At the back of the hill

Warning: May contain traces of soy, wheat, lecithin and tree nuts. That you are here
strongly suggests that you are either omnivorous, or a glutton.
And that you might like cheese-doodles.
Please form a caseophilic line to the right. Thank you.

Monday, June 25, 2018


Marin is filled with very special people. Which a bus ride will establish rather well. And in all honesty, I cannot say that I enjoy that. Their life stories and peculiar problems are not that interesting, and when the bus driver indicates that he has a schedule to meet, it would be gracious of them to shut up, pay the fare, and sit down.

When I get on the bus, I greet the bus driver ("good morning" or "good evening", as the case may be), pay, and sit down. I have every reason to believe he's already heard my life story from several other people in several first person variations, and is not interested in my problems, because whatever they are, entertaining is NOT a significant characteristic.

You would not believe how many problems Marinites have.

All details will be furnished upon request.

Even if you don't ask.

The lack of human contact is exceedingly strong in Marin.
Yoga, spiritualism, materialism, self-entitlement, and personal cognizance of a special place in the universe, only make it worse.

I zone out, close my eyes, and concentrate on my navel while riding to and from work. By doing so I am contributing to the problem.
And I'm centered when I disembark.

Om, bitches, om.

NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.


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