His Name Is Cemetery. He knows only to kill.

I watched, with hands lifeless, tingling, as Jake Tapper killed a man; I saw it, in other words.

I was like, "hell with all this", "let them kill each other, if that's their game", and I stepped away to read a book.  And the book was really good, and contained an unexpected bit about Theology, when it ironically, was supposed to be about the interconnectedness of all of us.

God sets my own chronometer, my own little gel-filled gyroscopic reticulating ball.  That was the gist of the reading, too, so I was kind of Georged to read something of my own line of thought, and in an older book on Christian Mysticism.

I was studying happiness in a few online courses, and, conversely, I felt my own gears slipping, hormones doing things, and that, seemingly out of nowhere.  And I said, "you know what?  They all just want something from you."

The trick to that is that there are some we would trade with, others we would genuinely care about, thus sacrificing for them, while yet so many others are just trying to build a stockpile of goodwill and sundry other assets, both substantive and intangible.

So another pull away.

While pulled away, a longing in her eyes.  She looked lost, yet she was where she was supposed to be for that hour.  She looked lost, yet she had all that she had just a day before, plus more.  She looked lost, as if to say, she had just realized that something was missing in her own spectrum.

Only a MKL would do, for that itch that niggled her.

"Tell me.  Where would it tickle you, Mum?"

"His name is Cemetery."

"He's a stinkin' Chaldee."

As I was saying the other day, there is "for whom the bell tolls" and inevitably, one day, the bell would "toll for thee."  But yet, sometimes even sporting victories by the home team are marked by the bells, and in those cases, no blood spilled but maybe the prize bull.

They let Hamilton eat the bull testicles, you know?  But not in Maranello.  Not at all, Cheever.

In the end, after the moral treatises and social niceties, God and man both drink blood, with man cutting open the throat of the beast to appease Heaven.

Donate to the site, if you want.