Nightlight News

You might be tired of all the waxing on this site - eat this, don't eat that, read the farm bill blogs religiously. When is the stupid blogger at the Nightlight site gonna talk about something vicious, some vices, show some weakness beyond diet obsession?
After all, this format is perhaps, at best, read by four people with any regularity. Perhaps it looks good, but are these words worth anything? Is this just practice for some blog that matters? Doubtful, for the blog, in all its self-indulgent glory, is still, in this tapper's eyes, but a whiff of the fingertip, and does little to really transmit the heart of the world's thumpers beyond the swipe of logorrhea that clogs this e-toilet. Give me a pen and paper and I'll make something that matters - give me a keyboard and I'll waste my time, but give anyone a blog and be prepared for some e-smudge -> e-butts -> e-ashes. My contempt for the blog is partially wrought from its irreversible hold on the computer-scope, and partially from my hope that passing time will dim the screen and bring back the blank wall.
But self-indulgence is not the vice that vexes the night air - on the contrary, the night air is being thickened sweetly with the rays of a full moon. Anyone who burned college up in zig-zag smoke may also know that certain novelists, conspiracy theorists, unshaven maidens, witches, hermits, and nature lovers have ascribed certain qualities to the moon, and especially the lunar tuna in its full glory, that make it a special friend for the night owl. The nights of the full moon are said to produce craziness, as if craziness needed its own help.
I used to use the full moon as a convienent excuse to drink too much. Now I drink not a drop, and actually think I feel the moon a little more heavily (as a consequence). However, instead of tugging at my elbow in order to tilt my wrist at the proper liquid-pouring angle, the moon is tugging at my animal instincts and burning up my proper training or self-restraint.
That's all you get, not a detail more. Instead, what this really means is that I entertain the notion of lycanthropy this week, wondering whether it is just plain silly to believe that certain humans turn to animals by the light of the full moon? Can that reflection in the sky, with all its sexy winking and nodding, with all its heavy presence and orange fervor, can that ball turn me into something more hairy and more willing to wreak havoc by tooth and claw, not tooth and nail? Doubtful to the pragmatist, likely to the romantic, attractive to the gothic, religious to the black arts. Batting the eye at the head of the pyramid is one thing, but invoking a shape-shifting moonbeam is a whole 'nother slice. What's the point of this stupid rambling?
I simply think it would be cool if there was a high school where the teachers were werewolves and the security guards operated metal detectors to ensure that no silver bullets would be brought onto school grounds. And so I find my sketchbook.
Good Night.