easter eve
2:20 a.m.
blooms on the trees once more, and windows thrown open to the night. certain birds that sing through the middle dark. on the way home from work I’ve been driving with the windows full down, warm wind whipping a cyclone of trash around the interior, inventing madcap hairstyles I check out in the rearview. more days and more days and more. the river runs foul through the center of town, flushing itself of debris again and again, posted all along with signs warning hands off, but ducks don’t read. my pillow sucks dreams into oblivion. I sit awake beneath the ticking fan, listening to engines passing, people out late in the park, a lone bird chorusing, a sudden staccato drumbeat, then nothing.
early spring day at dog beach
In which I own my love for the Mighty Boosh
Chris, a tireless and intrepid YouTube explorer and fan of Adult Swim, gets me hooked on all sorts of wacked-out video he digs up online, which I’d likely not tumble to left to my own wits– such as the whole Garth Marenghi’s Darkplace / IT Crowd / Mighty Boosh constellation of actors and writers.
The Mighty Boosh in particular is pretty far right-brained entertainment, which took me a few episodes to catch the love for. but I’d have to call myself something of a Vince-groupie now– and Howard is just so doggone human, the lovely lummox, I’ve rather developed a soft spot for him as well.
And when I ran across this feature on the Vox sign-in page, I had to wonder whether Naboo’s resemblance to Hanuman was strictly coincidental. I’m somehow doubtful.
whee!!
check out my spanky new francis klein specs, yo. (with extra-special thanks to my honey, who makes such pretty treats possible…)
late lunch/early dinner
we <heart> club lucky.
cheers
a new mug from my valentine.
what to say?
this has become a sad, verbally sparse little “blog”, hasn’t it?
oh, believe me, I know.
there’s this irksome compulsion to at least try to be moderately entertaining, insightful or at minimum diverting–and for the life of me these days I’m finding it hard to find faith in my own capacity to do/be so…
and, voila, object lesson in the problem: there the writing goes again drifting into GLUM just like a handful of other false starts over the last several months. by golly, as much as this doggone post wants to drift there, too, I won’t LET it.
(getting an inkling of why other vox neighbors resort to lists of things to be grateful for)
…
and, thus, reticence until I can come up with something better.
weekend play
floyd eating stars
this is how he plays while I play at the collage table…
don’t worry– in the end I did extract the crunched-up foil star from his mouth and dispose of it safely. but not until I’d documented to my satisfaction. :)