wado

I managed to wander away from my novel long enough to make some of the really excellent italian roast coffee, then settled down on the futon reading The Sandman: Brief Lives when Falling Slowly, the theme from Once, came on the old playlist. It's chilly and cold outside, just the beginnings of fall, and it was the first really peaceful moment I've felt in the last 4 days.

Sleater-Kinney and the desire to post kind of brought on a twilight to the moment, but it was worthwhile. We're now onto Echo and the Bunnymen. I fucking love echo and the bunnymen.

My novel is about a young man who owns an apartment building, which was always a dream of his, and finds himself still unsatisfied with life, so he begins a path toward self-destruction and progressive literacy. I guess I should get back to typing up more of it. The working title is: "It gets a fucking title when its fucking done"

My poetry epic is titled Coveted Nails. I think that is about half-finished.

When I say futon I mean an actual futon, 3 syllables in Japanese. A large padded mattress laid on the floor on which one sleeps. None of that wood-frame couch horse-shit

We've been taking half-steps toward the future for some time now and are only beginning to wonder why we haven't reached it yet.