Driving an cart down an asphalt path through green fields, amongst ponds and patches of beautiful white sand, Kesselustra silently mused:
"They ingnored "I"--for eight months hearing instead only an angry mob: duplicitous watchers who hail the sublime player while decrying the merely elite. Thus is the fan!
"The prime growing season is over, yet they continue to plow. A fickle crop they grow!
"For six nights, they shout 'Hooray!' and jump about; on the seventh night, they sit dejectedly with their heads in their hands. A greater pain than mine!
"They sought mastery of self by denying self: Warm beaches beckoned but they chose instead a frozen pond. For what the extra week?
"They worked more than me--and for that, 'They' said: You must work more!"
They did work more, but I was playing golf!
Thus spoke Kesselustra.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Saturday, January 22, 2011
On the Goal Scorers
A man in a white and orange sweater, having emerged from a fog to come upon Kesselustra, spoke thus: "God has given me great hands!"
Kesselustra smiled and said: "That which you imagine offered you great hands and you chose to accept them; you chose to use them!"
"I have a nose for the net: a natural scoring instinct that few possess.
"And I can skate!"--the man applauded himself.
"I can score or not score; skate or not skate: I work less than you but am paid the same, and my sweater sells for the same price!" answered Kesselustra.
You crash the crease, but it is your own net you dislodge. You upset yourself by your zeal! The roster player stays: his wife settled and content, as he scores occasionally and throws the odd hit.--His is a career, a steady job that he likes; but you are trade bait!
You like Boston, but your actions shout from on-high: "I want to leave Boston!" You make yourself "a valuable asset" by your stick-handling antics, to be bartered like a chicken. And then you cry, "But why Toronto!" You blame "They"--but it is you to blame: You pointed the way with your laser-beam wristers!
Thus spoke Kesselustra.
Kesselustra smiled and said: "That which you imagine offered you great hands and you chose to accept them; you chose to use them!"
"I have a nose for the net: a natural scoring instinct that few possess.
"And I can skate!"--the man applauded himself.
"I can score or not score; skate or not skate: I work less than you but am paid the same, and my sweater sells for the same price!" answered Kesselustra.
You crash the crease, but it is your own net you dislodge. You upset yourself by your zeal! The roster player stays: his wife settled and content, as he scores occasionally and throws the odd hit.--His is a career, a steady job that he likes; but you are trade bait!
You like Boston, but your actions shout from on-high: "I want to leave Boston!" You make yourself "a valuable asset" by your stick-handling antics, to be bartered like a chicken. And then you cry, "But why Toronto!" You blame "They"--but it is you to blame: You pointed the way with your laser-beam wristers!
Thus spoke Kesselustra.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
My Typical Conversation
Co-worker: "Hey Dave, you got change for a five?"
Me: "I haven't a kopek."
Co-worker: "What?"
Me: "I don't have change for a five."
Me: "I haven't a kopek."
Co-worker: "What?"
Me: "I don't have change for a five."
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Recondite Quips and Hockey Fight Clips
"God is the imaginary echo perceived by a drunk man yodeling into the Great Nothing." --Tijno Carmabi
