wado

We played "Where's the Wendigo?" on the bus this weekend. It was dancy dance dance time and now we're gonna light your ass on fire.

I grind my teeth.

Frustration disappation = evening proliferation!

New blogs, new novels, new abusive alter-egos!

(I forgot Cobain wasn't spelled with a K for a second. And this bothers me. I'm nearly 28, and you all know when he died. I don't know why that down-the-middle split should be affective, but I feel something considerable in mulling over this, in mulling over the album, often lamented for its soul and seriousness so soon before his death, and coaxing the CD...
Read More

I am narcissistic about books. You can be too.

Two of my best friends just had a daughter about 16 hours ago. I have yet to meet anyone that young. One of my oldest friends had a birthday yesterday. Another friend had a birthday tonight. I saw Big Trouble in Little China when I was 5, and I've had a crush on Kim Cattrall ever since then. Things could be better, but they could...
Read More

There was also a new pony. Every time I go home there is some kind of upheaval, or the arrival of new creatures, human or otherwise. It's like trying to cross a river that won't hold.

WADO is editing. WADO will need distractions. WADO loves you because you are littler than he is.

Too many pineapples and pina coladas make kanker sores on the tongue. Losing sleep because its more fun to lay there and let the lingering sensation of the ocean, and the writing. Oh god the writing. It's all so writingly.

Mom's got a new dog I get to play with this weekend while I work on finishing one of these books.

I've going out west...
Read More

I've got mangos and coffee coming out of my ass!

In 4 days it'll be Caribbean pineapples and clear blue water, which means I need a tent and that right quick.

I'm waiting patiently on my new job to start, which i'd hoped would be pre-PR trip, but its better than not having a job to come back to. C'est quelle est. Rum est la...
Read More

After Nick Drake

We've admired it so since we started to listen.
Nick making the sun
shine brighter in our talk of summer wind
picture taking, light, diffuse through windows,
fell on open books and sweating
glass, moisture wrapped porcelain passed
dodging inopportune, sadly seeming questions,
beetles clicking their shells against
struggling stalks in a shadow box.