Well it’s that time of year again. Tax time. And since those pesky returns are almost due, I figured I’d better get started on mine.

Every year I say ‘I want to get those done early this year’, and every year I start doing them around now and submit them on April 14th.

Anyway, I’m going to hurry up and file them this year. I’m getting a $780 return.

The funny this is that I didn’t realize this yesterday when I did them. I was a little bit tired when I sat down and started crunching numbers out, and mistakenly looked up my gross income instead of my taxable income on the tax table.

So until I looked it over again this morning, I went to bed panicked trying to figure out where I was going to come up with an extra $400 before the 15th.

Fuckin’ math.

But I’m happier now.

I like the lights.

Dancing off the ceiling, the stereo turned up, and I on my back staring at the crack that runs from wall to wall, lost in a daze that might all be in my head, thinking and not surrending, surrendering and not subsiding, subsiding and not falling back again-

I’m nearly out of breath just thinking about it.

I like the lights.

I like to get lost, I find. The longer I lose myself, the better the chance I won’t find what was missing again. Rebuilding? Why bother. Torch all of the empty shipyards and build them again. Rebuilding? Feh. Don’t waste my time or yours. Tear it all down and make something new. Don’t go back.

I like the lights.

The shapes and sizes don’t matter exclusively, because all of them are important when you get down to it. I like the ones that trace past my closed eyelids, and even though they are closed, I know have flown by. I can see it all in my head.

I like the lights.

I like the way they hit your shoulder. I like the way they make your lips sparkle and the white in your eyes glow. I like to trace them back to where they started at, only to find nothing, if not more light.

I like the lights.

I couldn’t get drunk last night- I tried though. It was very strange, I don’t know exactly what the means. Tonight I’m not even trying. There’s no point and I’m better off this way.

I like the lights.

I went for a walk in a graveyard with a friend today. We saw lots of fancy head stones and monuments to people who died many years ago. Graveyards are strange and unsettling, but somewhat comfortable. I felt at home. It was good.

I like the lights.

The important thing to remember about the sounds is that they aren’t all real, many of them are in your head and just trying to find a place to stay for awhile. Let them in and keep them company. You can turn them away for the night later. Peace be with you weary travelers.

I like the lights.

The warmth is comforting and much desired. I’ve been waiting months for this, and though inevitably it will not last, a little comfort goes a long way. Ask anyone who’s staring at a light at the end of the tunnel and they’ll tell you the same.

I like the lights.

Especially in the dead of night. I like to lay on my back in the grass and star up at the stars, alone. Forgetting. A cool breeze blowing by and the coolness of the grass on my neck. It’s almost time for that again.

I like the lights.

And the moral of the story was don’t play with guns.

And the moral of the story was santa claus isn’t real, but his spirit is, so let’s celebrate that.

And the moral of the story was drugs are a dead end.

And the moral of the story was keep trying and working hard and someday you’ll make more money than everyone you hate the most.

And the moral of the story was that you can catch more flies with honey.

And the moral of the story was smoking is bad for you.

And the moral of the story was there is no tooth fairy, but mommy and daddy still love you.

And the moral of the story was it’s all your fault.

And the moral of the story was give up.

And the moral of the story was that the longer you wait the less it all starts making sense.

And the moral of the story was stop playing doctor with the little girls, Tommy. That’s not very gentlemanly of you.

And the moral of the story was lick it before you stick it.

And the moral of the story was beer before liquor never been sicker.

And the moral of the story was unspoken, but the soundtrack was really nice, and I’m not quite sure what Kubrick was going for, but for some reason I feel the profound urge to blow my brains out or start itching my balls like a monkey.

And the moral of the story was don’t take tickets to the circus across town from strangers.

And the moral of the story was always look both ways before crossing the street.

And the moral of the story was Columbus didn’t discover America, totally, but we’re not going to really get into that until you’ve gone to college. Sorry McDonald’s staff.

And the moral of the story was that no one really gives a shit anymore.

And the moral of the story was a penny saved is a penny earned.

And the moral of the story was floss daily.

And the moral of the story was Peter denied him three times before the rooster crowed.

And the moral of the story was wrapped up nicely in Molly’s soliloquy.

And the moral of the story was work hard, pay your bills on time, don’t have any dreams, and die alone.

And the moral of the story was buried symbolically beneath a shield on a mountain, and said ‘Peace on Earth’ but that didn’t stop the Valley People from killing the Mountain People.

And the moral of the story was respect your elders.

And the moral of the story was forgotten.

You know how whenever they put out a new Star Wars or Star Trek or even now a new Lord of the Rings movie, a bunch of freaks that you’ve never seen before show up at it decked out in full costume so they can they can show the world what big fans they are?

Of course you do, which is why I need fifteen of you to help me out sometime in the near future.

We’ve all seen the commercials for Mel Gibson’s new movie The Passion of Christ and perhaps even some of you have gone out to see this movie. I have not yet.

I got to thinking last night, what if a bunch of us all went to see this movie in costume? You know, some of us can be weeping and tearing our hair out, someone can have a rope around their neck and be Judas Iscariot casting 30 pieces of silver at the ticket takers, while Peter denies Jesus three times in front of an usher. And last but not least, we need JC himself.

Wouldn’t that be great? And if anyone asks what we’re doing we’ll just let them know that we’re all really, really big fans.

Oh yeah. Buy this too.

Sorry, I’m a whore.

Buy my diorama! Do not pass go. Go Directly to EBAY.

Imagine my suprise to learn that US Bank supports terrorism. Somebody call Donald Rumsfeld.

My art is too big.

So I woke up this morning, feeling very refreshed and ready to deal with any and everything I would have to today.

And then I looked out my window.

‘HOLY SHIT!’

Why is it snowing again?

Malt liquor and writing? This could possibly be a bad combination, could it not?

What could these young lads possibly be working at? Construction paper, glue, action figures, shoe boxes… it looks like we have all of the makings for dioramas…

Careful with those scissors kids. You’ve been drinking.

All work and no play makes for a boring time. But craft time is all work AND play.

Now that’s what I call art. Craftastic!