Zen bird

click... clickclick........ click......... cl..... ick..... click....

That is the sound of one hand not typing but I'm not complaining for one day after surgery. Hell, I used to know a poet in Santa Cruz who typed all his books with the one finger method. Anyway, yesterday I wandered down some pretty dark paths. For instance in pre-op, while the lab tech blew a couple of veins trying to set the I.V., it occurred to me that the glare of the oblong overhead light I was staring at is the last thing some people see just before dying and lying on the hard cold surgery gurney as I began swirling around the event horizon of my failing mind, I was overwhelmed with sadness thinking about all the lab animals who watch in horror as heartless researchers do terrible things to them, all without pain relief, and after surgery I briefly understood what it must be like to outlive your world and await death among indifferent strangers.

Today, swollen as it is, it's still wonderful having the pressure off my middle and ring fingers (ulner and median nerves) and the carpal tunnel repaired. If it weren't for the cast, I'd probably be able to flip the bird from a fist, a talent all but lost to me before yesterday. But in my brief absence I fear Uncle Monkey has been up to more shady business.

Hi ho

Tomorrow I am going in for carpal tunnel surgery and am trying not to obsess on the fact that I can't eat or drink anything after midnight. It's a re-do and this time ... THIS TIME ... I am going to give it enough time to heal. Yes indeedy. My poor right hand is in need of four separate repairs, undoubtedly karma, a use it or lose it kind of thing, because I still haven't written the book that keeps swimming circles in my mind like a damn shark.

Not that I don't want to write it, mind you, plus November is bearing down on us like LARGE MARGE's semi. You know what that means. NaNoWriMo. National Novel Writing Month. Already I am receiving GET READY emails from the NaNo guys and feel the pull as though a gigantic hot full moon were rising in my head. But NO! I am not going to ride the cyclone this year. One, because I don't want to put undo stress on my hand. I'll save that for pressing matters such as commenting on political blogs. Two, because I still haven't done anything with the 50,000 words I mashed through my keyboard last year. Once I received my NaNo winner gif, I closed my password protected manuscript, sent it to several of my email accounts for safe keeping, and didn't look at it again for months. When I did, I was overcome by vertigo. Nevertheless, if you're thinking about doing it, go for it. What have you got to lose? Your sanity? ... whahahahaha .... Ahem. Excuse me. Well, it is a mind altering experience but I love that shit. Since I don't do drugs anymore, gotta get it however I can.

Achewood all over again

Achewood is of my favorites but I can't read the new ones Chris continues to post daily because I never read up to them. I don't even remember where I left off so today I started reading the complete archive over from the beginning. Good thing to do after my carpal tunnel surgery this Thursday.

The Web Designer

Lie Bot's Shoes

Rat tales

Puppets are like birds, very camera shy,
especially when you sneak up on them.

The troupe here at the Invisible Theatre
are actors but even they can get touchy
when caught off guard. I only managed to
get a couple of photos before they all
scampered behind the proscenium
and pulled the curtains.

Turns out Rat Woman was reading from an
old five year diary that belonged to my mother (R).
It covers the time when she was first dating my father
and goes a couple of years after their marriage.
I wonder what else Rat Woman has been getting into?

September 11, 1940

"To C.B.* after work with Peach & Chuck.
Andy met us & to Jennings awhile.
The Draft Bill was passed. Wonder what's to be."

* Candy Bar - a favorite tavern where my parents and their friends spent A LOT OF TIME.

Marcel Marceau, the greatest mime

For me, he did not die. How could such a man die? I saw him once when I was very young and he has been with me ever since. Here is a wonderful clip I just found. It is perhaps the only talky he ever made.

raven in red circle

While you were out

Shady deals. Don't even ask.

TA DA

Out-of-State Qi has arrived!

If you haven't been following the news, I recently won the Hammer's distinguished First Annual Worst Colored Helmet Award. Mayan Leopard was on hand to greet Out-of-State Qi and conduct the sniff test. There are, after all, certain protocols around the Language Barrier one must observe so that the flow of good luck and winning virtue will not be impeded. Plus, it is one gorgeous hunk and will look great on my window sill. At least now I can proudly wear my helmet. Who knows? Out-of-State Qi may actually have ended up saving my life! Thanks Hammer!

excerpt from the interior prisoner

13.

Being is a mouth
with which an unknowable word articulates itself

in a language which is the partial imprint
of something prior to speech,

like the impression left in grass
where an animal has rested.


--------------
author unknown
a translation of an unsigned manuscript
written at Salamanca around 1902
translated by: geoffrey o'brien
published at wordplayground

Annual Worst Colored Helmet Awards

Big day here. I just received the Annual Worst Colored Helmet Award. Thank you very much. Thank you very much. Acceptance speech included below.

OMG!!! OMG!!! I can't thank The Hammer or the judges enough for this prestigious award. OMG.

(pause for tears and nose blowing)

I want you all to know that The ECOVLGQTIFIMBY will never end up in my garage. It will always be under the auspices of Maneki Neko and sit proudly on my window sill next to the now petrified chip from a flying saucer radiator that I found in the desert.

But actually I cannot accept this award for myself alone. I stand here tonight on behalf of all those brave souls who risk scorn and ridicule to wear their hideously colored helmets in public. Furthermore they do this in spite of helmet laws that many of us feel are an invasion of the rights of idiots everywhere to willy-nilly smash their brains on highways and byways and die free or live on as vegetables at the expense of the hearts and pock books of family and state. And we fervently hope that our example serves as a reminder to spectral bikers everywhere to wear your helmet dammit, and stop playing chicken with LARGE MARGE!

LARGE MARGE

02:11

Ps. After reading eccentric recluse's comment that the The ECOVLGQTIFIMBY may be more than an Enormous Chunk Of Very Low Grade Quartz, I want to publicly remind you Hammer that that rock is mine!

Day in the life.00

It's only been one day but I don't know how much longer I can stand seeing M. Corbeau endure the insults of nature. Yes, he would grow hoary and wonderful after years of frost and snow and layers of poop, muddy prints and scratches from the hand snatchers (Maniraptora) but this morning he was covered with a thin layer of frost and even that was almost too much for me. I know it violates some obscure poetic principal that is compromised even by mention but before winter sets in he may have to join me on this side of the glass.

Charlie the Crow is also here this morning, cawing his signature 4 caws - pause - 4 caws - pause - 4 caws - pause ... on and on. Even I have gone out on occasion and asked him to put a sock in it. I don't know what's with that guy, must one of those loud mouth, first to arrive, last to leave reporters.

In other Bird Park news, the graying magpie with the scars under her jaw is also out there enjoying a Sunday brunch. She's a loner and smart, comes early then makes a second swoop mid-morning and doesn't panic when I toss out seconds on the peanut chips but instead flies to the roof of a nearby house and waits for to me to go away.

Quiz of the day: What do Swatch, Rebecca Taylor, Nicole Miller and Burton Snowboards have in common? Answer here.