Metaphorically Speaking, I Suck

It sometimes worries me that I don't offer elegant descriptive narrative full of poetic metaphors, similes, and whatever else falls in that realm of prose. Somehow describing my life as, "Like spring on a summer's day", just doesn't resonate with anyone.

I'd use phrases such as, "it's like taking a bath...in the nude". But I couldn't live with myself.

I remember way back in early post flower power years when the big thing was herbal shampoos and such. They had this young woman on an ad, being all woodsy in her woodsy hippy chick garb, saying, "I like the idea of nature, and all". I couldn't live with myself if I wrote that, either. She was cute, too.

The IDEA of nature? WTF? But, that is how it is seen. There is nature, and there is humanity; mutually exclusive sets. You can't possibly reason with that sort of thinking. It is to attempt to ride with Hells Angels, on a Suzuki 450, while reciting and explaining the Constitution, and pointing out why violating the rights of others is an affront to freedom.

See what I mean? That one hit the nail on the head. (<--a metaphor and cliche all in one, if I'm not mistaken. If I am please gently correct me)

I'm still trying to find out what the "bridge" in the "cross the bridge into the 21st century" represents. From the measures those people wanted to push, and are pushing, I'd think "herd you with bulldozers into the compound from which no one escapes" would have been more fitting.

What kind of fools need to be led from this day to the next day? Doesn't matter what you call it, a day is just a day whether it occurs at a point in time which coincides with 2100 years since the point at which they want to count or not. If you live through the night, you wake up and you are there. Just like yesterday and the day before.

But don't mind me, I'm but a lone wolf howling at the moon, hoping against hope** to get lucky before night's end.

**Does that phrase, "hoping against hope" make anyone else cringe like it does me? Friggin Dan Rather used to say that a lot. Those were the times when he most got on my nerves. He was a tick that this old hound couldn't get rid of. Much like the damned army of raccoons who make mischief here on Ballistic Mountain.

It is as if the night sky is falling and my only hope is to stand erect, head held high, as a towering lighthouse, piercing the heavy darkness as it weighs down upon me, finding home within its mysterious and stormy depths.