I had heard that simile on SportsCenter tonight. I loved it -- best (new to me) simile I have heard in a while. A Google search yields that fresh, the simile is not. Regardless, I remain ecstatic that somebody else possessed enough creativity to mark that sensation. On the other hand (the four fingered one for me) it's just another notch in the nothing-new-under-the-sun bedpost.

Pity, because I reach for that unobtainable uniqueness and sophomorically believe the task comes without torture. But, to publish (or blog) anything is to suffer small deaths; and, like the hum of a rainstorm on a metal-roofed hut in the jungle, eventually the small deaths dull all the senses and drive away the want of continuation. Why try to create something original when it's absolutely not possible? Why take the path to guaranteed failure?

The irony here is that with everyone pushing towards specialization, the collective agitation is causing homogenization.

Yet even more irony (YEMI) is found in my desire to read books (i.e. other authors' torture) to soothe my unoriginality and to inspire me to find new thought patterns (regardless that they too will be unoriginal).

[This your brain and this is your brain on tqed.com. Now go vomit in a waste paper basket or in Lambeau Field's parking lot. Why suffer alone when you can suffer in company?]

While waiting for life that sucks to die, why not listen to my favorite unsigned bands: TQ's Garage Band Playlist.