Sunday, June 20, 2010

I keep dreaming about the ocean floor falling in. I can’t step on solid ground, and I dream about people at my window. They stare in and get swallowed by the tides of oil and salt water and darkness. I open my window to yell to them and my foot kicks my blinds and I wake up in the dark at three in the morning and trace the lines in my walls, counting the bricks that keep the heat in.

Saturday, June 19, 2010


It's been a rock and rollin' 4 months or so. The dust has settled, though not clear enough still, to see what's in front of the things right in front of me (or more generally, preferably and fittingly put - things beyond). Things in general, though, have started falling into place. Or berth, a thing I found out today while editing things in a football headline.

Btw I believe the Jabulani is indeed a psycho ball cause it seems to be siding the underdogs. And that its unpredictable faulty trajectory could be caused by the vibes from the vuvuzuelas.

So I learned one thing - that people come and go, but the party must go on, regardless, nevertheless. And another thing - a small, less significant, outlandish department of three equals a larger smoke-filled room - not literally, no of course not. And yes, less smoke.

Don't bother trying to get it. But if you do, I congratulate you for your impressive fathoming skills and we should have a cuppa and a chat-a.

That's the thing.

Hah, metaphors. Did you know that the bull of the idiom thingy in the china shop in reality does not do anything but stand there, all still, china unmoved and unchipped?

I'm digressing. Digressing is a thing in my train of thoughts, I love it. It's...


I've watched so many movies in the past week, it's making my dream factory go crazy wonky. The other night I dreamt that Chloe (and her amazing boobs) was crazy for Sandy West and they were both speaking Spanish in a hot tub which, you know, is a time machine, which funnels them into Alamut. And Alamut at some places looks so much like Rome - something about them and Cherie and Sarah Marshall prancing around in a love fountain, and next thing you know the whole thing changes and a shooting spree breaks out (and I think I saw Hit Girl somewhere, and Juan Antonio and Cristina and Vicky) in Cell 211. Or was it one of those cells on Shutter Island? Don't know. It was a muddle. But it was very...intriguingly gripping.

Anyilleyhooo, things have become quite orderly although my brain remains scattered. It's the tonnes of things I've been reading and watching. Fleeting images of this and that and whatnot have fueled an imagination so complex, well, my words have thus lost in competition.


Here's food for thought (it was for me on the drive home):
They started out beneath the knowledge tree.
Then they chopped it down to make white picket fences,
And, marching along the railroad tracks,
They smile real wide for the camera lenses.
They made it past the enemy lines
Just to become enslaved in the assembly lines.

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

Something about the water...

Things have been good to me, and I am grateful.