After spending centuries cloistered in an astral monastery, during which time he got a few things straightened out, Hairy returns, reconciles with Bela, and is accepted into the troupe at the Invisible Theatre.
In answer to my daughter's question, no, I didn't visit any of the graveyards in Tonopah this trip, although the town itself is haunted and melancholy as any. I didn't have time to do any more than show a friend, new to the place, a bit of the downtown.
Salvadore was still there, and still doing his fine fade from the world. I kind of spooked her when I pulled his photo out from between the stones but I had to check in on him. He's one of my current favorite time lapse windows on the past.
She had a $5000 dollar camera with a $3000 lens. As you might imagine, her photo of this room is better than mine.
Stolen for Fashion I dare you to watch it all the way to the end. I did and it made me cry. Have you got the guts to have a heart? Open your eyes and see.
The floor of my mind is littered with crumpled, scribbled out, scrawled and often illegible words, some strung together, some adrift on their own. They are like leaves running before the wind and the next time I look they are spindly sprouts growing in the fetid dark. At other times they appear to be like bugs skittering by and I shudder. Or they are annoying the way sharp rocks are to bare feet or threatening like broken glass. Some of them are frivolous like photos in a collage, interesting only in relationship to something else, or provocative like the preview of a film and some are merely blobs of paint that didn't make it to the canvas, perhaps the best part, but dried and beyond recall. I hear them mumbling and whispering. I kick my way through them, sweep some aside, pick others up and place them under the light for a closer look. Observed they change. They have strange magnetic properties that do not obey the rules. They erratically change poles, attracting then repelling one another. Some are lurkers, suspect, shifty and resistant.
I begin this post at 9:06 yet, if you noticed the title, the deadline is 9:13. The question, will I meet it? I say no. I say yes. Bets are down. I win.
Then again, I lose. I corrected a misspelling at 10:38 and fiddled with the placement of sentence for two more minutes.
Life can be pretty bleak when you stare it in the eye. Who knows? Maybe I'm just bulldozing through the last muddy patch before enlightenment. Whatever. I've gotta lighten up. My kids have been telling me for years. They outta know. It wasn't easy for them being raised by a proto-punk mom. Recently, after one particularly dark post, my daughter demanded I write her a happy kitten poem. (It's on the list, darlin', but I have to work up to it.) The point is, everyone agrees, even me. Must _*_ lighten _*_ up. So I've added a new category to the list, mirth, or some word to that effect. Whatever describes Elmo's attitude.
I have done posts that are, in some way, humorous but they're not labeled and these days I need ready to go upbeat humor, not the schadenfreude gallows black ironic variety which I'm generally fond of. I love Ricky Gervais but, like me, he tends toward dark. Elmo must lead the way because, as he says, it's time to "get it back"...
