#Monday Morning Commute

Monday Morning Commute: The sky above the port was the color of television

neuromancer - andy potts

neuromancer – andy potts

Monday Morning Commute! On a Monday Evening! Truthfully, this tardiness is, relativistically speaking, pretty good compared to my usual antics. In fact, this column would have slithered out of my mind-hole earlier had the words come to me. Sometimes the Muses toss lightning bolts up your ass, and you feel Empowered. Emboldened. Surfing The Edge. Sometimes the Muses retreat to a 7-Eleven bathroom to trib with faeries and knaves and satyrs. Coating themselves in the slickening sugary confections we pass off as food, writhing in wrappers and detritus, orgasming in supplication to the Eternal Engine which neither Cares nor Notices us.

Today? For me? The Muses are fucking around with the fucking faeries in the fucking bathroom.  But still, I persist. But still, I exist. Put that on a Hallmark card and staple it onto my forehead, I know it’s fucking lame.

Today? For me? I’m going to write this column anyways. Even though the Muses ain’t here. I’m going to tell you everything I’m excited about this week. Even though the Muses ain’t here. I’m going to ask you to join me, vapid, broken, banal me, in the comments section, letting me know what you are excited for this week. Even though the Muses ain’t here.

Well? Shall we?

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Monday Morning Commute: Please Stand By

white noise

Tired today, man. Currently supine. Battling fatigue and a stomach stuffed with staggering tumult. Am I a diarrhea that dreams it’s a man, or a man that dreams he’s merely a flesh-bag filled with diarrhea? I’m not sure, I’m not sure. What am I sure of? This week contains multitudes, multitudes of various arts and farts I’m looking forward to enjoying. These arts, these farts, they are an Existential Ripcord. I need merely let my excitement yank said cord, and rip me through the miasma of malaise my rolling tide of brown-churn and soul are currently sunk in.

It is my mandate as the curator of Monday Morning Commute to list these arts. To high-five these farts. It is your mandate as the consumer (be it by accident or be it by accentuated agency) to list what you are sweating this week in the comments section.

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Monday Morning Commute: week after week after week after week

week after week after week after week

Monday Morning Commute.

Sorry for radio silence over the weekend, comrades. Had a bit of a weekend, comrades. Early Friday morning, my Nana sloughed off the mortal coil, and transcended meat-space. At the same time, I was stricken with the most staggering stomach flu I’ve ever had. Violence, friends. Violence erupting out of both ends, friends. By the time early Saturday morning rolled around, I was down a final grandparent and a literal seven pounds of fluids.

Monday Morning Commute.

As I told you last week, comrades. We’re all riding shotgun with Entropy. Such it is for all of us, and neither my Nana nor my quivering flesh-bag could escape it. Can escape it. But she had a good run, 95 years-old. And I merely had the runs, 24 hours-long.

No matter. No worry. All flesh decays.

Monday Morning Commute.

The column wherein I enumerate the especially enlisted distractions designed to glaze the gears of the existential engine during a given week.

Join me in the comments, comrades. Partake in this parade of particularities with your own choice cuts.

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Monday Morning Commute: We’re all riding shotgun with Entropy

we're here until we're not

We’re all riding shotgun with Entropy.

That’s the long of it, the short of it. Celebrated the Fourth of July twice this weekend. Once at a friend’s apartment, who I consider to be family. Once at my family’s house, who I consider to be friends.

Me, my friends, my family?

We’re all riding shotgun with entropy.

The Universe wasn’t paying much attention to our celebrations. Too busy housing Everything. Too busy searching for that sweet, sugary Heat Death at the end of it all. Expanding endlessly until it won’t.

Me, my friends, my family, the Universe?

We’re all riding shotgun with entropy.

The wife I married, the dog I love, the friends I cherish, the family I belong to, the Universe that carries me.

We’re all here until we’re not.

We’re all riding shotgun with entropy.

I don’t know what to make of this, other than to appreciate my wife, walk my dog, hang out with my friends, and stare lovingly at the stars when the nights permit. This isn’t profundity and it isn’t resignation.

It’s a shrug and a smile in the face of the Absurd. What else can I do?

We’re all riding shotgun with entropy.

This is Monday Morning Commute. The column where I slather onto this particular digispace all the items, all the miscellany, all the bullshit that I’m interfacing with on a given week. You know, when I’m not staring into the raging chasm of Void and Stars, condemning the tragic mistake that is self-awareness, while simultaneously praising the Cosmic Joke for stumbling into giving us clowns self-awareness.

