A nice rain. Not heavy, but steady, thick. Soaking. A good rain for long walks after dark, thinking.
Monthly Archives December 2005
theory and practice
In theory, practice is the same as theory, but in practice, it isn’t. I need to write more. Every time I pick up a book, a thousand stories well up in me, and I have to fight them down just to read the one in front of me. A lifetime of reading has precipitated an ocean of ideas that wants to slosh over the sides of my mind at the first hint of imbalance.
Frost
The moon is bright on this cold pale night. The old International Harvester dumptruck outside my door stares vacantly like an old old man, his dirty white paint made ancient and ethereal by the pearlescence of the frost. A fog of minute ice crystals has passed, leaving all a bit less real, a bit less here. The frost is the only real thing, and the shapes beneath just memories.
finals
Apparently, they are going to execute Tookie Williams. Barring some last-minute reprieve or pardon, the founder of the Crips (named so because an early incarnation of the gang carried canes, and hence were referred to as “cripples”, shortened to “crips”) will die by lethal injection.
I suppose…
If I am going to do this thing, I really ought to write something every day. I have painted myself into a corner, which I suppose is the point.
I think Pokey the Penguin says it better than I can, so today’s pre-finals literary effort is being passed over to yellow5.com
BTW, the Friends of Pokey have an address in Portland, which I think says something profound about the distribution of talent and insanity in the world. One is tempted to go knock on their door and ask pertinent questions, but wo knows what you would find there. They must get Pokey fans coming by all the time, don’t you think?
New beginnings
A housekeeping post, this. Just to keep place in the writings which will follow, like a bookmark squeezed between cover and that first dry page of copyright information.
Do you feel the excitement yet? That frission of collective expectation for what is to come? I envy you, not for what is to come, but for your joyful anticipation. It is my great phobia and my great jealousy, that others may be having fun while I miss out.