mostly about tea...

I'm reading "Three Cups of Tea". It's supposed to jar my not so rooted bones, shake my free-rolling foundation (I did grow up partly in a trailer), and give me the inspiration I sadly lack concerning commitment to process. I read tons of writer/artist blogs and the one consistent throughout is the commitment to process. This is my first free day in weeks to delve into what I am supposedly in tune with and all I can think about is my inability to stay focused. I can't image why though. The shop is ramping up for the yearly feeding frenzy we retailers lovingly term "the holidaze season". I have found (I believe) the bottom of a couple of market manipulated stocks that I can cash in to make the house payment next month. So distractions abound and my wordsmith motivations cannot be found. Thus exists this place, this nano driven place, where I write whatever that comes immediately to mind.

Playing the stock market is like driving to the casino with your freshly cashed paycheck and then blowing it all within moments after your introduction to the dealer sitting across from you. They are much better than you are and the odds are stacked against before you even pull into the parking lot. A stock doesn't move based on what it's done but on the guess of what it might do... or even more bizarre, of what someone or something expects it to do. First, buy stocks with OPM (other peoples' money). That way if you loose it all, you can change your name and move and still be ahead of the game. If the stock falls short of expectation, run. If expectation drives it down, load up and hang on. If it drops, run. When it runs, drop. And replace fundamentals with the degree of predatory nature of the stock's core business pertaining to the human experience. If it poisons, pollutes, degrades, increases disparity, or legally steals in the name of competitive indifference, it most likely is a keeper. Pathetic, eh? Making a measly living by bottom feeding on the drippings of the elite while maintaining a far left insurgent libertarian socialist prose... priceless.

I'm sipping on oolong tea. I got turned on to it in Beijing about six years ago. Keeeryste, has it been that long? It's a little pricey, but if a billion Chinese can emotionally survive the abusive hauntings of their past 5000 years by sipping this tannin infested nectar, I can afford the extra cost to see if there are some residuals left for me. It's that bottom feeding thing again. It takes less to brew so I can stretch it pretty far. Too much and the cup is not all that pleasant. I'm going to try the next cup English-style and see if a plop of bovine secretion can tame it down. But that means I could brew a more potent cup, and that would cost more tea-wise and then there is the added cost of milk. But more is better, right? Maybe I could borrow someone elses money to pay for it. How American.