It is my optimistic encouragement that you’ll share what you’re up to this week in the comments section.

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Tuesday Evening Commute: The Rolling Tide of Honeyed Ennui

submitObeysubmitObey

Salutations, comrades. This is Monday Morning Commute by way of Tuesday Late Evening. Greetings, friends. I apologize for the tardiness, I’m just. I don’t know. Busy? Tired? Tired and Busy? Busy and Tired? Sure, sure. But if I’m being doubly honest, and let’s admit that I’ve written for nearly seven years an embarrassing amount of personal information, I’ve been a bit maudlin about OL.

Pillaging the archives makes me yearn for the days of commenters gone by, of days that were grad school, filled with too much caffeine, and a head full of ideas. I miss the folks who have drifted, I miss my own initiative.

What can you do?

Sally forth, I suppose. But it’s tinged with nostalgia when I know some of the old folk ain’t gonna comment.

What can you do?

Sally forth, I suppose. But it’s tinged with melancholy when I’m penning this shortly after grading papers for three hours, and shortly before I must slumber.

What can you do?

Sally forth, I suppose.

I’m still here, dammit.

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Monday Morning Commute: See Ya Later, Ya Leadfoots

space-ship omega

MondayMondayMonday Morning Commute! It’s the column!

It’s my one-year anniversary today, yo. The Wife and I. Dang hitched. I don’t feel much regarding it, though. Spoke about it with the better half, and we’re both like, you know. Shrug emoji. The date that sticks out to the both of us is our initial date. Feels more genuine than the $20,000+ back-patting we threw for…our parents a year ago.

I mean, don’t get me wrong.

It was a great night.

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Monday Morning Commute: It’s All In (Everyone’s) Mind

yesyesyes

This is Monday Morning Commute.

Went to a wedding tonight. That’s why I’m tardy. Went to a wedding tonight, witnessed matrimony and bullshit. Circumstance and overwrought sentiment. Reflected on the fact that my wife was a good call, the best call, definitely the right call to partner up with in this Life. ‘Til dirt, folks. ‘Til dirt. Probably going to ride this Space-Ship ’til dirt, too. I’ll hope you’ll board her with me. Hang out in the common hall. Sleep, and shit, and sing, and screw, and scream in your cabin. Pass time, pass gas, pass (favorable) judgment on one another.

This is Monday Morning Commute.

Join me, friends. In this metaphorical common hall, on the Internet, a metaphor, within our shared existed in the RealiVerse, also a metaphor. Join me, friends. Tell me what you’re looking forward to this week. Share what you’re going to be doing this week. Declare what your intentions are for the next five-day (four, really, after today) rock-rolling.

This is Monday Morning Commute.

Let’s hang out.

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Monday Morning Commute: Dive Bars, Dive Far

dive bars dive fa

Nice goddamn night to write Monday Morning Commute. Windows open. Pleasant breeze. The gentle, but not intrusive hum of caffeine thumping down the vein-pipes. But, for a moment, I am content. How are you doing, friends? I hope you’re doing well. Well enough, at the least.

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Monday Morning Commute: how to slowly .exe yourselves and others in 20XX

cybertopia

Monday Morning Commute! On a Monday Evening! Better than a Tuesday Afternoon, not as good as a legitimate Monday Morning! Feelin’ pretty good, man. Classes are finally over, man. Doing a bit of tutoring, but hey. Can’t complain about that. Making money. Still having to drive into Boston during quasi-rush hour, but hey. Can’t complain about that. I’m getting to sleep until 9:00, which is a fucking blessing from the Elder Ones.

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Tuesday Afternoon Commute: Your Consciousness™, Powered By Google

tremendous

Tuesday Afternoon Commute! I’m a day late. I’ve spent the last few days in a Theraflu haze. Thanks to my wife for bringing a death-flu back from the last conference she worked. Thanks to my wife for giving me the house I live in though, I suppose, I admit, begrudgingly, with her wonderful private sector job. A give and take, in life. A give and take, in existence.

What can you do? What can you do? What can you do? A little, or a lot. A lot, or a little. It all depends, it all depends.

What can I do? Well, I’m going to list the shit that I’m up to this week, that’s capturing my attention this week, that I’m sweating this week. Then I hope you do in the same in the comments section.

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