Blasted! I have been too damned occupied to do much of anything aside from occupying myself with stock photography shoots (faking reality in slow motion). No worries though, I've been thinking, pondering options, many fragrant options. Today, my only day of breath for a while lay before me like a giant salivating tongue. And I shall feed it: To begin, I must wash my hair afresh with willow bark and aloe; moisturize my skin with a hearty sheep's fat straight from the smokey hills of Arkansas; anew; my fantasies will peek, and I will peter along the length of 82nd street to observe and capture the ripe happenings of some of Portland's finest; off to the removal of noxious weeds from backyard soil; a simple tennis match to follow, in short shorts and wristbands; the reading of something by Knut Hamson; tippy tap writerly delight; headstand; a session of primal intrigue; the meticulous roasting of one freshly plucked spaghetti squash; two glasses of wine; six grilled prawns; braised chard; a smooch; and sleep involving dreams of more.
And, I just discovered after cooking up some purple potatoes, that I now enjoy listening to the Grateful Dead (I once broke up with someone because of the Grateful Dead tattoo on his arm. But that wasn't the only reason; I found out that he enjoyed molesting rabbits, but still). Oh Portland, what have you done to me?