September 29th, 2005

avatar w/buff hat

glorious !

Eddie Rabbit, your passion pales next to mine.

It's wind-swept moor meets downpour on forest canopy, but toss in a good Michigan early autumn harbinger bite of chill in the crazy swirls of air bursting in the windows I can't bring myself to shut any more than these 6 and 8 inches. And it's coming in waves. Lots of 'em. It's unquiet; it's so very lively for such a late hour at the end of such a quiet little street where everyone else turned in hours ago.

At least put a shirt on, C seems to be saying to me. I mean, what the fuh.

Alright, a compromise: sleeveless. And bright red.

Paperbacks at the top of stacks are blowing open, as if ghosts are flipping to sample their first paragraphs. The green-and-lighter-green–checked GARNIeR® FRUCTiSTM NASCAR® bandana (I shit you not) that came with the sale shampoo attempts flight every minute or two, like some goofy early 20th-century contraption you see in newsreel footage. Excitement is in the very (& the literal) atmosphere. The kind of excitement you feel through the skin more than the brain. Collective unconscious. Instinct. Animal. Cave.

Who could sleep and miss all this? Goosebumps tell you you're alive, goddamn it. And some of these gusts add just a touch of danger, of possible peril out there. Make a body just a little more than slightly glad to be inside, listening to it, with no place to go & all the night before any of regular life commences again.
tongue

alas, the onion picks kc for this joke

kc cap

click on the hat.

i ain't followin' baseball too closely this year (ever so vaguely attending to the AL pennant race; i'll swoop in for some post-season, perhaps) but i am aware it's once again not the royals' year. there's no denying that it's at least somewhat related to the gap between the rich and poor in baseball, and the similarity of injustice is hard to take after a while.
bad santa

Lisa, I can name that song in 1 line.

Putting together some dance songs. Got a failsafe get-'em-up in this number, gals 'n' guys, and a veritable anthem of healthy attitude, so leave your situations at the door. No, it ain't new. I got nothin new---only relatively less old. But no more drama; leave all that BS outside. Rock your ice. We celebratin. Percolatin.

Coming from Kansans and Lutherans and nerds and fatsos, I could easily have never danced in my life. Musta been that living queer in Charm City in the 80s a mere 50 yards from the Hippo. Not that I danced there so much, really. Girard's, while it was around, yeah, I guess. Maybe it was Terri Adamczyk in the privacy of a dorm room, with early Who songs. There was something about that. I don't dance nearly enough to satisfy my soul, but I do love it, when nothing's amiss & I can go 'head and feel it.

I want to tell about the Little Apple basement Black Hearts Ball soon. The woman who was in my book the star of the many stars that night is about to have a big birthday bash in Larryville, and I'm not going to be able to be there; maybe I'll tell the story for her birthday.

Watch this space, as the confusing signs said.