She's still the only one besides my dad who's ever said I love you

I'm Creedence Clearwater Wright
Best friend of Elodie Eye
We've been tight since Percy Elementary
Class of 1985
We moved together out to Philly after college
Took a two bedroom at South & 9th
I sold my violin so we could have it easy
El got her grandmother's money when she died

We laughed like we were queens
And split our ballgowns at the seams
And every single time I'd dream
It was only El & me
But then she slipped away from me
She met a boy from New Jersey
And they fell fast in love of course
I swear it felt like a divorce

This September I'll be 26 years old
And El's the only one besides my dad
Who's ever said I love you Creedence

Took a job downtown
It's an hour on the bus each way
Typing letters for a lawyer in a bad toupee
It's dumb I know but it pays okay

And did I mention I moved out
I got my own place off of South
And I've been living hand to mouth
For going on a year by now
And yes I still see El around
It's different but I can't say how
She cut her hair it's back to brown
She's living with her boyfriend now

And since September I've been 26 years old
She's still the only one besides my dad
Who's ever said I love you Creedence

I Love Creedence by Casiotone for the Painfully Alone

And immediately we all came to realize

Imagine a puddle waking up one morning and thinking, “This is an interesting world I find myself in, an interesting hole I find myself in, fits me rather neatly, doesn’t it? In fact it fits me staggeringly well, must have been made to have me in it!”

This is such a powerful idea that as the sun rises in the sky and the air heats up and as, gradually, the puddle gets smaller and smaller, it’s still frantically hanging on to the notion that everything’s going to be alright, because this world was meant to have him in it, was built to have him in it; so the moment he disappears catches him rather by surprise. I think this may be something we need to be on the watch out for.

Puddle Thinking by Douglas Adams

None shall pass

This Too Shall Pass by Ok Go

I caught a thousand sundowns in my headphones

Weary Apology by Andy Friedman

God? No god.

Luis by Niles Atallah, Cristobal Leon & Joaquin Cociña

You checked yourself out when you put me to bed, and tore that old band off your wrist

The cold grows colder, even as the days

grow longer, February's mercury vapor light

buffing but not defrosting the bone-white

ground, crusty and treacherous underfoot.

This is the time of year that's apt to put

a hammerlock on a healthy appetite,

old anxieties back into the night,

insomnia and nightmares into play;

when things in need of doing go undone

and things that can't be undone come to call,

muttering recriminations at the door,

and buried ambitions rise up through the floor

and pin your wriggling shoulders to the wall;

and hope's a reptile waiting for the sun.

February by Bill Christophersen

Event A

Excerpt from Schrodinger’s Cat Trilogy by Robert Anton Wilson
Image Borrowed from Pete Ashton