I don't remember much from my dreams last night.

That could be because I jerked out of a sound, dreamless sleep to write a poem about Ragnarok.

I'm a mythology geek, and Norse mythology is my first love. There's a legend that says the final battle between gods and giants is Ragnarok--the terrible wolf Fenrir (Fenris) will be loosed to swallow the sun and the great wise god Odin. The Jormungand Serpent will drown the rainbringer Thor in its venom. Odin's and Freyja's war-dead, the Einherjar, will rise once more to fight, with nothing but bloodlust on their brains.

I'm not sure why I jerked out of a sound sleep just so I could write a three-page poem linking Ragnarok to the current shit blowing up around the world.

I think it's the best poem I've ever written. Which isn't saying much, as I tend to be a terrible poet, but I enjoyed writing it, and I quite like it, anyway.

I watched part of Tommy on the TV movie channels. X3 Ufufufufufu. But I like watching it on the big-screen television better, because in the beginning of the Acid Queen, you can see Keith in the background a lot clearer, and he's chatting with someone in a very animated manner. XP Tis funny! Or maybe I just watch the damn movie too much. (I've also noticed that, when he's doing all that panting before dialing the phone, his tongue is quite yellowed.)

Then I switched over to a special about Jimi Hendrix's Band of Gypsies. Because Jimi Hendrix kicks everyone's ass. I love Pete very much, I love Robbie Krieger, Keith Richards, George Harrison, the guys from Rammstein... all great, GREAT guitarists. But Hendrix blows 'em all away.

Still, I've got my bitcheries--I'm cool with him being named #1 Guitarist of All Freaking Time by Rolling Stone, but how the FUCK did Pete end up at #50? That just ain't right, I tell you! Just ain't right. Wrong. Just wrong. Bah!