Psalms

I never know how to begin the great journey known as writing. I sit and I tap the keyboard listlessly and I wait for INSPIRATION to strike. I'm not sure what I expect it to feel like when INSPIRATION STRIKES, but I expect I'll know it when I see it or feel it or taste it or sense it with my brain.

I've always considered bus drivers to be a special class of citizen, but this morning the image of the chivalrous bus driver materialized in my mind like a fucking crystal made of some crystalline substance. To shorten a long and trivial story, the bus driver reined in his monstrous metallic steed at a green light and waited for me to embark while I ran down the street screaming obscenities.

I didn't freeze to death in the arctic wastes, and I have that man to thank. So thank you, mysterious bus driver. I know you're reading this.

...

"The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want for nothing.
He makes me lie down in the green pastures.
He greases up my head with oil.
He gives me kung-fu in the face of my enemies.
Amen."