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Happy Halloween!
C'mon, boys, let's get to it!
We take ALL THAT out.
Can Mamusia help?
What were YOU licking!!?
Let's carve!!! :)
Scarrrrrrryyyyyy....
I'll take the small one to bed with me ;)
Family resemblance... :D
Happy Halloween!!!
Gone fishin'
View Larger Map
Where: Pasadena Marina, Keswick, ON
Dress: warm
Eat: a bit
Leave: 5:30 am
Be there: 6:30 am
Depart on lake: 7 am
Be back: 1 pm
Pictures: soon ;)
Te y ta, Vida!
So here's special kudos to my only subscribed follower whose faith in me passes my expectations... :P And we never discuss politics, just vida.
Ewcia not only has two little girls, but is an apostle of the most normal of motherhoods and for that we love her!
Chupar mi Vida dulce y querida me encanta siempre ;) Salud, amor y dinero, Pepes y Pepas!
Ewcia not only has two little girls, but is an apostle of the most normal of motherhoods and for that we love her!
Chupar mi Vida dulce y querida me encanta siempre ;) Salud, amor y dinero, Pepes y Pepas!
Duerme, duerme, negrito
Que tu mama está en el campo, negrito
Duerme, duerme, mobila
Que tu mama está en el campo, mobila
Te va traer codornices para ti
Te va a traer rica fruta para ti
Te va a traer carne de cerdo para ti
Te va a traer muchas cosas para ti
Y si el negro no se duerme
Viene el diablo blanco
Y zas le come la patita
Chicapumba, chicapumba, apumba, chicapumba...
Duerme, duerme, negrito
Que tu mama está en el campo, negrito
Negrito, negrito, negrito...
Que tu mama está en el campo, negrito
Duerme, duerme, mobila
Que tu mama está en el campo, mobila
Te va traer codornices para ti
Te va a traer rica fruta para ti
Te va a traer carne de cerdo para ti
Te va a traer muchas cosas para ti
Y si el negro no se duerme
Viene el diablo blanco
Y zas le come la patita
Chicapumba, chicapumba, apumba, chicapumba...
Duerme, duerme, negrito
Que tu mama está en el campo, negrito
Negrito, negrito, negrito...
Zielony ogrodek!
So: it took almost 2 months, but... the backyard is finally (almost) all green!!!
The sad reverse mohawk in the middle has been taken care of due to generosity of spirit and hard work of some kind and nice people. I will not name names. You know who you are!
Now, I can patiently wait for those Google photo satellites to take a refreshed picture for GoogleEarth/Maps. You will see the walkway to the north side of the backyard.
And: no longer am I green of jealousy of other people massaging their back lawns and enjoying the "that's soooo gooood..." moan when they look at it or experience it first hand. In retrospect, that was probably stupid to react this way, but... hey, it's my first true lawn and sometimes i still totally don't know how to take care of it. Fertilize or not? Trim or let it grow? I like it trimmed, very close. I like giving it water to drink, making sure it's not thirsty or doesn't have a dry and sore throat (did i mention it's been windy today?).
But otherwise, another learning is to let it grow and go, and be happy about not overthinking it. So some birds will come, play and then fly away, even if a heard of horses were to stampede through it, or cars, my devotion will be the same and the blades will come back and they're really here to stay. Might look different, get thin or thick, might have to wait out the fall and winter, but it will survive with patience and me looking out for dandelions. Last year was the first dandelion hunt - before, I didn't know they existed or needed to be taken out. Now, I'm slowly learning these things with common sense and open mind.
So there it is. Lawn's here and getting greener. I see it from the 1st floor and from the 2nd and it looks soooo nice, soooo good.
Life Forcing One to be Thoughtful
I used to be that way once. Thoughtful. Then, somehow, some way, living became just reacting to... life. And I still do it while others show me how I need to be pro...active. And it doesn't have to be a 'movement' or an acne medication infomercial. Or a Jack Bauer 24-hour-catch-the-terrorist-in-your-head episode. It's no sales, no thriller for the advertisers' money or the audience's adrenaline shooting with each repetitive "we're running out of time, damn it!." Thoughtful is just being conscious of the re- and the pro-. When one usually falls and fails is where what happens to you goes into 'un-memory.'
The word I like and associate with it is 'niepamiec', which translated directly is just that. The shades of meaning aren't easy to decipher, since it all depends on the particulars of one's psyche and the personal build we each have - related to senses, handicaps, scars, vices, loves and hates. These may be triggers or 'dissipaters' of whole memories or their aspects. Since we don't live through experiences and events in all their dimensions at the time when they happen or retain just limited sensory data in our being, memory is always fickle and the road to 'un-memory' all that much easier.
