Today was a bad day.
Today was that kind of day in which you wake up in the morning, stretch, salute the Sun and feel like you're being quartered by the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. The kind of day when you remind yourself to follow the stoic Code of the Samurai, but somehow you can't help thinking about doomsday and fire and brimstone and people on fire who are not amused that they're on fire. The kind of day when your train of thought is placed on a set of rusty tracks by John Wayne Gacy and kicked down the mountain to travel in inertia without a group of insurgents to blow the damn tracks up already. The kind of day when a demented and retrograde form of narcissism descends upon you from the blue and reminds you discreetly that you're a hack, just in case you forgot the last time it came round. The kind of day when your little failures grow to the size of fat Godzillas plowing through the Tokyo of your mind. The kind of day that you hate in the future and do your best to avoid. The kind of day when you come up with a hollowed-out Bible full of representations of the Seven Deadly Sins for a Christmas present (though you don't contribute to the execution thereof). The kind of day when you stare bug-eyed at texts without understanding jack, but you do feel every grain of sand scraping its way through the narrow part of the hourglass. The kind of day when you know Christmas has come and he too looks like a fat Godzilla, the bastard. The kind of day when, reading about it in the foreseeable or unforeseeable future, you stop and think to yourself...
Damn. Today was a good day.
Azazel has left the building.
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