....not your typical lead in to a poem.
I started writing something yesterday that began innocently enough, philosophically enough.
But what is the beauty of philosophy, in a poem, without something wretched to compare it to? Hence, my lowest-common denominator psyche tosses in, for verite, I guess, a mean-ass drunk.
Mean-ass drunks being more common these days than the pure beauty and logic found in the works of, oh, I don't know, Aquinas or somebody. Or the simple and clean approach of Occam.
Lot's of people write about ol' Occam. I seem to find my fascinations in how spectacularly something or someone can fail, or, at very least fall, in trying to succeed, or, at least, just be human.
I could get all upset about that. It could be a reflection on my self-esteem - except I know when I'm good, and when I suck. I think I'll just chalk it up to the meanderings of a twisted psyche.
No unicorns, or rainbows here today folks.
But, the snow outside is very, very beautiful.