death and titans/death and taxes (an ode to zwan and crassness)

by David Schrott

Everything just feels like rain…

There are these days, the cold and lonely April days (this reminds me of oh-seven) when a cigarette would be really nice. Had I not been so close to one hundred days, I surely would have smoked it. Maybe even a pack; all at once. Or one after the other. Seven minutes a piece. Done in one hundred and forty minutes.

That’s a lot of smoking. I coffee’d instead. (Prince, Bucks, Coffee Co – the girl there was cute. She liked my Bible.)

Lars loves Schrott crassness; it is no secret that none of us have tact.

There are days when you just wanna say it. They’re that shitty. But it’s always been true that when things go low, redemption is at hand and Christ is made sweet(er) than before. It is difficult to see though the fog that is now and it becomes suffocating. Time slows its high paced rhythm and seconds drag like months.

Tick. Tock. Tick…

So perish all my fond ambition/God and Trouble are all my own/Yet how rich is my condition/God and Heaven are all my own.

It’s true – what that ancient hymn says. I suffer little but it still dizzies my mind when something throws me off course. Distractions abound and I second guess this, that or the other. Emotions blur cognizance. Every single time.

Man may trouble to distress me/To drive this heart to the Cross…

The clock is ticking now. Only six hours and twenty one minutes til wakeup. The alarm grits its teeth. It knows my fury (the constant pushing of the red key on my phone every nine minutes). There’s a lot to do to-morrow. Will I let it go to waste (think oh-six)? God forbid. Be not distracted by the temporal frustrations of this present age. They are soon to pass…

…everything just feels like rain/The road we’re on/The things we crave…

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