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Dialogue with Merlin
I’m hanging out with some friends.  One of them, Merlin, leans jokingly, very heavily on my shoulder.  Someone says, “What are you doing?”

Merlin:  Just checking Josh’s personal space boundaries.

Me:  …do that any longer, and I’m going to lick your ear.

Merlin:  …

Me:  Don’t worry, man, it’s not sexual; I just need the salt.

And my shoulder is released.

Swallowing Quail Like White Rabbits Tumbling Down the Black Hole Gullet of the World Snake

Yesterday, a large shipment of young quail (frozen food for my pet indigo snake, Lenore) came in.  Lenore, freshly shed, iridescent, shining, and ravenous, was ready for her meal.  That day, for some reason, I had this intense, unexplainable, pregnancy-level craving to listen to “White Rabbit” over and over again…that in conjunction with Lenore’s feeding would have led to one of those strange, inexplicable moments…should someone have walked in—seeing me feeding dead birds to Lenore via 14-inch forceps—music blaring—Lenore, jaws distended, swallowing large prey items—me singing along with Jefferson Airplain:


New Word—Lost Hangouts

My good friend, Brayton, and I were drinking coffee at CAFE AEON, discussing the incorrectness of the word “irregardless” (or the incorrectnessless of the word, if you prefer).  We decided, if you were going in that direction, to take it a few notches, and prefixes, further—and came up with our new word:  “nonundisirregardlessly”.  We suggest you start throwing it into conversation, because if you’re going to stray from the language, Chum, go bold!

Speaking of Cafe Aeon, tomorrow night (that is to say…tonight, Friday) is their last day before packing up and heading to New Orleans.  I’ll be there, tonight, for the final bash.  Anyone in the vicinity should come on out.  Promise not to lick your ear.

On a similar note, tonight (Thursday night) I drove to Chicago and to the RED LION PUB for what I thought was their last day before closing for lengthy renovations and rebuilding, only to discover the building dark and locked.


I’m loosing my favorite hangouts.

A Kindness of Strangers

A group of crows is a murder of crows.  A group of ravens is an unkindness of ravens.  I’m going to start calling a benevolent group of strangers a kindness of strangers.  I like doing this blog—one reason being I occasionally hear from strangers (sometimes from great distances) who comment on the journal.  I’m always tickled.  Here are a couple of the nicer bits of input I’ve received.  This isn’t a self-pat on the back so much as a way of saying thank you to those of you out there in internet land who have given me input…it’s always appreciated.

A message from Erica contained this:

Ok that’s enough. I make promises to myself that when doing a search on here, I will not go beyond 50 miles. This is to keep me from developing relationships with people who live further than I’m willing to drive. However, I’ve been reading your journal and just can’t help myself from commenting on a few things. Today I found new faith in the evolution of the written language, thanks to you. No, there has been no exchange of your published items and my blood, sweat and tears. I think this may change now though.

Recently, I’ve felt my brain slowly rotting from lack of literary beauty. The flow of language that sends shivers down my spine, makes me smile, the thing that connects you with the source… It’s that feeling some get when doing things they’re meant to do, when The Fates strike a cord of perfect harmony. Pleasure, I suppose. Sure, I could pull a book off the shelf and delve once again into worlds I’ve walked before, but I crave new things far too much.

There is, unfortunately, a missing element to many new authors. They have all the ingredients to make a mouth watering dessert but are missing the individual accents that make the whole thing worthwhile. A friend of mine is very in to plants and plant extracts and he uses spagyrics to extract the essential oils for use in various things. The outcome of the extraction is different depending on his mood, yet the flavor is solely his and all the better for it. This is the thing missing. Too much is written to please the general public, which is all well and good, but pointless if there’s no accent to it. No girth, no substance, no sparkly lights. Okay. Maybe I’m over-explaining. This is what makes me happy to say, “Yea! I’m a part of the human race!”:

“I could almost hear the gears turning and saw the light bulb over the head flicker precariously, the wattage far exceeding the fortitude of the filament. He was in the throes of an epiphany. He turned around, came back and delivered it unto me…”

“I wish the White Hen building would sprout giant chicken legs and run away like a Russian fairy tale.”

“I want to drink rum and beer and read ghost stories in a place that speaks and creaks, under the beer garden tree, over a congress of very large, and by now very literary, rats.”

“…this convenience store is like a nasty, self-fulfilling prophecy…one that sells tasty sandwiches and burnt coffee.”

You divest and de-fragment far too well. You remind me of things in my past that I wish I could do over. Yet now there is realization that the love of the language is still there, swirling in the ether.

So thank you for making my mouth water.

Wow.  Thank you, Erica.  That made my evening.  Seeing a few highlight bits from the journal, I thought, “Hey…some of that is pretty good.”  It was a mood booster that came at just the right time too.

And this came from Julie:

I know this is quite strange coming from a complete stranger but you are FUCKING BRILLIANT! Sitting here on the eve of my national board examinations trying to prep for one of the biggest accomplishments of my life I took a break from my mind numbing studying to screw around on the computer. Opened up myspace and saw you posted a Blog, I decided what the fuck lets read about somebody else to distract my mind from tearing its self apart from fatigue and doubt… and there I found it… the answer to my problem and the only damn thing that has made me feel better in the last several days. So I say again thank you, you brilliant, eloquent, exceptional person. I am indebted to you.

Thank you—thank you, Julie!  Man.  Ego boosts to the extreme.  Encouragement like that and I find myself able to turn to my inner demons and say, “Leggo my ego, fucker!”

Thank you one and all.

Oh…the sky is beginning to lighten up…it’s that time, lovelings.