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Sun’s up.  I just finished letting Lenore slither through the dew-dot lawn.  Some industrious robins went all curious at the wriggling, slithering, blue-black thing in the green grass . . . and I imagine they’d have had a rude awakening had they gone just a little bit closer.  If . . . She, Lenore, just turned two recently (pics and measurements coming soon).


I decided not to let banality swallow me down unhinged jaws – not to allow myself that luxury.  See, I spent most of grade school and high school feeling sorry for myself and I don’t play that predictably drab, fly-drone violin no more.  It’s tempting to whine, but I’d rather jam – shed a few robin feathers in my frenzied wake.

“In these demon days
It’s so cold inside
So hard for a good soul to survive
You can’t even trust the air you breathe
Because mother earth wants us all to leave
When lies become reality
You numb yourself with drugs and TV
Lift yourself up it’s a brand new day
So turn yourself round
Don’t burn yourself, turn yourself
Turn yourself around
Into the sun!
To the sun, to the sun…
To the sun, to the sun…”

—GORILLAZ, “Demon Days”