail me across the tempestuous work week waves.
Monday! Monday! Monday! Here in the Armpit of the Internet. The Space-Ship Omega. Air recyclers busted. Stuck in a orbit around Io, praying for the tug-ship to come in with replacement thrusters. Ain’t got nothing to do but fuck one another, wax poetic about existence, and drink whatever stock of cheap synthetic whiskey we can find. Empty your pockets and pull down your trousers, we’re going to make the best of it.
Oh. Oh Yeah. And in case you didn’t know, this is MondayMorningCommute, the column where we share what we’re up to this week.
In short, because I’m fucking busy! This is Monday Morning Commute. The cavernous post at the end of the Internet where we all share what we’re up to during a given week. The arts and distractions that are helping us Mind The Grind. Spittin’ about our anxiety-laden lives because of Said Grind. Maybe a random anecdote about the time your donger got caught in that chalupa (is this a euphemism? I don’t know!) in the Taco Bell bathroom.
I’ll go first.
This is all a rental.
From the computer you’re typing on to the meat-sack you’re inhabiting. All will be recycled, reused, converted into a variety of different forms. In my case, very much upcycled. Rejoice for as long as the collection of atoms, elements, and moments that is You can successfully stave off Entropy.
This is all a rental.
You’re slowing down. Dissolving. Inching closer to the Bin where your reconstitution shall take place.
But while we’re here, while This Matter still makes You, let’s have some fun. This is Monday Morning Commute. The column where You share what you’re intending to do during the week. So long as your dissolving, perpetually-ending, decaying meat-sack allows you.
This is all a rental.
It’s true. Nature doesn’t fucking care. About you. About me. About the flitting, infinitesimal blip on the Cosmic Radar that is Humanity. And man, that’s fine. That’s cool. We’re all going to be dead. Dead for a lot longer than we’re alive. Nature’s just going to carry on. We won’t register. It doesn’t matter. What to do in the face of such Truth? Keep rollin’ that rock. Have a wonderful time while you’re here. Make your own meaning.
Here’s a quiet Monday Morning Commute, as I’m surrounded by the Indifferent but Beautiful Nature here in Nova Scotia.
Reality is, at best, a tenuous set of consensual hallucinations that we share with one another. Our greasy faces, our fat, gibbering jowls, our swollen, offensive ocular meat-balls all nodding in agreement at the barest, most pathetic concept of reality we hew together as Man. But hey. What the fuck do you want out of me? I can’t do shit about it. #YOLO So I’m going to live my life, dimly aware that my beliefs are conjured by a primitive brain-steak based on embarrassingly limited means of perception, and also play some video games. Love my fellow man. Hold doors, say please and thank you. Read some books. And watch Brock Lesnar give people the F5. ‘Cause really there’s no reason to do otherwise.
This is Monday Morning Commute – the column where we list the various ways we’re staving off staring into the Abyss and realizing how fucking Dumb It All Is. Generally these ways take the form of arts, farts, cheap beers, and ideally – Skittles.
I’ll go first.
Morning! Morning. Commute! Commute. Mondaye! Mondaye. The column where we share the various endeavors we’re looking forward to (or dreading if you need some catharsis) in a given week. Generally these endeavors are of the arts and farts variety, but if you’re looking forward to picking+eating your toenails frankly I’m with you sharing that too. Me? This week? Guardians of the Galaxy, Boston ComicCon, and more!
Let’s dance the dance eternal.
Saddle up to your robo-partner and plant a smooch right on their Metallic Dome-Piece. This is Monday Morning Commute and I want both you and your Android to be comfortable enough around me to share the various things you’re looking forward to this week. Be it a comic book, a Gathering of the Juggalos, or the new bang session you’re going to partake in with Shiela-Charles-Mach-IV. You can tell us. We know you’ve been saving up for the ultra-smooth, yet insistingly thorough pelvic-pistons with your Cyborg Bitty.
Hello, friends. Welcome to Monday Morning Commute. The column that serves as the Balm that soothes the Unrelenting Burn of It All. Within this post, the lot of us wearied travelers come together. We feed each other Chez-Its, and perhaps too lovingly brush the crumbs from one another’s lips. We rub each other’s backs, leaving the hand perhaps a moment too long on the small of one another’s back. And most importantly, we share the various Arts & Farts that we’re looking forward to on a given week. The sort of Necessary Distractions that illuminate our lives, titillate our brains, and distract our souls from the Maelstrom.