I don't care about trivialities - you should know what they are, because they will always be only subjective too. It's the building block of us - personality, body integrity, emotional constitution - that shape us through memories when associated with a bunch of thoughts - whether always the same pattern or each time new - and that will ask us to be thoughtful in order to appreciate the way we come to be and continue to exist. No, I didn't read this anywhere. I'm living it. I have been, since I can remember - no matter if it's about being seen by god and not turning back in church, experiencing that momentary peak of gasping corporial-ness or seeing that rusty moon climb the hills covered with coffee plants. God's name, acting body or the type of crop will cycle around the head throughout one's lifetimes and each moment will taste of contradictory emotions, yet the person will be changing - with every interpretation and re-interpretation of that event and feeling.
Because... life forces us not to be stones. It carves us and it follows convention, because what's human is but a canon of majority held experiences and apocryphal accounts of what they should mean. And yet, from stone walls we grow into sponges or in-between stages of existence - baloons? - and what's carved changes with the changing shapes of the psyche in the patient continuum of time and space and within all the other physical dimensions of brain chemicals or the fatty substances lodged somewhere we'd rather not discuss.
I'm still dealing with it. Lack of worldview, selfview and one-flight-over-the-cuckoo's-nest view. Life's asking me to not let it go into un-memory. And me finding ways to love it enough to listen, full of thoughts, very un-black-and-white in my interpretation for future generations of experiencing fullness and thinking.
That's just life. We'll tread that fine line.
The word I like and associate with it is 'niepamiec', which translated directly is just that. The shades of meaning aren't easy to decipher, since it all depends on the particulars of one's psyche and the personal build we each have - related to senses, handicaps, scars, vices, loves and hates. These may be triggers or 'dissipaters' of whole memories or their aspects. Since we don't live through experiences and events in all their dimensions at the time when they happen or retain just limited sensory data in our being, memory is always fickle and the road to 'un-memory' all that much easier.
I don't care about trivialities - you should know what they are, because they will always be only subjective too. It's the building block of us - personality, body integrity, emotional constitution - that shape us through memories when associated with a bunch of thoughts - whether always the same pattern or each time new - and that will ask us to be thoughtful in order to appreciate the way we come to be and continue to exist. No, I didn't read this anywhere. I'm living it. I have been, since I can remember - no matter if it's about being seen by god and not turning back in church, experiencing that momentary peak of gasping corporial-ness or seeing that rusty moon climb the hills covered with coffee plants. God's name, acting body or the type of crop will cycle around the head throughout one's lifetimes and each moment will taste of contradictory emotions, yet the person will be changing - with every interpretation and re-interpretation of that event and feeling.
Because... life forces us not to be stones. It carves us and it follows convention, because what's human is but a canon of majority held experiences and apocryphal accounts of what they should mean. And yet, from stone walls we grow into sponges or in-between stages of existence - baloons? - and what's carved changes with the changing shapes of the psyche in the patient continuum of time and space and within all the other physical dimensions of brain chemicals or the fatty substances lodged somewhere we'd rather not discuss.
I'm still dealing with it. Lack of worldview, selfview and one-flight-over-the-cuckoo's-nest view. Life's asking me to not let it go into un-memory. And me finding ways to love it enough to listen, full of thoughts, very un-black-and-white in my interpretation for future generations of experiencing fullness and thinking.
That's just life. We'll tread that fine line.
Here's to Frasier, my older brother
For those of U who still don't know, when it comes to my favourite sitcom, I'm partly Frasier and partly Niles. Because of what I have and am and because of what I don't and won't even though I'd like to - this applies to many kinds of -hoods present in human lives. I'm human - more or less.
So one of my favourite lines of the pompous doctor, spoken at a fake wedding reception, is as follows and there's little that I can add or comment about.
"Love is an awesome force. It can make us do things we never imagined possible. For you see, we don't actually choose love, it chooses us. And once it has, we are powerless to do anything about it. Ladies and gentlemen, raise your glasses with me in toasting my brother and the love of his life. For she is truly the woman of his dreams, and my father and I could not be more thrilled with his choice."
(This is for all of you doubting Thomases out there.)
Which reminds me: I should probably come up with a list of my favourite episodes. Should be of little surprise to anyone that most would involve Niles and Daphne. And how patience is another awesome force, mostly with oneself, then with life. Or something like it.
