everything repeats itself our histories our sypathies our poorly chosen compliments your tendency to make me cry my tears, my tears, my tears
elephants present themselves and circumflex and recompense and vaguely choose to compliment their hostess and their host and say "I’m here, I’m here, I’m here"
*author’s note: what does it mean? I’m not quite sure — perhaps there’s a lesson to be learned here, perhaps not. a little silly? yes. am I talking to myself? indubitably. did I use spell-check on indubidubly? indeed.
I. Computer fruit-basket-turnover — I’ve been having trouble with my main computer locking up (might be video card, might be motherboard), so that has lead to various smaller projects, including: … Linux from a usb stick (tried Ubuntu remix and Peppermint OS — settled on Peppermint OS running under OpenBox window manager) … Very pleased with Google Chrome browser’s ability to sync between desktop and laptop (and various different temporary installs of linux) — same thing goes (as always) for dropbox. … Trying out a cli program called Podracer to download podcasts — might be too frustrating to continue with it.
II. Writing a Science Fiction book … though I should really set a deadline so I’ll finish it sooner
III. I bake bread at least once every two weeks, depending on how much bread we eat each week — sometimes more frequently.
IV. I’m reading “Red Mars,” by Kim Stanley Robinson (I like the overarching sci-fi ideas, but I’m not too hot on the writing), as well as the audiobook “Dead or Alive,” by Tom Clancy (Jack is back :-)
V. Procrastinating instead of painting (I’m an artist, aren’t I?)
VI. Procrastinating instead of exercising (dude, I need to get in shape)
I never claimed to be a good judge of character. Last night for instance: it ended badly and I don’t know if it was lack of character on his part or lack of instinct on mine. All I could see was the hot barrel of that gun in my face. He said, “I’ll kill you.” And I found those words to be most disarming. I dropped the gun and raised both hands above my head. "Turn around." I turned. "Move." I moved. We walked the short distance to the rear of the shop where the shadows were thickest. "Now stop." I stopped. I heard him take another step behind me and I knew what was coming next. I woke up sometime later using the floor as a mattress pad and wishing I were still sound asleep.
All that drops from rain swollen branches three moments after the downpour lifts and moves over, down along the fence row crowded with telephone poles and sorry weeds and dairy cows staring out at a passing automobile, windshield wipers buzzing back forth wondering if these dark clouds will ever let up again — they will, of course, but it doesn’t seem that way, and we watch the way the water beads and wager which drops will reach the bottom first as they streak their way diagonally across the backseat window like lightning, white-shining amid the sodden blurry backdrop of this lonely winter country road.
Found money lacks initiative but darned if it doesn’t spend just as well and wants not a word of thanks nor compensation.
Found money is no school on Friday due to unforeseen events — a snow day or the threat of rain or the ceiling caving in, nobody was injured but don’t come back until it’s fixed — you’re free to spend it as you wish.
Found money has no opposite, there is no counterbalance for it on the scales of karma it is not the other side of lost momentum or missing out or falling short of unrealized dreams of metaphoric transformation.
Found money is simple and serendipitous (by definition) like a dandelion flower that grows up through a sidewalk crack and is plucked by a four year old and placed in a hand-painted vase on Mother’s Day.
I received the Google Chrome OS test notebook, designated “Cr-48,” as part of Google’s pilot program a few days before Christmas. I’ve used it as much as I’ve been able to since then, and I’d like to post a few thoughts here on the device if you’ll indulge me a few paragraphs on the matter.
Pictured above is one lousy photo I took of the aforementioned Cr-48.
Everything becomes a blur when
I am spinning; when I am falling
down into a tangled mess
of arms and legs and autumn
leaves and twigs and things.
Reliving childhood’s wonder-
ment — content with now, but
expecting so much more with
every passing precious moment.
(I don’t really do any spinning, myself — if it helps, think of this as a hypothetical poem —wessf)
I generally get sick by the end of the year and I’m usually too tired to think about showing artwork in January, but this year I intend to show at two — count ‘em — two art markets this month. Come find me at the following locations (follow the annoying cough-cough-cough sounds to find my booth):
The Madisonville Art Market — Saturday, January 15th (that’s this coming weekend) on the Tchefuncte River
The Palmer Park Art Market — last Saturday of the month (Jan. 29th) in New Orleans Palmer Park