Monday, July 13, 2009

On Being Snookms

Sitting here watching Snookms fall into a hapless slumber, and I have to know if he has any idea how beautiful he is when he sleeps. That flawless look of infantile peace, that grabs at you, pulls your fuckin heart strings, and makes you think for a second of things not of this earth. Images of angels come to mind, like the kind you saw in that King James version of the bible when you were four. You thought you knew you saw one, it was no big shock, and always wondered what the hell the big deal was when everyone else saw one.

"What the fuck? I see em all the time?"

But when you're four years of age, you're not allowed to say the word fuck. You don't even know what the word means.

But you know what beauty is.

And when it's lying peacefully next to you, wearing your wedding ring, you have to sometimes get on your knees and remember those angels and tell them thank you for not getting angry that you knew what the word 'fuck' meant at the age of 4.