So one of my favourite lines of the pompous doctor, spoken at a fake wedding reception, is as follows and there's little that I can add or comment about.
"Love is an awesome force. It can make us do things we never imagined possible. For you see, we don't actually choose love, it chooses us. And once it has, we are powerless to do anything about it. Ladies and gentlemen, raise your glasses with me in toasting my brother and the love of his life. For she is truly the woman of his dreams, and my father and I could not be more thrilled with his choice."
(This is for all of you doubting Thomases out there.)
Which reminds me: I should probably come up with a list of my favourite episodes. Should be of little surprise to anyone that most would involve Niles and Daphne. And how patience is another awesome force, mostly with oneself, then with life. Or something like it.
Casino Royale
I feel like watching Mr. Bond. The good one. Forget even Connery's. Daniel Craig shows what all Daniels have and give. In each and every way. Now let's look for some solace in this quantum reality of ours. Risk and opportunity at the other side of the barrel of my gun. I'm clenching my jaw and squinting my eyes slightly, anger's channeled in the most dangerous way of extreme focus. And that's how I like it.
Everything else is a pastiche of roulette (not necessarily Russian) and poker. Stakes change. Danger is Austin's middle name. I don't have one - just first and last. Now waiting for another hand ready for the heart to stop to go to the car and restart it.
Vespers are whispered. The elevator is stuck, I'm on the stairs. This is where she'll live or die. My life won't be over, I have my anger to spread for the guilty. And so I go. With a hint of a menacing smile hidden behind blue eyes where they're all black and hollow.
I like this movie.
Everything else is a pastiche of roulette (not necessarily Russian) and poker. Stakes change. Danger is Austin's middle name. I don't have one - just first and last. Now waiting for another hand ready for the heart to stop to go to the car and restart it.
Vespers are whispered. The elevator is stuck, I'm on the stairs. This is where she'll live or die. My life won't be over, I have my anger to spread for the guilty. And so I go. With a hint of a menacing smile hidden behind blue eyes where they're all black and hollow.
I like this movie.
Cold in the basement...
Time after time I'm surprised to feel how much listening to Frank relaxes me. These pretty much are the only songs to majority of which I know the lyrics. The dancing and "melodicity" move my blood and make me see myself in a tuxedo on a dance floor feeling like a $1000!
I've never actually participated in anything like it ever. But for that matter I've never been to a rock concert or not for 15 years to a disco. The only events I took part of were TSO concerts or related Classical music concerts (Vespers at St. Paul's, La Nef at the Spadina church...). It was always somewhat counterintuitive to me to see "Easy Listening" label attached to this music at the library. How!? It's old and not simple. And this was one of the reasons why I wouldn't touch them. For a someone like me with Phil Collins (lesser) and Queen (much more) or Coldplay (recent) influences lounge music never had a true sponsor in my humble circles. And then one holiday season I just got the appeal.
Don't remember when exactly that was. All I know was the atmosphere and the ease of heart and mind when it was on. I used to go to work driving along Bloor Street. The traffic was a drag, the work was even worse, I had little to look forward to and resting was always so far from my mind I have no clue how I survived over 2 years working for a newspaper with a shifted day and a shifted workweek. I was pretty depressed and seeing no light at the end of the tunnel - not that I would actually admit to that, in retrospect.
Then, I got the CD for my birthday/Christmas. I guess at that time especially - between Christmas and New Year's I've just been driving and feeling this music calm my nerves, flow into my depression and take it down a notch, dull me to the pain of daily crap-shovelling and seeing no point of it.
I didn't imagine being in a tuxedo, dancing or going for moonlight walks. For the first time I appreciated the simple messages and a nicely composed music, not to mention Frank's brooding and energy at the same time. (Only then I realized that I got a foretaste of it in Start Trek's Vic Fontaine, but I didn't get it.) Since that time - travelling in my car just me, the crooner and my swaying self - I'm realizing that I have a swaying self, smiling face and soul. And whether I'm sharing this with anyone or I'm totally by myself, the "Easy" permeates my soul when Frank's around. I've since understood the pleasure of wearing a good suit, putting on a nice scent, holding a girl in my arms and being able to dance and stare at someone else's sweet smile and sparkling eyes.
And this feeling is rather universal when it happens. I enjoy life. And it makes me feel young at heart :) Yup - when at various times now I feel between worlds and ages and daily blues boomerang around, I always have Frank cheer me up.
