Nothing, something, anything

I clearly have nothing to say. But maybe I have everything to say. Hmm? Hmm?? Any takers? I thought not.

Currently, I am lollygagging and am listening to Gabriel Faure's Cantique de Jean Racine. It's really quite lovely and is possibly the most beautiful choral music I've ever had the opportunity to sing. Sacred music like this really screws with my head. When a piece of music about God is so earnest and moving, it makes me wonder if, indeed, it is a product of divine intervention. Mozart's requiem does that to me at least once a week. It makes me start to wonder if worthless human beings -- people who steal and cheat and rape and murder -- are really capable of creating something that can ripple so far through time and overwhelm people for centuries after they have turned to dust.

Well, they can't... and that's one point for God.

Maybe this is just the remnants of church breeding speaking. It's like a radioactive substance or something. I hope I outlive the half-life so I can have some fun before I die. But, until then, God -- elusive as ever -- shows me glimpses of himself through music. It's kind of cruel, but it is what it is.

Loyal readers, I am going to provide you with some comic relief before I depart. With the unearthly glow of my monitor being the only source of light in the room, it has managed to attract the attention of a tiny moth. I'm not in the mood to make friends, so I am attempting to scare it away with the pointer.

He's gone, but it looks like he made a dash for the closet. I can only predict that when I wake up in a few hours, there won't be a single sweater left in my closet. And on the floor will be a beach ball-sized moth with drool dripping down its chin, burping and coughing up thread. I'm so Kafka, it hurts.