mold or the casings on the brain get rusty in this non-damp

yt slept for a million years last night, kept waking up to the sound of rummaging or pulsating domesticity: or maybe i didn’t either. maybe i just kept dozing through it all. and even though the dreamtime left me exhausted and bleary-eyed this morning, once the pumped-up morningdrug gets going, it’s all gangbusters now. what was that dream about anyway? i can’t even recollect it at all now. and after buckets and buckets of soup (just needed a bit of salt, that’s all; otherwise, perfecto; and garlic-buttered bread that expands to fill the house; and slow gulps of redred wine making the brain all spinnty and forgetting where it is and which side is which;; left or right? don’cha know)…

after buckets and buckets of soup, it was game over for me last night: one hopes that after typing and typing and typing (as opposed to writing, which yt never does) the thoughts will burble out in the right order )or mayb they’ll just burble out in an INTERESTING order; we’d settle for that( but had the first dream with s. in it last night, which is funny, cuz the dream wasn’t interesting in the slightest. dull, in fact, if not in memory. word that the cat–used to lay on my head, my head being a comfortable place to lay upon, apparently–is in deep trouble. yikes! could it be poison? even from miles away, the stormcrow just keeps circling. carlin’s pets as “little tragedies waiting to happen” and it seems so true and funny and horrible, like carlin. refrained from mentioning it even though it burbled in the head: s. was sad, didn’t seem worth mentioning, so made a silly face instead. and clutched at sleep.

traded one conundrum for another. sunday was a sunday birthday. the number’s right. looks like sunday was the day, but the new moon was on the twenty-somethingish. no where near… um, 30 at all. can’t recollect when i talked to my mom for hours. was that saturday? methinking it was.

reading heaps of books. amy hempel’s good. will update book list on the other side, soon. ya. about the only recall i have from dream is holding hands, and walking down a road. but what road? what road?


everything that’s right is wrong again

gosh, that’s the kind of flaring distaff that makes me wince in time to the gutless wunderbahr.
ya, it seems, don’t ya, that once in a while the old fractured dispensary just keeps wallowing on in deep deep dudgeon.
crisp like fritters on an arctic day (and where have they all gone, anyway? and where will the penguins live? maybe fridgerators) or galleons on a sea of custard.

gripping lives of emperors and cold-cocked curmudgeons. everone wants to be the next pliny or tacitus. what’ll we all be reading in 10,20,30 years, anyhow? will we even be squeezing our eyes at anything at all? or will it all fwoosh right inside our heads?

me, i’m not into the idea of pop-up ads inside my head. that’d be dooper unkeen.

the hideabeds gone all squichy. and the gorgon’s got her eye on some kind of spleen ticking away in the morter boat. all the years of tears and guess who’s feeling like alice-drownd-in-tears? who acres the old feelings anymore? who tills the kindly? who reaps the dark cash machine? is there a death-of-atms? a dearth of atms?

gaspar the onion-grinder just keeps whistling in the ears. “whss whss whss” he goes. and we’re all sobby because of all that onionjuice everywhere.


Open Spectrum: why it’s important!

There are a lot of people, like David Weinberger, who are doing great things involving Open Spectrum. What’s open spectrum, you ask? Well, follow this link to find out!

The internet could become an amazing thing (it already is!) if it were disconnected from the physical wires and things. The US may actually be hindered by that (the presence of all those wires that took so much capital to build)…