Even in a cold basement - like now. "Somethin' Stupid" is on ;)
[Sorry - YouTube is a bit lacking at the moment]
I've never actually participated in anything like it ever. But for that matter I've never been to a rock concert or not for 15 years to a disco. The only events I took part of were TSO concerts or related Classical music concerts (Vespers at St. Paul's, La Nef at the Spadina church...). It was always somewhat counterintuitive to me to see "Easy Listening" label attached to this music at the library. How!? It's old and not simple. And this was one of the reasons why I wouldn't touch them. For a someone like me with Phil Collins (lesser) and Queen (much more) or Coldplay (recent) influences lounge music never had a true sponsor in my humble circles. And then one holiday season I just got the appeal.
Don't remember when exactly that was. All I know was the atmosphere and the ease of heart and mind when it was on. I used to go to work driving along Bloor Street. The traffic was a drag, the work was even worse, I had little to look forward to and resting was always so far from my mind I have no clue how I survived over 2 years working for a newspaper with a shifted day and a shifted workweek. I was pretty depressed and seeing no light at the end of the tunnel - not that I would actually admit to that, in retrospect.
Then, I got the CD for my birthday/Christmas. I guess at that time especially - between Christmas and New Year's I've just been driving and feeling this music calm my nerves, flow into my depression and take it down a notch, dull me to the pain of daily crap-shovelling and seeing no point of it.
I didn't imagine being in a tuxedo, dancing or going for moonlight walks. For the first time I appreciated the simple messages and a nicely composed music, not to mention Frank's brooding and energy at the same time. (Only then I realized that I got a foretaste of it in Start Trek's Vic Fontaine, but I didn't get it.) Since that time - travelling in my car just me, the crooner and my swaying self - I'm realizing that I have a swaying self, smiling face and soul. And whether I'm sharing this with anyone or I'm totally by myself, the "Easy" permeates my soul when Frank's around. I've since understood the pleasure of wearing a good suit, putting on a nice scent, holding a girl in my arms and being able to dance and stare at someone else's sweet smile and sparkling eyes.
And this feeling is rather universal when it happens. I enjoy life. And it makes me feel young at heart :) Yup - when at various times now I feel between worlds and ages and daily blues boomerang around, I always have Frank cheer me up.
Even in a cold basement - like now. "Somethin' Stupid" is on ;)
[Sorry - YouTube is a bit lacking at the moment]
Cuba - The Real Pictures
K, so finally here are a few...
To prove to ourselves we were actually there!
Sunset over Cayo Guillermo.
Should i jump?...
Could walk for hours.
Do you see Orion?
Slonce gives Vida!
Vida gives felicidad!
Je me souviens comme ca fait juste maintenant.
I did like the place.
Just sometimes too windy, too salty...
Can't help myself with these...
Perfect balance.
I WUZ here.
Just hangin'!
Place of best R&R.
During the day.
My favourite kind of view...(for more pix keep checking Flickr)
It's Here
...year 2009. So have it happy, better and the way you'd like it.
All up to you - unless you believe in fate and luck. I don't. Sucks for me.
But: I'm an OPTIMIST!
All up to you - unless you believe in fate and luck. I don't. Sucks for me.
But: I'm an OPTIMIST!
Copenhagen interpretation
Problem is: I have increasingly little to say myself.
I don't stimulate myself and seldom find balance between over- and under-stimulation of my mildly-developed faculties. Time also happens to be a challenge, because it flies. Fun can be an abstract here.
I'm not trying to be especially funny or deep - incisions with a butter knife tend to be like playing an air violin or conducting with a black bamboo chopstick in front of an iPod's speaker - if an iPod ever had one.
If you are looking for a point, go home now and watch TV. This script doesn't know how to moralize in a convenient 41-minute format of a 1-hour drama with sufficient time allotted for product placement and a nicely crafted title sequence with a brand-like gold or rusty logo. Points vary in their meanings anyway. Sometimes they actually have size and depth, sometimes they can even be squares with all the right angles.
It's possible that poetry continues as the vanguard of the impressionable experience. All the other fluff is just that - a styrofoam of sorts that keeps other, heavier things in place in this box of a life. But something doesn't have to be heavy to leave a mark. Just sharp. Maybe hot. Even wet. If I only knew where this is leading. Such is a fine line between striving for peace amidst unrest and maintaining peace in fear of losing the very rest of it. In the shadow of Mount Everest, how small I feel...
