a leisurely revolution

wrapped in a towel sitting in my chair sneezing nonstop

but my neck feels better

if i was a dumb american I'd take some of these here muskle rlxrs

sun and blue skies. i ponder the newfound meanings of my name (see previous posting)

how am I: a shield? the coverer? a shadow? a cloud?

how i define myself matters quite a bit to me (given: I am a Leo)
at this rate I will be Salvador Dali's wet dream by the time I'm sixty

i had my beard trimmed down shorter than I've had it since I was eighteen years young
1/2 an inch.
it's fucking with my head every time I snag a rflctn in a mirrored surface

lyli and scarleht asleep upstairs. I research/create an anarchist grammatical structure, surf parenting blogs, aggregate 150 news stories from assorted sources and compile and collate and quantify and prioritize them inside my cerebral cortex (.08-.16 inches thick), read poetry, sharpen my kitchen knives, put together an order of clandestine chemistry books for shipment to australia, think about scrubbing the kitchen floor, put off as many pertinent duties as possible and prostrate myself before the timing of the sunlight off these leaves.

looking at my jam-packed calendar for the next month, every moment of free time filled, depressing. don't get me wrong, I love every single human I have scheduled, racked, timed, noted with every ounce of my being but sometimes these days I just want to be at my farmhouse with no little girls and no big people and just soak in this place for what it is by its lonesome alternately empty and full and always green self.

frank black live at the china clipper in Oly tomorrow night. portents of sensuality and liquor and fine tunes. then a whirlwind I shant describe til years later. you all know who you are anyways and that's what matters. it's like the music scene in Olympia, we know everyone on a social level but most people are like: "Oh, you're in that band? Cool!" I for one don't purposefully go to shows, I go somewhere and the show happens around that place; blame it on my endless job of hanging and removing all the flyers at Last Word Books for four years, blame it on my anti-social tendencies, blame it on last years hops and grapes and girls and goodness knows what else.

book orders roll in in accordance with our enterage-spree, seven today already and counting. good news. more food upon table, more bacon in pan, more better complainin boy, more trouble with man.

i dream of warehouses teeming with dusty tomes, islands replete with those heads full of ideas I love, green and red and black all over, youth resurrected in action and spirit and intention.

a quick nap bathbound refreshed more than a nights turn and toss, the steam resuscitating the greek in me, I dance through this day's divinity, a leisurely revolution, an easy-going soul, a slow parent hanging on every ... last ... happening ...