'Ff'lo (fflo) wrote,

how was your summer, paul the piano player asks

somehow it had not occurred to me i would be asked this question.  like in comic strips --- Peanuts, anyway? --- kids used to be asked to write return-to-school essays on What I Did This Summer.

i'm sneezy this evening.  like in the olden days.

looks like i'm going to be up late tonight, which is nuts.  i can tell it, though.  i am nowhere near giving up.  exhaustion will perhaps distract me from the allure of the dangerous.  some little whispering suggester is fanning the flames of a nascent bonfire of stupidity in my head.  no way, though, if i'm just real tired.  in this manner i depict recalcitrance around (this kind of) bedtime as possibly good for me.

i am put in mind, knowing i am yet again typing meandering laden codetext, of what i used to call my short poems in college:  lingual doodles.  it made it all feel a lot lighter.  less dangerous.  more fun.

the one i remember best had as its impetus the old-school mnemonic (of my mother's generation) for the order of the planets from the sun (before the Pluto years, for which they added "phooey!").

     mary's violet eyes  
     make john sit up
     nights.  i wonder
     where gravity comes from


my mother didn't live to see Pluto demoted.  (yeah, okay, "reclassified.")  (as if there's no hierarchy!  they're the planets.  it's like the presidents.  it's a thing.)

i have lived to see that and to hear that salt isn't bad for high blood pressure and to love again.  and to care no longer where gravity comes from.  just to know it when i feel it.   
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