The end days, rapture and apocalypse are not even tele-evangelists' realm. They're bumper-sticker material produced by the faithful and the greedy alike. A sea of Jesus fish made into filets by people's daily and healthy attacks on guilt and keeping up the appearances of propriety and moral sanity by masking the scratched off paint with religious adornments thus seeking approval whenever on the road or off, drunk or sober, having 3 seconds or 8 decades of life left in them before they expect to stare the Almighty in the face. And ask him thus: what's the point? And get angry: you left me on my own to get to that! Where are the instructions when you really need them?...
Reaching back to St. Francis, the smallness doesn't get in the way - most of the time. Reaching forth - it affords little faith that can be pre-jugded justified.
Only living and dying matters. Like Erwin's cat. But who has the thought and who's the experiment?
I do not presume to conclude. Conclusion would harbinger a point. Collusion would mean a conspiracy and everywhere's replete with these. Collusion of the body and mind against the owner. Collusion of the maker and the also-made. Stimulation is an ever-moving target in a game that involves aborted hunting attempts. Like discharging a battery that fuels paranoia...
Time to reinvent the roots of speech. To fertalize some soil.
I don't stimulate myself and seldom find balance between over- and under-stimulation of my mildly-developed faculties. Time also happens to be a challenge, because it flies. Fun can be an abstract here.
I'm not trying to be especially funny or deep - incisions with a butter knife tend to be like playing an air violin or conducting with a black bamboo chopstick in front of an iPod's speaker - if an iPod ever had one.
If you are looking for a point, go home now and watch TV. This script doesn't know how to moralize in a convenient 41-minute format of a 1-hour drama with sufficient time allotted for product placement and a nicely crafted title sequence with a brand-like gold or rusty logo. Points vary in their meanings anyway. Sometimes they actually have size and depth, sometimes they can even be squares with all the right angles.
It's possible that poetry continues as the vanguard of the impressionable experience. All the other fluff is just that - a styrofoam of sorts that keeps other, heavier things in place in this box of a life. But something doesn't have to be heavy to leave a mark. Just sharp. Maybe hot. Even wet. If I only knew where this is leading. Such is a fine line between striving for peace amidst unrest and maintaining peace in fear of losing the very rest of it. In the shadow of Mount Everest, how small I feel...
The end days, rapture and apocalypse are not even tele-evangelists' realm. They're bumper-sticker material produced by the faithful and the greedy alike. A sea of Jesus fish made into filets by people's daily and healthy attacks on guilt and keeping up the appearances of propriety and moral sanity by masking the scratched off paint with religious adornments thus seeking approval whenever on the road or off, drunk or sober, having 3 seconds or 8 decades of life left in them before they expect to stare the Almighty in the face. And ask him thus: what's the point? And get angry: you left me on my own to get to that! Where are the instructions when you really need them?...
Reaching back to St. Francis, the smallness doesn't get in the way - most of the time. Reaching forth - it affords little faith that can be pre-jugded justified.
Only living and dying matters. Like Erwin's cat. But who has the thought and who's the experiment?
I do not presume to conclude. Conclusion would harbinger a point. Collusion would mean a conspiracy and everywhere's replete with these. Collusion of the body and mind against the owner. Collusion of the maker and the also-made. Stimulation is an ever-moving target in a game that involves aborted hunting attempts. Like discharging a battery that fuels paranoia...
Time to reinvent the roots of speech. To fertalize some soil.
Layers
What are layers?... Or who are they?...Strata or those who lay. Stack on. Pile up. Peel off. Demask.
This brings to mind Greek or Japanese theatre. Not because of masks - because of un-layering of the humand mind and heart. And through these, eventually, his soul. Or hers. Or yours...
This works in reverse - people with a few of them would not be good subjects of comedy or drama. Ok, you got me, more drama than comedy - I'm not here to argue humour needs layers... But now you got me thinking and I suppose it's tru. I take it back - I got you...
So how do you get layers and lay them. It's simpler than you think. Every day is one, they stack on, pile up - you peel off, others demask. Days create different impressions on the roadmap of your being. Everyone is a different riverbed that erodes under the strain of the flowing time. How wet or dry the time is no one can anticipate. Experiences flow like floods, some of us are built from different geological material and erode differently. Create different layers, shape mind, heart and soul...
What am I trying to say? It's always the same. Each time is different. And the water never comes back, impressions of little grain of sand pushed through the flow are like the wings of an Amazon butterfly.... - well, you know the rest.
Madness, czyli LOCO-motywa
They just let me out of the room with no door-knobs. I've been on the inside. I admit.
