2020 has been a freak show on the nerves, to be vague and precise. Thus, it’s largely unstrange that this year’s Halloween will be of no ordinary occasion. You heard right, a full Blue “Hunter’s Moon” (that’s actually red in color, aka “Blood” or “Sanguine”) is heading our way. Although it's a popular belief that a full moon occurs on the 31st every so often, one hasn’t made an appearance since the 40s. Even more eerie is the fact that the ripe lunar phase will be visible, for this one rare night, across the entire globe.
Before we talk tattoos, a question.
When you were five, did you really know exactly where you wanted to put that sticker? You know, the little gold foil star that the teacher gave you for...what was it? Fluency, proficiency, and academic excellence? What a good little citizen.
I’m not sure what it is about these cusp birthdays (i.e. 18, 20, 21) that suggests one ought to have felt a light turn on inside. I’m referring to some switch that would flood the mind with clarity, the kind that washed away all overchewed adolescent anxieties. This craving for a clear conscience blooms out of a confused one - one that’s not sure who to listen to anymore. All a person is left to do then, is to turn to himself, only to realize that his own voice is just an echo of all the souls that proceeded: school and its knowledge, adults and their dogmas, the poets and their rom-antics.
Corona does have a symptom for the uninfected, and that must be this summery slumber. These days, the sunlight burns moth holes through the curtains, making the 93 million mile trek just to wake me, a mummy wrapped in linens.
When it comes to refreshments, I’m a hardcore water person (not to be mistaken for a water bender). Here’s my conundrum with mainstream beverages - soda, juice, cocktails, etc. The first icy slllp! is replenishing enough, but then there’s this sickly saccharine aftertaste that lingers in the back of my tongue. Animalistically, this mechanism works to the favor of said drink, making me want to sllp more so as to momentarily wash away any syrupy acidity. In the end however, my duped palette is left with an even larger sugary stain. I, monkey brain, then turn the bottle to its nutritional info and realize that I’ve just ingested 55 grams of the sweet stuff.
“Tomorrow, Tomorrow, and Tomorrow” is an essay written by Aldous Huxley, and it can be found in his book called Tomorrow, Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, which can be purchased here, here, and here.