What kind of bees give milk?

Posted Sun 15 Jun
1 comments so far

You’re obsessed with finding a new brain,
But what you need is a new body.
It feels your brain has lived a thousand lives before
And the skin you call your home
Holds a heart that quits,
And knees that buckle in,
And lungs that can’t breathe when they’re alone.

Your age is always a whole number. And mine has ticked over again. Is there any significance to this one? Not overly, except it now means I have lived away from my mother for the same time I lived with her. I guess the next major milestone is the one where I will be working for as long as I was in fulltime education. Coming up soon, mind.

And the days come to you like sailors;
You watch them as they drift away.
They meet the sunrise out at the horizon
And it’s neither sink nor swim;
Least the water’s beneath your chin.
There’s blood spilled on the floor.
Everyone’s staring at you— what for?
Till you realize the blood is probably yours…

Then there is your progress through life. Mine has mostly been accidental, not really much thought other than when the opportunity arises. I don’t really seek the opportunities, they just happen across my lap. But, if you look back it does come across as slightly mercenary. But you know, that is no bad thing. No one else looks out for me (well, they do, but not in this way), and it is up to me to take the chances that are good for me.

You feel you lost something. You want it back.
You’re lying motionless on your back,
And your legs aren’t taking anymore requests.
Those disobedient wrecks!
How you cared for them as they carried you
From class to class and coast to coast;
When you owed rent and you were broke,
Through recessions and addictions.

I remember being told, oh, years and years ago, by a psychology grad, that it is your first, erm, encounters, that dictate what you find attractive in later life. Not the oft-mentioned men-looking-for-mother-replacement types. And again, looking back at what seems like accidental happenstances, it surely isn’t.

Your fright gives way to memory;
Having coffee with your love,
Or the story your father told you long ago:
He was hunting with his own father
For deer. He pointed and spotted her,
Then tripped over some roots or some dead trees.
The gun went off; it was a mistake
And my father was only eight.
And as he watched the dying deer, he was changed
‘Cause he felt sorry for what he’d done,
And then he put down his gun.
Will you feel sorry for what you’ve done?
Will you put down your gun?

One of the questions I detest most in interviews, and I make this displeasure known (note to all: I don’t do standard interviews, and one day I may admit to some shift in my thinking that I espoused during my interview for the old DeathStar) is where do you see yourself in five years time? Dear goodness, I have no idea. Five years ago I wouldn’t have seen myself here, so in another five? Who knows?

It’s just your accidental death;
Your accidental death.
It’s just your accidental death;
You’re the indian in the cougar’s nest

Even so, no point in stopping. It is a magical world out there, let’s go exploring!

  1. Some interview questions are so stupid, ‘where do you see yourself in five years time?’ I’d probably answer in a better job than I’m being interviewed for.
    Hope you had a good B/day and any strange encounters with sheep you had as a child haven’t afflicted you too much :-)

    Sun 15 Jun, 9:41PM

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