No shame in that. After all, I'm out - means sanity has been re-found, re-cured, re-freshed - as if by a magical F5 key on the screen of my brain.
Buy why do I talk about it? Not sure if this is not a hypothetical question. My conscience is streaming. Out. About. Besides...
I've been accussed. Presumed. Self-sentenced. Auto-reclused. This middle period of the so-called life is confusing. I wanna be a father. A brother. A son. But all just slowly comes and then goes away like this life was playing peek-a-boo with me the way I do it with my godson or other willing person in the aforementioned period of being. One minute I'm 16, the next it's 1600 hrs, the next my dad's telling me he's 60 (he's NOT). Is this three 6s that I'm quoting? Who cares - I don't believe in numerology...
No, but what I'm here to say is that yes, I can't stay gentle... when I'm in the knoblees space I might have commited myself to. (I'm referring here to my head, Honey Bunch/Jelly Cheeks, let's be clear). Don't read into it - my sudden directness is not welcome - I know. This refers to something else, you little egomani-ette.
It's not about the room, it's the building that's spinning and me in it. Like a Chinese earthquake or a Burmese hurricane - unexpected turmoils happen to innocent by-livers, unaware life-holders. And the next minute, we might not be here. This is hitting like a bell jingling right into an awful headache, off the forehead, sweaty and disoriented.
The imagery helps. Not to re-orient - maybe quasi-define poetic sensibility lost at sea, sinking under the waves of old self-expectations that have totally no bearing on close loved-ones and their various perceptions of such reality or lack thereof. Or on time on someone else's to-do lists or to-make-love-to agendas. It's all extremely a-loquent, that is to say, sufficiently ground up to capture the frame of mind but disavow any future knowledge, once this manuscript gets found by future generations. And by future, I mean tomorrow. And I just called your eyes generations.
Hi green generations... how is your day, so far?
I'm peachy - just peachy!
Trying to stay away from that room - not unless I repaint it and move to countries with no earthquakes, no hurricanes. Methaphorically speaking - of course ;)
PS. and by they I mean me
PS2. and by peachy I mean I dunno...
No shame in that. After all, I'm out - means sanity has been re-found, re-cured, re-freshed - as if by a magical F5 key on the screen of my brain.
Buy why do I talk about it? Not sure if this is not a hypothetical question. My conscience is streaming. Out. About. Besides...
I've been accussed. Presumed. Self-sentenced. Auto-reclused. This middle period of the so-called life is confusing. I wanna be a father. A brother. A son. But all just slowly comes and then goes away like this life was playing peek-a-boo with me the way I do it with my godson or other willing person in the aforementioned period of being. One minute I'm 16, the next it's 1600 hrs, the next my dad's telling me he's 60 (he's NOT). Is this three 6s that I'm quoting? Who cares - I don't believe in numerology...
No, but what I'm here to say is that yes, I can't stay gentle... when I'm in the knoblees space I might have commited myself to. (I'm referring here to my head, Honey Bunch/Jelly Cheeks, let's be clear). Don't read into it - my sudden directness is not welcome - I know. This refers to something else, you little egomani-ette.
It's not about the room, it's the building that's spinning and me in it. Like a Chinese earthquake or a Burmese hurricane - unexpected turmoils happen to innocent by-livers, unaware life-holders. And the next minute, we might not be here. This is hitting like a bell jingling right into an awful headache, off the forehead, sweaty and disoriented.
The imagery helps. Not to re-orient - maybe quasi-define poetic sensibility lost at sea, sinking under the waves of old self-expectations that have totally no bearing on close loved-ones and their various perceptions of such reality or lack thereof. Or on time on someone else's to-do lists or to-make-love-to agendas. It's all extremely a-loquent, that is to say, sufficiently ground up to capture the frame of mind but disavow any future knowledge, once this manuscript gets found by future generations. And by future, I mean tomorrow. And I just called your eyes generations.
Hi green generations... how is your day, so far?
I'm peachy - just peachy!
Trying to stay away from that room - not unless I repaint it and move to countries with no earthquakes, no hurricanes. Methaphorically speaking - of course ;)
PS. and by they I mean me
PS2. and by peachy I mean I dunno...
Gitary | Guitars | Guitares
Nie ma czasu na granie :(There's no time to play :(
Il n'y a pas de temps pour jouer :(
Nareszcie jestem! | I'm finally here! | Voila, c'est moi!
Tak, tutaj Daniel Runo. Yup, it's Dan Runo. Oui, je suis Daniel Rouneau. Sip, soy Daniel Runo. 