being an impromptu sermon in open bar that I was originally loathe to remove from it's context. Having reflected on it more I decided to give it a new home. Enjoy.
Today will be better or I will kick it in the FUNT! THE FUNT!
I'm going to make my coffee and then sit on my butt some more. Yeah.
This Friday is Mr Squid's b-day. We're gonna go see the Edward Gorey exhibit at the art museum and eat frozen yogurt. Later, dinner at a Pho place with our friends.
I will not let my job get to me today. I will smile and ignore the fact that I want to kill everyone I work with. I will smile. I will smile.
I've seen your smile.
I have seen your smile. I've seen it before on many faces and in many places.
It's the kind of smile that involves mostly teeth. The lips, usually more given to a plump and fleshy arch, resemble a rictus. Hold firm, that you do not allow movement to cause irreprable damage to your facade.
It's the kind of smile that never truly reaches the eyes, at least not in the unconscious sense of muscles arranging themselves like so many eels over the orb of hardened and largely dead bone we entrust the day to day safety of our brains to. No. If it reaches the eyes, it's by more malevolent and rationalised ways.
It's that kind of expression you will see on the hedge fund manager's secretary as her boss opens the windown, 24 floors up, and prepares himself for the final crash. And she wills the bastard tyrant on with a will bordering on the physical. It's the kind of shit Goya used to paint on his walls, but seen from the other side.
People will see it and hurry by. They will take the superficial politeness and avoid looking deeper. There are things, Squiddy, things
under that rippled surface that man was not supposed to have knowledge of. And sure, you can hold that smile for a day. For a week. For a month. But it will end
. Something will crack it, and the sheer horror of the collapse will unleash something terrible and dark from behind your brain cage. From behind even your brain. From somewhere so deep that imagination is enough to cause you vertigo.
The witnesses will talk e'ermore about the laughter, Squiddy. And they will shudder as they contemplate the depths from which it rose. They'll buy a ticket to anywhere. Perhaps to Tucson...