Any work that aspires, however humbly, to the condition of art should carry its justification in every line.
Joseph Conrad

I woke up, in the words of 13 engines, dreaming of Cocaine and Clowns. An odd duality of the tragic and the comic. Having been told by the weather wizards that I should be prepared for a storm of biblical proportions last night, I was battened down in the bunker last night peering through the mattresses stacked near the windows, prepared to see small children being swept away by the winds. However, it never happened. All we have is this damn blanket of grey that continues to depress.

The magic box is flickering strange shadows on the wall this morning. David Duke is in the news again, why do we keep putting this man in front of cameras? He is a small horrible little man, who needs to be pushed to the fringe, he's not dangerous, he's just a loon.

I'm braced for some ugliness this coming week, as the yule season approaches with a dizzying pace, the horrible songs have started piping over the speakers at all available opportunities, I'm not sure if the sugar plum fairies dancing in my head are a result of low blood sugar or a subliminal suggestion planted by the grocery store.