The Dull Glow of One's Veneer.

When I'm alone and lonely, I crave the love of another human. Someone who will stick by my side, to the bitter end. When I'm with someone, when we're talking and having a lovely time, I treasure my independence - even if they're perfectly sweet and smart.
It could be that I just haven't met THE ONE, if you can believe in such a thing.

I bought some prune juice today. I read labels and everything. Made an informed decision.

I'm listening to Brian Eno's "Apollo (Atmospheres and Landscapes)." I don't have this one on CD, so, even though I love it, I don't play it as often as some of the others. Daniel Lanois and Roger Eno accompany him.

I don't know about that prune juice. Something told me that I needed some in my diet - and it's got lots of potassium - but, I just had a swig and...well, maybe I need to get it really cold. Yeah, that might help.

So, walking and sitting and talking on a beach, at night, in November - a rather pleasant night in November - is a fine thing indeed, in and of itself. A big, bright, nearly full, moon is an added treat. Nothing new to report, though. My views, your views. My problems and yours. Let's pass some time, maybe hold hands, and not hurt each other, ourselves, or anybody else. In our modern existence, this is considered a top notch evening. All you could ever realistically hope for.

It's in the low 70s today. Sunday. I have on a tee shirt and some shorts. No shoes.
I have several good DVDs I haven't watched yet. I bought something good to eat. It's very quiet here. Only the dreamy sounds of Eno, on vinyl.
I'm burning incense, in a home-made burner I constructed. Well, I drilled a hole in a fish-shaped bottle that once contained a Liebfraumilch. It was the first bottle of wine my ex wife and I bought together, right after we got married. In another life-time.
The incense is some kind of dark eastern spice. I love the spice scents, but I have a special place in my heart for strawberry. That was the first incense I ever smelled. And bought.

People live in fantasy worlds today. Maybe they always have. I dunno. There doesn't seem to be any foundation to their desires. No infrastructure. There's a big, gaping, hole at the center of their "realities" - and a flimsy facade that projects all they have to offer. Scratch for instant disappointment. Or, harden yourself and expect the worst. Or, the least. Or, nothing at all.

I'm often made to feel ridiculous for being passionate. It used to be considered noble. Poetry and literature and art and music were higher callings. Not anymore. Now it's all commodified wall paper. The dull glow of one's veneer.

I think most people are emotional cowards.