Catch Me On A Good Day, I

Happiness Doesn't Lie In Conspicuous Consumption And The Relentless Amassing Of Useless Crap. Happiness Lies In The Person Sitting Beside You And Your Ability To Talk To Them. Happiness Is Clear-headed Human Interaction And Empathy. Happiness Is Home. And Home Is Not A House-home Is A Mythological Conceit. It Is A State Of Mind. A Place Of Communion And Unconditional Love. It Is Where, When You Cross Its Threshold, You Finally Feel At Peace.

Whatever She Saw Beyond The Camera Lens, Beyond The Photographer, Beyond Anything In The Known World Probably - Wasn't Fit To Be Seen.

L.a. Burns, And So Many Other Cities Smolder, Waiting For The Hose That Will Flood Gasoline Over The Coals, And We Listen To Politicians Who Fuel Our Hate And Our Narrow Views And Tell Us It's Simply A Matter Of Getting Back To Basics While They Sit In Their Beachfront Properties And Listen To The Surf So They Won't Have To Hear The Screams Of The Drowning.

Grief, I Swear To God, Doesn't Live In The Heart. It Lives In The Senses. And Sometimes, All I Want To Do Is Cut Off My Nose So I Can't Smell Her, Hack My Fingers Off At The Joint.

And Often The Worst Thing Wasn't The Victims--they Were Dead, After All, And Beyond Any More Pain. The Worst Thing Was Those Who Loved Them And Survived Them. Often The Walking Dead From Now On, Shell-shocked, Hearts Ruptured, Stumbling Through The Remainder Of Their Lives Without Anything Left Inside Of Them But Blood And Organs, Impervious To Pain, Having Learned Nothing Except That The Worst Things Did, In Fact, Sometimes Happen. (mystic River)