In my dream last night, I was taken to a clifftop and shown the entire world, bright blue and dazzling in it's beauty.  My guide would only identify himself as a light bringer.  If only I would just bow to him then I could be master of all I saw.  I kept asking him his name but he refused to tell me and finally told me that he was an adversary.      "After all, in a game you must have an adversary to play, yes?"  But this made me nervous and I decided that anyone who would offer so much to someone like me must have unlimited resources.  That would mean that giving, whatever, to me meant that it was nothing to them.  Nothing.  That is what such an offer would be and I refused.  He snarled and pushed me off the cliff and, terrified, I woke up.      Just because I know what I am worth does not mean that I have no pride.

     Bad, bad, bad.  What a nasty bunny.  He really needs to quit reading and appreciate the finer things in life, like finishing a drawing and not being so hateful.       How can someone be so mean?  At least finish the thing before posting it.  Someone stayed up to late watching the Count of Monte Cristo.

     Here we see the penultimate scene of Public Enemy.  I have always thought that James Cagney was a great actor, and never so much as in this Warner masterpiece. I'm forever blowing bubbles, to use an expression!

     The Prof and I watch a commercial for a gladius shaped machete.  This ain't  your ordinary garden tool.  I need at least 4, not to mention the Legionnaire panoply.  TTFN!

    Eventually I will figure every thing out, if I have the time.  The Lapins thump slowly but exceedingly fine.  'Nuff said?

     It hits hard in middle age.  I did all I was supposed to, I married, I had a career, I nailed her at least twice a day and usually more.  Ten years wasted.  I did not want children but that was not my choice.  I could have at least stayed in the military as much as I despise some of the people who run it.      At least I have smoked and drank more than I would have if I had died when I was supposed to.  That is something, I guess.      I have my family and my cats.  Only the cats need me.      The dead dream, you know, and their dreams are uneasy.

     Yesterday was a day of reflection.  I looked at some of the more delightful furry comics, and realized how youth dependent the future is.  The above is an imaginary conversation between two secure yet aging men of confidence.  The rabbit has temporarily abandoned reality and is edging toward delusion.  The challenge under discussion is some unspecified feat of strength, probably a bare knuckle encounter brought on by hurt pride. He is lucky to have such a good friend.

     I cannot always be thinking of the big things.  Sometimes what is very big to me does not matter to the world.  But what care I of the world?  So various, so beautiful, so new- and I am just standing by for the great and eternal darkness.  Our loss does not impact on one another.

     I have carried my baton in my knapsack since birth.  Due to age and opportunity, I will not be getting the chance to earn it.  What a shame.  I can turn all this around, but without an opportunity slaves can not aspire to the purple.  Sic transit Gloria!

     The light has reflected off of a very erased picture.  Run to ground, the wolf surrenders but he will die.  The faction leader calls for everyone to move in, and his backup prepares for the coup de main.   This is a sad picture of a sad event.  But Jesus!  These weres are a fucking nuisance!

    Silliness.

     Last night me and a long dead friend were swimming in some crystalline clear river, presumably on the other side, and were very happy to see each other again.  The time spent over there had sharpened his already considerable beauty, and his strength was that of a dozen.  However, a Burmese brown python came swimming up, and the river and bank began to fade.  I tried to stay but it was time to go.  My friend said something and just smiled.  I take this to mean that we will meet again but this could be a trick.  I can no longer distinguish between gates of horn or ivory, not at all.